With a nod, I see the way the what-ifs play behind her eyes.
“He’s ready for it. And he still needs an outlet. Hell, it could be two jobs, and he says he’s done, but for the moment, I’m passing the torch onto him. And maybe when he decides he’s done, then we’re all done.” Fuck, I’ve never said that thought out loud. All. Done.
Rowan closes the small gap between us, laying her head on my shoulder. I pan my eyes down to her; I watch the way the leaves above cast shadows over her face; her pupils dilate, taking up more of her blue oceans I’ve fallen into many times, wanting to drown in them. “I like knowing you will not be out there and in danger. Each time you leave, I’m scared. I pray that the moment you walk out of that door, God brings you back to me safely. And you know me and God, we’re not on good terms, but for you, I’d give myself to the Devil himself if it meant you’d make it back to where you belong…with me.”
Tucking a brown strand that blows onto her lips behind her ear, I steal them. One minute she’s sitting with her legs over me, and the next she maneuvers herself straddling me on this rickety bench. We feast on each other, starving. Her chest molds againstmine as she grinds herself against my cock. Enjoying the way my cock pushes the zipper seam into her pussy.
“This is a place of mourning,” someone screams across the yard. Roxy’s barking follows.
Breaking contact with her lips, “Motherfucker,” I mutter, placing my forehead on hers. We’re both breathless, trying to even our breathing out, but she still slowly rubs her pussy against my now aching dick, from both the need of her and the strain against my jeans.
“Thomas.” She growls his name like he can hear it, especially over his cackling that’s drawing closer to us.
Huffing, Rowan lifts her body from me, standing to block Thomas from my view, while I try to rearrange my dick.
“Well, look at you two trying to raise the dead, like Rowan’s rising that dick, I see.”
“You have the worst timing, asshole,” I grunt at him, standing, knowing I’m going to have blue balls.
“That’s what my momma says, too.”
“Why? Because you’re alive.” I ask him.
Rowan pushes him, but he’s a tree and doesn't move an inch, before he opens his enormous arms, giving her a hug. I thought next to me, she looks small, but every time I see her with him, I’m amazed at how little he makes her look, because he’s just a gigantic asshole.
Roxy comes to sit next to Rowan, her tongue hanging out of her mouth, looking goofy as hell.
“You want some water, baby doll,” she coos to her; Roxy's tail wags.
“What are you doing here?” I ask while grabbing Rowan’s hand.
“I’m here early, but for dinner.”
At the same time, Rowan and I laugh. “Of course you are. Did you bring your maid's outfit, cockblocker?”
“Ha. Funny.”
Slapping Thomas on the back, we head inside.
Walking into the foyer of the Funeral home, Clover stands at the stairs. When she spots Roxy, a smile overtakes her face, bending down. “Hi, little one,” she whispers not to scare Roxy.
I don’t know Clover well, just what Matteo has told me and what I know from everything that has happened, but I watch her as she slowly stands, fixing her dress. She has pain and uncertainty etched on her face. Even I, a stranger, can tell she’s battling.
Rowan squeezes my hand, letting me know she wants a moment with her.
Kissing her cheek, I leave them both standing in the foyer to talk.
“Did Weeks fill you in on everything?” I ask Thomas, who leads us upstairs to find Matteo.
Smoothing his black hair into a pony, “Are you ready to hand over the reins, though? Are you going to sit back and let Damian do what he needs to do?”
Can I? I guess we’ll see. “Of course. We both need this.” I tell him, even though I don’t know how this will pan out.
Knocking on Matteo’s office door, his voice booms on the other side through the thick mahogany wood. Walking in, you know you're stepping into a home built from way back; everything is grand, the fireplace you could stand in, something they don’t build anymore.
Matteo sits behind an ornate desk. A painting of the graveyard outside is the main focal point.
He looks worse for wear, his dark eyes even darker from the surrounding circles and hollow eyes. A few days' growth of stubble covers his face, and his usually neat hair is disheveled. This man is fighting for the woman downstairs, fighting for her survival, to live. And it’s evident in his appearance.
