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“Don’t.” My voice comes out rougher than I intended. “If you keep kissing me like that, I’m going to completely lose my mind.”

Heat flashes across his face. Which, apparently, only makes me harder.

I yank his shirt over his head and fling it somewhere across the room before his hands find mine too, dragging my shirt over my head with a level of urgency that hits me right in the chest.

His eyes drift over me afterward, lingering a second too long across my stomach, my chest, the stupid little mole near my ribs, and Light, the way he looks at me might actually kill me.

I get distracted watching him, only realizing after a few seconds that his fingers are moving hesitantly over me, exploring instead of touching with any real confidence. The innocence of it drives me fucking insane. I keep forgetting I’m Rowan’s first guy. Technically his first anything.

Fuck, I love how focused he looks, brows pulled together, lips parted, shallow breaths slipping out while I can feel his growing hardness against my thigh.

“You like looking,” I murmur with a grin, flexing once just to watch his eyes follow the movement.

Rowan exhales sharply through his nose before looking back up at me. “You’re showing off.”

“Guilty as charged.”

His fingers pause near the button of my jeans, lingering there before his eyes flick back to mine again. “You do this on purpose.”

“Maybe.” I cock my head. “Want me to stop?”

Rowan huffs under his breath, but he doesn’t pull away. He usually hides everything so well. I’ve seen him in class, sitting behind the Noctis for hours without giving anything away. His face is usually a mask carved into place. Controlled the way he plays the Noctis, every movement measured, every feeling hidden somewhere beneath the music.

Which is exactly why moments like this destroy me.

Because right now, Rowan isn’t hiding anything.

I can see every reaction. Every flicker of uncertainty. Every flash of want. Every shallow breath he’s trying not to let me hear. And Light, I never get tired of being the one who pulls those things out of him.

Maybe that’s the part I like most. The fact that Rowan gives almost nothing away to anyone else, but he gives it to me.

His annoyance. His temper. His jealousy. His want. I get all of it.

I want all of it.

“Smug,” Rowan mutters.

A laugh slips out of me. “You noticed?”

His eyes narrow. “Kind of hard to miss.”

The satisfaction that shoots through me is probably unhealthy, and I honestly don’t care.

As if realizing exactly what he’s admitted, Rowan rolls his eyes and reaches for the hem of my pants.

I let him. “What are you doing?”

“Getting rid of the problem.”

“You’re a bold one when you want to be, aren’t you?”

“Shut up, Ciaran.”

I obey for approximately half a second. Then we’re both kicking our pants and boxers onto the floor. I get an arm under him and haul us both onto the bed.

We’re chest to chest, fully naked, nothing between us but the silk sheet I’ll be mourning later. His chest thuds against mine, and heat coils low in my stomach at the feeling of his erection rubbing against my thigh. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sensation of his warm flesh pressed against mine. Or the knowledge that he wants me as much as I want him.

I cup him, and his low, rough voice brushes close to my mouth. “I like it when you do that.”