Page 66 of Hexed & Hazy

Right. That. It’s freezing in the house, with all the sisters out and about—and now the place is ice cold. Damn.

Rowan’s fingers slip from mine, and she wanders to the living room. She kneels by the fireplace and does a task I’ve seen her do a million times before: stacking wood and lighting it with her magic.

It’s different now; every movement is sensual. Her gaze flickers to mine as I stand, uselessly, in the middle of a living room I know as well as I know my own.

“What… about Dave?” I finally dare to ask, breaking the silence.

Yes, I want to know if she’s still going to see Dave, but it’s more than that. I don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have, and there’s still a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that they would be better together. That insecurity, as big as it may be, is one I try to swallow.

“Dave and I are just friends,” she says. “I told him that tonight… or rather, he seemed to assume it. I had hoped there could be something, but I don’t love him. Perhaps I could have if we’d given it a chance, but I’m not sure that I can open my heart to someone else right now.”

There’s a silent admission, one between the words, hidden in plain sight.

Does that mean Rowan loves me?

I’m not brave enough to face the question head-on.

“He knows? About… us?”

I still can’t believe there’s an us for him to know about. It all feels so surreal.

Rowan nods, looking up at me from beneath her dark eyelashes.

Frozen. Even when the fire heats the living space, I’m frigid. I haven’t done enough for her yet, and I don’t know what else to do.

She beckons me with the curl of a finger, looking at me with a blaze I’ve never seen. How did I miss that for so long? I drop to my knees without thinking. The hardwood digs into my knees, but I crawl to her, and each movement is worth it as she spreads her legs. Her dress rides up around her thighs, making the perfect spot for me to crawl into.

When we kiss again, it’s reckless. Teeth and tongue. She moans softly, so unlike anything I’ve ever heard from calm and controlled Rowan, and my pants are tight. Uncomfortably. This isn’t what I thought would happen tonight. I never imagined that she would hold my hair tightly, wrap her thighs around me, and pull me in.

I never thought I would grind against her, letting her feel that I want her, to know the truth I’ve been hiding even from myself.

But I can’t stop. I don’t want to, and judging by her fingers messing with the buttons of my shirt, I don’t think she wants that either.

“Please.”

That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear. I don’t know what she’s begging for, but I know I’ll give it to her.

“Yes. Yes.” I sit up, settle onto my knees, and rip off my suit jacket. My shirt follows next, undoing the buttons so swiftly that one pops off as I pull it off my shoulders.

My cock is harder when Rowan’s eyes rake over me, drinking me in. Everything about her is as slow, analytical, and calculated as ever. But she’s a beautiful mess. Her hair has almost entirely fallen out, despite Aspen’s handiwork and glamour magic that should keep it in place. Her dress hangs off one side, nearly revealing her round breasts.

She lies down on the floor, sprawling out, and it’s my turn to beg.

“Take it off. I need to see you, Ro.”

The flush on her face isn’t just from the fire; it can’t be. It spreads all the way down her chest as she sits up, turns around, and looks at me over her shoulder. “Unzip?”

She doesn’t have to ask me again. I waste no time pushing the fabric down her shoulders, my hands moving over soft, warm skin, pressing into the rolls on her back. There’s nothing more sensual than the way she feels under me. Smooth. Plush.

“We should go upstairs,” she says.

She’s right. Her sisters will be home soon, and… I don’t want to wait another minute. The last thing we need right now is an interruption. I stand and scoop her into my arms, carrying her up the stairs as she lets out a giggle—so different from her usual laughter.

I’m obsessed with the sound. Can I really make her sound like that?

“I’m too heavy!” she says, tapping my chest. “Put me down.”

“Oh, please.” I scoff. “I was built to throw you around.”