Hunger sears through his lips as they move against mine, and his grip on my cheek and the soft press of his body against mine belie his outward calm. His tongue swipes across my lower lip, asking for more, and I oblige, opening wide for him. When his tongue meets mine, I groan against his mouth and grip him tighter.
Achingly incomplete until this moment, I get lost in our fervent passion, in his heavy breaths, in the low and sensual groans floating past our mouths.
Kissing this man is everything I hoped it would be.
Ardent.
Needy.
Consuming.
Overpowering.
World changing.
Another flash of lighting illuminates the room, but this time the thunder takes seconds longer to boom, heralding the storm’s retreat.
His kisses slow, his grip loosens, and with one final press to my mouth, he pulls away and rests his forehead on mine.
“Hell,” he mumbles.
“Yeah . . . agreed.”
His eyes connect with mine, and a lopsided smile tugs on his lips. “I think you’re trouble.”
“I think you might be right.”
Picking me up again, he lowers me to the ground and says, “Let’s head to bed.” He takes my hand in his and guides me to his bedroom. I slip into bed, and he lies down on the other side, flat on his back. He sticks one hand behind his head and wraps the other around me, pulling me in close to his side.
I settle into him, and as my hand travels to his chest, the tension that had laced his muscles is gone—he’s relaxed.
The storm quiets outside, and Rowan does too, his breathing evening out. He’s drifting off to sleep, but I’m buzzing. Desire pumps through me, need consumes me, and before I can stop myself, I allow my hand to roam his bare torso, lightly dragging my fingers over his abs, taking in every perfect indent, every curve. His stomach is carved as if from granite, and it’s such a huge turn-on that I find the ache between my legs increasing with every swipe.
I need to stop.
Right now.
But instead, my hand travels down to the waistband of his boxer briefs. I glide my fingertips over the elastic, wondering what he’d do if I just moved my hand a little farther.
What would I find?
Would he be hard?
He hasn’t shifted or moved since I started touching him.
His breathing hasn’t altered.
What would happen if I just . . . slowly . . . moved . . .
His hand that’s wrapped around me tugs at my shirt, exposing my skin as his large palm slowly grips my rear end.
Oh . . . dear . . . God.
I bite my bottom lip as my arousal spikes.
I don’t move.
My breath is held captive.
My pulse feels like a jackhammer in my throat.
And then he glides over my backside, feeling, exploring, his palm rough and calloused, making the pass of his hand that much more heady . . . luxurious.
Taking a deep breath, I lower my hand an inch, and my fingertips connect with his thick girth. My eyes nearly roll to the back of my head, and for the first time since I started my exploration, I feel his breathing hitch and grow shallow. Quickly in, quickly out.
His reaction grants me more courage as I cover his erection with my hand.
Big.
He’s so big.
I wouldn’t expect anything less from such a mammoth of a man, but it’s still a little shocking and intimidating.
My hand fully grips his girth, and he sucks in a sharp breath as his hips jut forward.
I need more. I want to feel him without a barrier. So without giving it a second thought, I slip my hand under his briefs and circle his entirety in my palm. A contradiction of soft, velvet skin and stone, he feels amazing.
“Fuck,” he grumbles softly as I start to ever so slowly pump up and down.
I drag my hand to the tip and pass my thumb over the head a few times. His grip on my ass tightens, and his legs spread. I take that as my cue.
He wants more.
I want more.
So much more.
I sit up and push the covers down, my body buzzing with anticipation. I grip the waistband of his briefs and drag them down his legs, discarding them on the floor. In the dim light, I take in the gloriously delicious outline of his cock jutting up against his stomach. I shift my hair to the side so it’s out of my way but so he can still see my face as I lower myself, lifting his shaft and bringing it to my lips.
I start at the tip and slowly suck him into my mouth.
“Jesus,” he mumbles with a sigh, his hand finding the hem of my shirt again, his fingers gliding up and under the fabric. The connection brings a level of intimacy to what I’m doing, a touch I never realized I needed.
Slowly, I lower my mouth around him while my other hand grips his base tightly. With every descent, I spend a few seconds sucking hard, enough time to get him breathing harder and harder, until I open all the way and take him to the back of my throat.