“Make love to me,” I whisper against his mouth, but the words come out as a desperate moan.
“Gladly,” he answers, before taking my lips with his. The kiss is smooth, soft, careful, gentle, and I can feel the love pouring off him in waves, speaking with his body since he can’t talk right now. He cups my face with his hands to control the kiss as I dry hump his straining cock.
Something about it seems so simple. It feels so good because it ramps up the need and desire that much more. Our breaths mingle, and we both let out harsh exhales when the grinding starts to get out of control.
My fingers grip the hair curling around the back of his neck. And he makes sure he has a tight hold on me as he brings us to the plush, carpeted floor in front of the fireplace. He thrusts forward, hitting my swollen clit with every thrust.
“Why does this feel so good? I haven’t done this since I was a teenager,” he jokes, but it ends on a long groan when I tilt my hips down, hoping he understands I do not want to talk about his past lovers.
He steals my mouth again in a fevered kiss. He is thrusting against me hard now, and my bare back slides against the carpet, burning the sensitive flesh between my shoulder blades, but I don’t care. I want all the pain, all the marks, all the burns, and bites, and everything else that comes with being wrapped up in Rowan’s embrace.
“Your skin,” he whispers against it. “So soft, so flawless.” He leaves a kiss on my shoulder before moving to the other side and lavishing the curve, so it doesn’t feel left out. He licks across my collarbone. “We should get married,” he says, the words a caress across my breasts.
“What?” I don’t think I heard him correctly. There is no way he said what I thought he said. The blood rushing through my ears must be impairing my hearing.
He kisses a pathway down the middle of my stomach, dipping his tongue in my navel. “Let’s get married. Why not? The house has too many memories. We can do it. Then we don’t have to feel pressure about marrying anyone else.”
It makes sense.
“I’ll marry you whenever you want, Rowan,” I say, meaning it, too.
He smiles as he hovers over me, brushing his finger down my nose. His plump, red lips fall to mine, and his fingers dance up my side, tickling the curve of my breast. “I like that you don’t wear underwear under your clothes. It’s so much easier to have you whenever I want.”
“I don’t wear them because of that,” I tease. I usually do wear underwear, but I’m not going to tell him that. I haven’t been wearing any, in hopes he will want me and take me. Just like he is now.
“I’m going to pretend it is,” he growls, running his index finger down my sternum.
“You’re over dressed,” I stutter as he cups my pussy.
“Always so wet,” he grins, before he rips his shirt in half. Buttons fly everywhere and bounce against the glass of the fireplace.
My hands roam over the plains of his chest. The perfect canvas. His hair is soft against my palms as I migrate down his tapered waist. His abs are morsels that I want nothing more than to taste them. When I get to his belt and undo it, the heavy metal clanks against the floor.
Rowan sits up, flexing his muscles, and the thick ropes that hold his body together show, making my mouth water. He unbuttons and unzips his pants, and his bush shows right away along with the thick base of his cock.
No underwear.
“I’m not the only one,” I wink, teasing my fingers along the edge of the pants, and where his shaft shows.
His body trembles and goosebumps rise on his skin. He is a godlike Adonis, and I’m his for the taking.
His Everly.
I want him to own me. And I will own him. For the rest of my life. Until the end of time and space.
Chapter 23 Rowan
Maybe it’s just the alcohol running through my veins that’s giving me this wild abandon and carelessness of the repercussions of what will happen if she and I get married. I hope it isn’t. I want us to move forward. I want us. The world feels so good and right with her beneath me, staring at me with want and love.
I shuck off my pants, kicking them who knows where. I don’t really care. I want to make love to her all night, slow and steady. I want to pour all of my emotions into her. These past few days have done nothing but remind me how much she and I need to be together.
We have a lot to work through, but I know we can do it. We are here for a reason. And yes, the reason is ugly and painful because our parents died, but we were able to be there for each other, and that broke the barrier of despair and longing, and we fell into each other again.
When I’m naked, I curl over her again. My arms cage her head in as I lean on my elbows and situate myself between the apex of her thighs.
“Hey,” I say, wanting to slap myself from how lame it sounds.
“Hi,” she smiles.
That beautiful smile that makes the small dent in her chin a little more prominent. My eyes roam her face, and my fingers play with the ends of her hair, loving how soft they are, so smooth. Her long, lashes flutter as I run my nose down her cheek and lick her earlobe, blowing cold air on it.
Her
