“Let me.” I push her legs apart and clean her up, albeit begrudgingly.
There’s something about seeing my cum dripping from her that ignites something primitive and possessive inside me.
Makes me want to claim her again.
After I finish, I toss the cloth onto the floor, my gaze snagging on my clothes.
“It’s okay,” Rowan assures me.
I whip my eyes back to hers. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t mind if you want to go sleep in your bed. All things considered, you probably should.”
“You won’t be upset?”
She stands, moving toward me.
“I didn’t fuck you with any hopes of a relationship, Hayden. I know what this is and what it isn’t. I slept with you because it made me feel good.” She lifts her lips into a smile. “No need to make it more complicated or awkward than it has to be.
“Too many people focus on the future. Making plans instead of just focusing on the now. So let’s not do that. Let’s just enjoy ourselves if and when the mood strikes. No promises or expectations for more.”
“I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t obsessed with the future,” I reply around a chuckle. “Or the past.”
She erases the remaining space between us. “Then let me show you how good it can be to only live in thenow.” Her voice turns sensual and throaty as she traces circles along my neck. “To be present.”
She nibbles slightly on that spot right beneath my earlobe, and my erection returns to life. Something I didn’t think possible so soon.
“You’re making it really hard for me not to think about the future.” I thread my fingers through her hair, bringing her lips back within an inch of mine. “To not fantasize about the next time I’m inside you.”
She mischievously waggles her brows as she steals a glance at my dick. “Why does it have to be in the future?”
I hesitate, torn between doing what I should and what I want.
As seems to be the theme tonight, I silence the voice telling me to be responsible.
Instead, I do whatIwant, steering her back toward the bed and sinking deep inside her once more.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ROWAN
Soft raysof sun peek through the blinds, stirring me from one of the most restful nights’ sleep I’ve had in a long time. I stretch against the sheets, and an ache blooms between my thighs, along my hips, even on my ass. The things I did last night… The things I felt…
I stare at the ceiling and wait for the guilt to arrive.
It never does.
Old Rowan would have been spiraling by now. Making exit strategies. Creating lists of reasons this is reckless. Inappropriate. Complicated.
Old Rowan would have insisted we never do it again.
But this Rowan knows better. Knows how fragile life truly is.
Why shouldn’t I grab joy when it offers itself up in broad shoulders and sinful dimples?
Granted there’s the small matter of the secret I’m keeping that can complicate things.
But only if I let it.
