Teeth nip at my chin, and two big hands grab onto my ass and press me back up where I was. Then he's moving.
“Take me home,” I pant. But he's already on his way down the path.
Kit
We're both breathless and panting when Bowen kicks the cabin door closed behind him. My fingers are tangled in his hair, wet strands like silk between my fingers.
I hold his gaze through the living room and down the hall, the black pools of his pupils growing and shrinking with the changing light. I can hear water drip drip dripping on the hardwood floor of his bedroom.
He closes the door. And it's just us. Just us and the sun streaming in from the window, casting the room in just enough light. Just enough for me to see him clearly when I pull back and unhook my legs from his waist. His fingers flex into me, momentarily refusing to let go.
Bowen is tense, and I expect to feel him vibrating under my palms. I hold his eyes for a moment longer, then suck in a breath, steadying my legs with my hands on his pecs. His beautiful jaw flexes when I slide one of my hands up to his throat. His neck.
I cup the pulse point there, feel the way it dances the same visceral, heavy beat as my own. How many times did I fall asleep to the beat of his heart? How many days did I spend just trying to breathe around the world, only finding the first hit of pure oxygen when his life was fluttering against my skin?
His pulse thumps wildly, and I close my eyes. A tear tracks slow and steady down my face when a big, warm hand grasps my neck. A mirrored touch.
Mirrored pain.
Mirrored rhythm created by us.
Bowen walks forward, gently forcing me to take steps back until the backs of my legs hit the bed, and I tumble into the soft sheets. They're cool against my heated skin. I peel my heavy eyes open, and Bowen's breath hitches when I lock eyes with him again.
His nostrils flare when I reach down and hook my thumbs under the band of my pants and briefs, pushing them both down with one go and nudging the wet fabric off the bed.
There's a quiet voice whispering somewhere in my mind about not being what Bowen wants. Not having the right parts. Not being soft and curvy. Not being bold or beautiful. But the louder part of my brain is humming with carnal appreciation at the man standing in front of me.
Bowen chased me. Bowen kissed me.
I place my foot on his stomach when he goes to climb over me. One of his dark brows quirk, jaw positively thrumming. He holds my ankle, rubbing his thumbs over a spot I didn't even know was tender.
“Let me see you,” I murmur, scooting back and leaning up on my elbows. “All of you.”
Bowen watches me until I'm squirming, then he pushes down his pants and kicks them with mine.
I start at his legs, gliding my eyes up muscular thighs, narrow hips. His cock is thick. And hard.
“Makes sense,” I murmur, grabbing my own erection at the base and squeezing. I do not want this to be over before it even starts. But God, Bowen Briggs naked is a fucking religious experience. A dark, brooding demigod with the power to fry my brain waves.
“What?” he asks.
I huff a breathy half-laugh, half-moan. “I felt you for days after...” It's a risk, bringing up the one and only time we were together before. But it's us. It's all a part of our story. However messy. However painful. It's us. “I felt you every time I moved. I ached when I sat down.” My squeezing turns to a light stroke up my shaft, and I moan fully this time. “I didn't get to see you…” I swallow another moan and take my hand away from my cock to grip the sheets instead. “But I see you now, Bowen. I see you.”
I end my statement by taking in his face. Heartbreak haunts around the corners. Who I was two years ago made wounds on this man, and I can see it.
But I can see the want. The desire.
It's evident in the way he crawls up over my body and swallows my next moan. He eats at all the truths gathered on my tongue and presses down when I cage him between my thighs.
Nothing has ever felt as right as holding him. Skin to skin. Feeling his hot exhales and soft lips. His teeth nip at my own mouth, my jaw. His mouth is desperate. But his hands? His hands are worshipful. Full, slow sweeps up my sides. Down the outside of my thighs. He lifts me enough to squeezemy ass in his hands then those same hands hold my face like I'm something precious. Something tender. All the while groaning into my very fucking soul like he wants to eat me alive.
“Please,” I gasp, groaning when his hips slide forward and our cocks press together between us. I try to reach down, but Bowen snatches my hand and holds it above my head on the mattress.
He leans up, looking down at me with a swollen, puffy mouth. And grabs our cocks together in his free hand.
“Boe,” I choke. Pre-cum slicks his palm, making the second stroke so good, my eyes flutter.
“Don't you fucking dare look away, kitten. Do you understand?”
