Page 12

rowan

The moment we step through her front door, her blue eyes lock on mine with an intensity I haven’t seen before.

"Rowan," Cilla whispers against my mouth, and I'm lost.

Her lips are soft but demanding, and I can't help the groan that escapes me when her tongue slides against mine. My hands, which have been eager to touch her since our last date, finally get their chance. I run them down her sides, feeling the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips.

“I want you, Cilla. Is this okay?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.

"Yes," she breathes. "God, yes."

We stumble backward through her living room, bumping into furniture, neither of us willing to break the kiss long enough to watch where we're going. I hear the click of dog nails on the hardwood and glance down to see Birdie and Brody watching us with curious expressions, settling into their plush beds near the fireplace. For once, the inseparable dachshunds don't follow Cilla, as if they understand this moment is just for us.

"Your dogs are staring," I murmur against her neck.

Cilla laughs, the sound sending heat straight through me. "They won’t interrupt. It’s way past their bedtime."

Her hands tug at my shirt, and I help her pull it over my head. The cool air hits my chest, quickly replaced by the heat of her palms. I've built houses with these hands, but I've never felt so unsteady as I unbutton her blouse, revealing inch after inch of creamy skin and a lacy blue bra that matches her eyes.

"You're so beautiful," I tell her, meaning it more than any compliment I've ever given.

Cilla blushes. "Bedroom," she says, pointing down the hall.

I sweep her into my arms, her petite frame light against my chest, and she lets out a surprised squeak that turns into a giggle. "Show-off," she accuses, her eyes dark with desire.

"Construction has its benefits," I reply, carrying her down the hallway to her bedroom, where books are stacked on every surface and a large window overlooks the bay.

I crawl onto her bed, my body following hers down. Her auburn hair fans out across the pillows, and I take a moment just to look at her, to memorize this moment. I've wanted this—wanted her—since the first time I saw her, and I still can't quite believe she's letting me in.

Her fingers trace the lines of muscle on my stomach, and I struggle to keep my breathing steady as she moves down to the button of my jeans.

"Not fair," I murmur, leaning down to kiss her again. "You're still wearing too much."

She arches against me, a silent invitation I can't resist. I reach behind her, unhooking her bra with ease, and slide it down her arms. The sight of her bare breasts makes my mouth go dry. They're perfect—full and round with dusky pink nipples that harden under my gaze.

"You're staring," she whispers, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

"Can't help it." I lower my head, taking one nipple into my mouth, and her sharp intake of breath is all the encouragement I need. Her hands tangle in my hair, holding me against her as I lavish attention on first one breast, then the other.

Cilla's hips move restlessly beneath me, seeking friction. I slide my hand down her stomach to the waistband of her skirt, finding the zipper and tugging it down. She lifts her hips, helping me pull the fabric away, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lacy blue panties that match her discarded bra.

"Your turn," she says, pushing at my jeans.

I stand just long enough to shed them and my boxers before returning to her. The feel of her nearly naked body against mine sends electricity through every nerve ending. I kiss my way down her throat, between her breasts, across her stomach. Her skin tastes like rose water and something uniquely Cilla—something I already know I'll crave for the rest of my life.

My fingers hook into the sides of her panties, and I look up at her, seeking permission. Her blue eyes are dark with desire, her auburn hair wild against the pillows, and she nods.

"Please," she whispers.

I slide the lace down her legs, revealing all of her to me. She's exquisite—every inch of her. I lower myself between her thighs, pressing kisses to the inside of each one, working my way higher. When I finally taste her, her back arches off the bed, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"Oh my—god," she gasps, and I smile against her, thrilled by the soft moan that escapes her lips.

I take my time, learning what makes her breath catch and her fingers clench in my hair. Her thighs tremble against my shoulders as I circle my tongue around her clit, then suck gently. I slide one finger inside her, then two, curling them forward as I continue to use my mouth on her.

"Rowan," she moans, her voice desperate. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

I have no intention of stopping—not when she's writhing beneath me, not when the taste of her is driving me wild, not when every sound she makes pushes me closer to the edge myself.

Her hips rise to meet my mouth, her movements becoming more frantic as I feel her getting close. I hold her thighs, anchoring her to me as she starts to come undone.

“Fu... Rowan,” she gasps, and I almost laugh at her instinctive censoring of her profanity, even now. But then her body tenses, her back arching beautifully as she cries out, pulsing against my tongue and fingers.

I work her through it, gentling my touch as she comes down, trembling and breathless. When I finally lift my head, she's looking at me with wide, dazed eyes.

"Come here," she whispers, tugging weakly at my shoulders.

I move up her body, bracing myself above her, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. She reaches between us, wrapping her fingers around me, and it's my turn to groan.

Her fingers are gentle, and I have to close my eyes and count backward from ten to maintain my control. When I open them again, she's watching my face with a curious intensity that makes my heart stutter.

"What?" I ask softly.

"I wasn't planning on this," she admits. "When I moved here, I was... I told myself I was done with relationships."

I brush her hair back from her face. "Is that what this is? A relationship?"

She bites her lip, suddenly looking vulnerable despite our intimacy. "I don't know what this is yet. But I know I want to find out."

That's all I need to hear. I lower myself to Cilla, capturing her mouth in a kiss that tries to convey everything I'm feeling—desire, yes, but also something deeper, something that's been growing since I first saw her struggling with those moving boxes.

I position myself at her entrance, pausing to look into her eyes again. "Ready?"

She nods, wrapping her legs around my waist, and I push forward slowly, both of us gasping as I fill her. For a moment, I don't move, just savoring the sensation of being inside her, of being with her in this way I've imagined countless times.

"You feel amazing," I murmur against her neck.

Her fingers dig into my shoulders. "Move, Rowan. Please."

I withdraw almost completely before sliding back in, establishing a rhythm that makes her moan beneath me. Her hips rise to meet mine, her body a perfect counterpoint to my own. I've been with women before, but never like this—never where every touch, every thrust feels like coming home. Her nails scrape down my back, urging me on, and I can feel myself approaching the edge too quickly.

“Cilla,” I groan, trying to slow down, wanting this to last.

"It's okay," she whispers, her breath hot against my ear. "Let go. I've got you."

Those words—the simplicity and trust in them—push me over the edge. I bury my face in Cilla's neck as I come as her body tightens around mine, and I feel her following me, her second orgasm washing over her as she clings to me.

For several long moments, we lay tangled together, breathing hard, neither of us willing to break the connection. Finally, I roll to my side, keeping my beautiful girl close. Her hair is a mess, her lips swollen from my kisses, and I've never seen anything more beautiful.

"That was..." she starts, then laughs softly. "I don't even have words, and I'm supposed to be the academic."

I trace my finger along her collarbone. "I know what you mean." I pause, suddenly worried. "No regrets?"

Cilla turns to face me fully, her blue eyes serious. "No regrets," she says firmly. "Though I do have concerns about your ego. It was already huge before this."

I laugh, pulling her closer. "My ego is perfectly proportional to my skills, Professor Griffin."

"Is that so?" She raises an eyebrow, her hand trailing down my chest. I'll need more evidence before I can accept that hypothesis.

"I'm happy to provide as much evidence as you need," I tell her, feeling myself responding to her touch already. "I'm very dedicated to your research."

She smiles, the expression lighting up her whole face. "I've noticed that about you. Very thorough."

Moonlight spills across the bay outside her bedroom window, silvering the water. In the distance, I can just make out the lights of my own place down the shore. For years, I've looked across that water, building a life I thought was complete. With Cilla in my arms, I realize it was just the foundation.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest.

"How long I've wanted this," I admit. "Not just this—" I gesture between our naked bodies, "—but you. From the moment I saw you struggling to move boxes bigger than you, I knew you were for me.”

“Those were precious family heirlooms,” she protests. "And I would have managed fine if Birdie and Brody hadn't been underfoot."

"Sure you would have," I tease, remembering how she'd nearly toppled over when I'd first introduced myself. "Admit it—you needed me."

Her expression softens. "Maybe I did," she says quietly. "Maybe I still do."

“Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”