But this morning, waking up with the sun on my skin and the scent of him still wrapped around me, I can’t help but wonder if we’re both going to keep holding back for each other’s sake. If last night taught me anything, it’s that I don’t want slow and cautious. I want Rowan—hungry, messy, andmine. All the way.
The blankets rustle, and his breathing changes as he wakes. The mattress dips as he shifts, his movements careful, like he’s trying not to disturb me. I keep my eyes closed, curious about what he does when he thinks I’m not watching.
His fingers brush my hair from my face with such tenderness it makes my heart ache. Then the blankets shift, and cool air sweeps against my skin as he pulls the sheet back.
“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice rough with sleep and something a lot likeregret.
I open my eyes to find him staring at my hips, his expression stricken. Following his gaze, I see what’s caught his attention—distinct marks on each hip, already darkening into bruises where his fingers dug in last night.
“Rowan?”
His head snaps up, guilt washing over his features. “I’m sorry,” he says immediately, fingers hovering just above the bruises without touching them. “You were a virgin, Violet. It shouldn’t have gotten like that.”
I reach down and wrap my fingers around his wrist, guiding his hand to my skin, right over the bruises. He flinches, but I don’t let go.
“Don’t apologize.” I press his hand more firmly against my hip. “I like it,” I whisper, heat rising to my cheeks.
His brow furrows. “Violet?—”
“No, listen to me.” I sit up, letting the rest of the sheet fall away. “Last night was perfect. Not because you were gentle, which you were when I needed it, but because you were you.” I guide his fingers to trace the bruise again. “These don’t hurt. They remind me that you wanted me.”
Heat, disbelief, and unmistakable hunger flash in his eyes. “That’s not an excuse for leaving marks on you like that.”
“I’m not giving you an excuse,” I cut in, firm and sure. “I’m giving youpermission.”
A muscle tenses in his jaw, and his gaze drops to where our fingers rest on my hip. “I’m fucked up, Violet. I like my marks on your skin, but I don’t like the idea that I lost control.”
“I don’t want you holding back for me,” I say softly. “I want to know the things you like, the things you want. Maybe I’ll like them, too.” My voice lowers to a whisper. “Isn’t that the point? That we get to learn each other?”
The storm in his eyes settles into something calmer.
“You’re not going to break me, Rowan. The only thing that would hurt is if you kept hiding pieces of yourself from me.”
Rowan’s jaw works harder as he studies me, his eyes darkening into that fierce blue that makes my stomach flip. He shifts, sitting up fully against the headboard, his bare chest rising with a deep breath.
“You think you know what you’re asking for,” he says, voice rough. “But you don’t.”
I tilt my chin up. “Then tell me.”
He watches me for a long moment, like he’s trying to decide if I can handle whatever truth he’s holding back. Finally, he speaks, each word deliberate and heavy.
“I like it rough, Violet. I don’t just mean a little hair pulling or those bruises on your hips.” His eyes never leave mine. “I mean I want to bend you over and take you until you’re begging. I want to hear you choke on my name while I fuck you from behind with my hand around your throat.”
For a heartbeat, the room goes very still. The part of me that’s always so careful just…pauses. Listens.
“I want to leave marks all over that perfect skin,” he continues, his voice dropping lower. “I want to tie you up, make you come until you’re begging for mercy.”
Heat floods through me, pooling low in my stomach. His words slide under my skin, waking something in me I didn’t know I was starving for.
“I’ve spent years being the guy who takes instead of gives. The one who hurts instead of heals.” His hand moves to my face, cupping my cheek with unexpected gentleness. “But with you, Violet… With you, I want it all. The rough and the tender. I want to wreck you and then put you back together. I’ve never wanted the soft moments before. Never wanted to hold someone after, or wake up next to them, or just…be still together.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “But with you, I want that.”
Good lord.
That’s the only coherent thought I can manage, which seems inadequate.
I’ve spent so long being cautious and careful with my heart. Careful with my body. Now I know I want to be wanted fiercely. I’ve wanted to bekept.
I want someone who can meet me in the dark and then sit with me in the morning light. Someone who will wreck me and cherish me after.
