“You look after everyone on this ranch, including me,” she said softly, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she leaned in, her body curving over his. The scent of him was stronger here, warm and male and all Rowan, and it made her dizzy. She wanted to press closer, to chase the shiver that ran through him when she spoke. “Who looks after you, Rowe?”
His hand tightened over hers, stilling her movements. For a moment, she thought he might pull away, might retreat back into that stubborn shell of his, but then his voice came, low and rough. “You. You do.”
The words sent a ripple through her, a warmth that spread from her chest outward, because she understood what he meant. That he was letting her in.
Enya bent, pressing her lips to the back of his neck, just below the line of his hair, where the skin was soft and warm. She felt the way his breath caught, the way his body tensed for just a second before relaxing into her. “Yes,” she whispered against his skin, and she could taste the salt of him, the faintest hint of sweat from the day’s work. “Yes, I do.”
Rowan turned in his chair, his movement sudden and fluid as his hands slid to her waist when he pulled her onto his lap. She went willingly, her legs straddling his hips, her skirt riding up her thighs as she settled against him. His hands were warmthrough the fabric of the dress she’d changed into for supper. She loved that his fingers splayed over her ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts in a way that made her breath stutter. She could feel the hard length of him beneath her, the heat of his body seeping into hers, and when his mouth found hers, it wasn’t desperate or hungry—it was slow, and deep, and impossibly profound.
His lips moved against hers with a reverence that made her ache, his tongue tracing the seam of her mouth until she parted for him, letting him in. The kiss was a slow burn, a lazy exploration that had her fingers tangling in his hair, and her body arching into his. He tasted like whiskey and something darker, something sweet, and she couldn’t get enough. His hands slid up her back, one tangling in the loose waves of her hair, the other pressing between her shoulder blades, pulling her closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between them. She could feel the steady thud of his heart against her chest, the way his breath hitched when she rocked against him just enough to make him groan into her mouth.
When they finally broke apart, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm and unsteady against her lips. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide, and she could see the fight in him—the battle between what he craved and what he thought he should do. But for once, the craving was winning.
“I love you.” He peered into her eyes as if he were afraid she might disappear if he said it any louder. “I love you, Enya, more than you will ever possibly understand.”
Her heart started to beat in time with his, as if they were two halves of the same rhythm. She cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over the stubble on his cheeks, the slight rasp of it sending a shiver down her spine.
“I love you, too,” she whispered, and the world felt like it had fixed itself on its axis, and it was terrifyingly beautiful to both hear and say those words.
Rowan’s arms tightened around her, his hands sliding down to her hips, his fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp. Then, in one fluid motion, he stood, lifting her with him as if she weighed nothing. She wrapped her legs around his waist on instinct, her arms looping around his neck, her breath catching as he carried her out of the office, his stride sure and steady despite the way his heart was hammering against her chest.
When they got to the house, it was quiet around them, the only sound the creak of the floorboards beneath his boots and the soft, ragged edge of their breathing. He didn’t speak, didn’t break the spell weaving between them, and she didn’t either. She just held on, her lips pressed to the warm skin of his throat, tasting the pulse that jumped there when he turned down the hallway toward his room.
The door clicked shut behind them, and Rowan carried her to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring every second. The mattress dipped beneath them as he knelt on it, still cradling her against him, his mouth finding hers again in a kiss that was softer this time, and much, much sweeter. She could feel the tremor in his hands as he lowered her onto the sheets, his body following hers down until he was braced over her, his weight supported on his forearms, his hips settling between her thighs.
She could barely make out the way his dark hair fell across his forehead and how his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. He was beautiful like this…undone, his control fraying at the edges, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as she reached up to trace her fingers along the line of his jaw and the shape of his lips.“Rowan.” His name was a prayer on her lips, a plea for words she didn’t know how to ask for… but he did.
“I love you, Enya. I love you.”
“God, Rowan, I love you too, so much.”
He answered her with his body, his mouth trailed down her throat, and his teeth grazed the sensitive skin just above her collarbone. She arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, her legs wrapping around his hips as he rocked against her, the friction sending sparks skittering through her veins. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher, and she gasped when his fingers found the lace of her underwear, his touch feather-light as he traced the edge of it.
“I love you,” he murmured against her skin, his voice a dark velvet rasp. His fingers stilled, waiting.
Her breath came in short, sharp bursts. “I love you, too.”
A low and possessive growl rumbled in his chest, and then his mouth was on hers, his kiss swallowing her gasp as his fingers finally, finally slipped beneath the lace, finding her wet and ready for him. She cried out against his lips, her back arching off the bed as he touched her, his fingers sure and skilled, coaxing her higher with every stroke. His thumb circled her clit, his touch firm and unrelenting, and she could feel the orgasm building inside her—a tight, coiled thing ready to snap.
“Rowan, please,” she begged, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body trembling beneath his.
“Shhh,” he soothed, his lips brushing hers, his breath hot and uneven. “I’ve got you, baby. Let go.”
The orgasm crashed over her in a wave of heat and light, her body clenching around his fingers as she came, her cry muffled against his mouth. Rowan didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his touch gentling as she rode out the last tremors, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her skin slick with sweat.
When she finally stilled beneath him, boneless and sated, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there for a long moment before he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. His eyes were dark with desire, his pupils blown wide, but there was something else there too, something tender, something that made her heart clench in her chest.
“My turn,” she whispered, her hands sliding down his chest, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
Rowan caught her wrists, his grip gentle but firm, and shook his head. “Not tonight,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to her lips. “Tonight’s about you.”
She wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that she needed to touch him, to taste him, to give him even a fraction of the pleasure he’d just given her. But the look in his eyes stopped her. He needed to do this his way, and she could and would give him that.
She let him strip her slowly, his hands trembling just slightly as he peeled the dress from her body, his breath catching when she was laid bare beneath him. She let him kiss every inch of her, his mouth hot and open against her skin, his tongue tracing patterns that made her whimper. And when he finally settled between her thighs again, his body covering hers, his weight a delicious pressure, she wrapped herself around him, her legs locking at his waist, and her arms tightening around his neck.
He entered her in one slow, deep thrust, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath a ragged gasp against her lips. She could feel the way he trembled, the way he was fighting to hold on, to make this last, and it undid her. Because this wasn’t just sex. This wasRowan. This was the man who had carried her through storms and silence and the weight of her own fears. This was the man who had kissed her in the dark of a barn office, who looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in his world.
When he began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, deep rhythm, she matched him stroke for stroke, her body rising to meet his, her breath mingling with his. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound a steady counterpoint to the wet, slick noises their bodies made, and the soft, desperate sounds spilling from her lips.
