The words are a whisper of logic and nothing else.
“I’m not hearing a no,” I say just as softly. The ropes are tight around us, but I try to wiggle further up his body in tiny motions.
“Stop moving, Milo.Milo.”
My name is a prayer on his lips, and his hands clasp tightly around me like a last hope, but it’s the large bulge hardening against my stomach that’s the final sin calling for salvation.
“Say you don’t want to kiss me, Rowan,” I dare. I’m still inching closer, locking in on my target.
Rowan’s lips stay decisively closed and only part when my lips meet his. The kiss is electrifying, a mix of song and light, and I’m left breathless like it’s my first kiss.
Rowan’s breathing heavily, too, and his eyes are on me again. There are too many emotions in them to decipher, but I see the want clearly.
I’m probably looking at him the same way.
“We shouldn’t,” Rowan murmurs again.
“Yeah,” I agree, but I’m already leaning back in for more, and Rowan meets me just as hungrily.
Everything else disappears besides the warm body I’m entangled with and the hot caress of Rowan’s tongue thatsends sparks down my spine. A hint of leather catches my nose and makes me lightheaded.
Somewhere in the back of my head, in a voice that sounds awfully like Ray’s, is my rationality telling me I should stop. I shouldnotbe kissing Rowan, but I probably shouldn’t have jerked off while thinking about him either, and that turned out to be the best orgasm inmonths.
Maybe I’m just sex-deprived,or, hell,touch-deprived, because my body is calling for Rowan like it’s the oxygen it needs to survive.
Is it possible to want someone so badly? I don’t know, but I’m hard and needy for him, and I think I might die if those lips stop kissing me.
Life is set to prove me wrong, because a loud beeping rings out in the room, startling me, and has me pulling back. Lo and behold, Rowan’s lips leave me, and I’m still alive and breathing.
The only thing that dies is the hope of more kisses, because Rowan is now refusing to meet my eye. My stomach drops, and the grating voice of our instructor praises us for the good job we did that round, effectively bringing us back to reality.
“We should get ourselves untangled,” Rowan says calmly.
“Rowan,” I say softly. Now I’m the one begging.
“We need to check for any injuries.”
He still refuses to look at me.
“Rowan,” I try again, and maybe it’s the desperation in my tone that has him finally looking at me.
I’m not prepared for the hardness that meets me. It’s like the first time we’re meeting again, and he’s a blank sheet of professionalism. All hints of the Rowan I’ve gotten to know these past couple of days are gone, and that guts me more than being unable to kiss him.
“That was a mistake. It can’t happen again,” he says mechanically.
The words slice deep. I never realized that, despite being pressed as close together as two beings could be, the wall he’s built could make it feel like we’re separated by an entire ocean.
I don’t reply.
I can’t.
It’s not often I’m left speechless, and Rowan has successfully done it more than once. It’s another surprise from him, one that I’m not a fan of.
Probably seeing I’m not saying anything, Rowan carefully rolls us to our side and makes quick work of untangling the ropes from us. He’s so eager to get away from me that he’s shooting to his feet as soon as he frees himself.
“We should check to make sure you don’t have any injuries,” he says and offers me a hand.
I slap it away because pain is the last thing I’m feeling. I’m angry—hurt, too, yes—at him, at me, at the entire situation. None of this is his fault, but anger is the easiest emotion to process right now.
