I grip the top of the booth with one hand and lean closer to guide my breast to his waiting mouth with the other. He sucks on my nipple and rolls his tongue across the piercing, his moan a vibration in my flesh as he pinches the other one to a firm peak.
I glide on his erection, filling myself with his length. I want to make this pleasure last. I want to savor every long stroke of his cock, every grind of my clit against his flesh as I take him deep, every touch of my piercings against sensitive nerves. But he drives me right to the edge with his kisses on my breasts and the filthy demands he makes every time he surfaces from my skin. That’s right, baby, take me deeper in that tight little cunt. You’re going to be dripping my cum down those pretty thighs all the way home.
My orgasm shatters my vision with a burst of stars as I press my eyes closed and scream. I break apart as Rowan thrusts up, hitting even deeper as he spills into me, his hands gripped tight to my hips as he holds me down on his pulsing cock. Our foreheads are pressed together, our breath shared, our gazes fused. When we finally come down from the euphoric fog, I smile and trace Rowan’s cheeks with my fingertips.
“I missed you too.”
Rowan sighs, and I realize this is the first time I’ve seen him truly relaxed since I got back. He lays a kiss to the tip of my nose. “Let’s go home and do this again. And again, and again, and again.” He guides my hips up until he slides free, his cum leaking from my entrance.
“Napkin?” I ask as I dart a glance down to my legs.
Rowan traces a line up my inner thigh. Two fingers gather the milky rivulet and slide up to my pussy, his eyes already dark with desire as he watches my reaction.
“Fuck no,” he rasps as he finger fucks the cum back into me with slow thrusts. I shudder and moan, my sensitive flesh already desperate for more. “I meant what I said. You’ll be walking home with that mess on your thighs, little bird.”
After a final, deep thrust and a roll of his thumb over my clit that has me gasping and clutching his shoulder, he withdraws his fingers and raises them to my lips to suck them clean. When he’s satisfied, he gently guides me to the end of the booth and pulls his clothes back into place before following.
We stand for a moment, hand in hand, looking at the space and the windows where thankfully no one has stopped to watch us in our sanctuary, the one that always seems to surround us when I’m alone with Rowan. I let my eyes travel over the space, and when my attention flows in his direction, I feel Rowan’s gaze pressing against my face like a gentle caress.
“I’m so happy you’re back, Blackbird,” he says as he pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms across my back.
I close my eyes. We shift in our embrace, moving together like two dark creatures intertwined, flowing with the current of the world around us.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper. “Just home with you.”
20
TOWER
ROWAN
I t feels like I’ve walked through hell the last two weeks to get to this exact moment—opening night of Butcher & Blackbird.
We’ve had the normal pre-launch growing pains. Issues with the POS system. Problems with suppliers. The usual things, but nothing major—just a lot of shit that adds up. But 3 In Coach has been another beast entirely. Equipment breakages. Electrical problems. Faulty appliances. It’s like an endless pain in my ass, when it should be running smoothly. I’ve tried to brush many of the issues off to stay focused, but the stress is still there, and there’s not even been time to let off any steam like the Butcher of Boston normally would. If I could just pick off an easy target like some shitbag drug dealer, I know I’d feel so much more at ease. There’s just no time.
But thank fuck, the one bright light is Sloane.
If she’s bothered by my long hours or my exhaustion and stress, she doesn’t let on. I know she’s worried about me, but there’s no irritation or demands for more attention and presence than I can give right now. In fact, she seems to be thriving, even though it’s hard for me to believe.
“I feel terrible, you coming all this way, upending your life and I’m barely even here,” I’d said as I stared through the dark toward the ceiling when we laid in bed two nights ago. But what I didn’t say was how worried I constantly feel that this isn’t going the way I envisioned at all. I’ve wanted Sloane for years, and now that she’s finally here, it gnaws at me that I might not be giving her what she needs. What if I’m just coming home every night to fuck enough stress out of my system that I can fall asleep but not providing anything tangible in return? Is that what I’m doing?