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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

HADLEY

I like Rowan home.

He’s been home for a little more than a week now, since they have a two-week break from games, and although he still has had some other obligations like practices and appearances, he’s been here a lot with Lucy and me.

I like the simplicity of the early mornings where one of us is fixing coffee while the other sits and gives Lucy her bottle. The quiet moments before the rest of the world is awake, when it’s just the two of us orbiting around one another. Sometimes we sit in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts, while the others we’re lost in conversation together, musing about the wonders of the world.

He offers me the sense of security and peace I was sure I would never find in another person. Too bad Rowan Taylor can never be mine.

He took over with Lucy this morning so I could go for a run and when I got back to the house, he was busy in the kitchen making breakfast with Lucy strapped to his chest. I allowed myself a few minutes to absorb the moment, to take in the sight of him as he hummed some tune while moving around the room with her.

Seeing him with her in the tender moments where he thinks no one is watching him has my heart feeling like it could explode. There’s something about watching a man with a baby that has a way of making your hormones kick into overdrive.

Who am I kidding? I’ve always been attracted to Rowan Taylor.

And in a way, in another life, it feels like all of this could have been real. And we would have been happy...

After breakfast, I disappeared upstairs to shower while Rowan kept Lucy with him. She’s been starting to stay up for longer periods of time and sleeping longer at night, which I think both of us are grateful for. Although, there’s a bittersweetness to it. It only means that she’s growing, which is great, but that also means my time here is growing shorter.

The clock has been ticking and there’s less than five weeks left until I have to move on.

I stand alone in the shower with my own thoughts, ignoring the pain inside my chest as I try to not focus on having to go. I can’t stay here any longer than we agreed to. The last thing I want to do is insert myself in someone’s life where I don’t belong. The hockey season will be coming to an end and Rowan will have more time to take care of Lucy himself.

He has a hearing in a little over a month, so his lawyer has diligently been working to make sure they have everything in order for him to fully gain custody. Everything will be tied up by the end of March and then I have no choice.

There will be no further need for me here.

The water in the shower has since grown cold and I force myself to turn the water off, wringing out my hair before stepping out into the cool air. I grab my towel from where it’s hanging, wrapping a microfiber one around my hair before drying my body.

It doesn’t take me as long in the bathroom as it did in the shower. In less than twenty minutes, my hair is semi dry from the blow-dryer and pulled back in a clip and I’m slipping into a pair of leggings and an oversized crewneck sweatshirt. The house is quiet as I step out into the hall, the only sound I hear is the white noise machine coming from Lucy’s room.

She must have gone down for her morning nap.

I walk over to her room, peeking in through the door. I see her little body lying in the center of the crib, sleeping peacefully. Rowan really got lucky with her. She’s rarely ever fussy and is typically a very happy and peaceful baby. She’s been tolerating tummy time, is able to roll over, and, unless she’s really tired, she can support her own head for the most part.

It’s been an amazing privilege to watch her grow and to see how much she has gotten bigger in the past two months alone. As much as I’ve enjoyed it, I think my favorite part of this experience has been watching Rowan grow. He was thrown into a situation he wasn’t expecting and he really stepped up. He’s become the best father Lucy could ever ask for.

When I finally make my way downstairs, I find the kitchen clean and orderly, but no Rowan. Anxiety wells in the pit of my stomach and I quickly walk around the rest of the house, looking for him, but finding him nowhere. I walk over to the glass doors that open up to the backyard and I look out at the shed situated in the back corner of the yard.

It’s hard to tell if there’s anyone inside, but Rowan has been spending time out there since he’s been home. I’ve made sure to keep my distance from the shed because I haven’t wanted to overstep or go into his safe place, but I have to know if he’s in there for my own peace of mind.

I slide my feet into a pair of shoes and slip out into the cool air. The sun is shining this morning and it’s warm against my skin, a contrast to the coldness around. It’s definitely been warmer the past few days than it has in months, but I should have grabbed a coat as an extra layer against the air.

The grass crunches beneath my feet as it’s still a little crisp from the early morning frost. I make my way across the yard, glancing back at the house for any signs of him inside as I reach for the handle of the shed door. I pause, knocking just for good measure, but when no one answers, I find myself turning the knob and letting myself inside.

It’s warm inside the shed and I close the door behind me, my eyes surveying the space and relief washing over me when I see Rowan on the opposite side. He’s wearing a pair of earbuds and he’s sitting at the pottery wheel, staring down at the mound of clay on top, almost as if he’s trying to figure out what he wants to do with it.

I watch him in silence, knowing he can’t hear me anyway because of the music that’s beating against his eardrums. He dips his hands into the bowl of water beside him, then slides them along the mound, moving it into more of a cylinder shape. My breath catches in my throat as I’m transfixed by his movements, watching the way his hands begin to mold the clay as he presses his foot on the pedal, causing the wheel to spin.

He’s skilled with his hands and his attention is laser-focused on the clay as he continues to move his hands upward, sliding his fingers into the center of the cylinder he created. The movement is sensual, sending a rush of warmth to the pit of my stomach as I watch him with a fervent burning inside my body.

He tilts his head to the side, turning his head a fraction of an inch when I see his movements falter. He moves just enough to see me over his shoulder and I’m frozen in place. I can’t help but feel like I’ve interrupted an intimate moment he was having by himself, although I might be the only one in this room who thinks anything about what he was doing was intimate.

Lifting his foot from the pedal, the wheel slows to a stop and he turns his body to look at me, wiping his clay-covered hand on his dirty pants before he plucks both AirPods from his ears. His eyes smolder as he stares at me, his gaze sweeping down the length of my body before resting on my eyes. “Come here.”

There isn’t a single coherent thought that goes through my mind. My feet move on instinct, closing the distance between us as I walk directly to him, stopping by his side. He pushes his feet against the floor, sliding his body back as he makes room on the bench in front of him.

“Grab an apron unless you want to get dirty.”

My mouth goes dry and my brain short-circuits. “I don’t mind getting dirty.”

“Good,” he says in a low tone, his voice hoarse. He reaches for me, his clay-covered hands grabbing my hips before he pulls me closer. I turn to face the other direction, throwing my leg over the bench as he lowers me down in front of him.

He’s so goddamn close, his warmth rolls off his body in waves, penetrating my back as he scoots closer. His chest and abdomen are solid as he leans against me, my body moving forward with his as he reaches around me. The veins are visible in his forearms and hands, his muscles taut in his arms as he grabs the cylinder he was working with and crushes it beneath his palms.

“What are you doing?” I ask him, my voice husky, almost sounding foreign as I watch him squish it back into a ball. He slides his hands back into the bowl of water, wetting the clay and my hands, before he slides his palms along the backs of my hands.

“Starting over,” he breathes against my ear, the sound of his voice vibrating against my spine. His body is just barely pressed against me and I revel in the way he feels with his arms along my own. He positions his head over my shoulder, his cheek light against my own as he moves my hands to the ball of clay. “Press your foot on the pedal.”

Following his instruction, I find the piece of metal on the floor and slowly begin to push it down, the sound of the wheel spinning filling the room as I feel the cool clay beginning to move. Rowan keeps his palms plastered to the backs of my hands, his fingers spreading mine as he slips his own into the spaces between them.

Neither of us speak a word and my eyelids fall shut as I find myself consumed by him. He invades every single one of my senses, seeping into the marrow of my bones. His solid arms melt into me, his skilled hands moving ours together to mold the clay as it spins beneath our palms and fingers.

The insides of his thighs press against me, the stubble on his cheek rough against my own, yet it’s a feeling I find myself craving. The warmth of his breath against my neck. The smell of his cologne and body wash. He’s everywhere and I lose myself in the moment, letting my senses absorb and memorize the way he feels.

His hands press mine into the clay, movements slow as we stroke it, working from the bottom to the top, creating the shape of the vase. As we reach the top, his fingers slide along my knuckles, guiding me on where to put them. “You have to push them deep inside, but you don’t want to go too fast,” he murmurs against my ear, the sound vibrating throughout my body as warmth builds in the pit of my stomach. “Gentle and slow.”

I follow his lead, letting him guide my fingertips into the clay as we begin to mold and shape the inside. Our fingers move together, in and out, as we stroke the inside of the vase, smoothing out the surface with tender yet firm touches.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, his lips brushing against my ear. “Just like that, baby.” A shiver travels down my spine as he speaks, my breath catching in my throat. “Do you want to take over?”

I shake my head. “No,” I murmur, not sure if he can hear me. My heart pounds erratically in my chest, the warmth spreading between my legs. He shifts his hips behind me, his cock rock hard as it brushes against my lower back through his pants. Holy shit. I’m momentarily surprised by his girth and him being hard, but I’m equally turned on. I want him to do more than throw clay with me. “I want you to do it with me.”

“Mmm,” he half moans, the sound sending a shock of electricity to my core. Moving together, our fingers work to finish the shape of the inside before he guides my hands back along the outside, smoothing the exterior of the vase. “You’re doing so well.”

Holy fucking shit.

He moves my hands back down to the base of the vase, moving upward once more in a slow fashion. “You can ease your foot off the pedal.” His voice is rough and I can still feel his hardness pressing into my lower back. “We’re finished.”

The apex between my thighs tingles and I slowly lift my foot from the pedal, the wheel coming to a stop as we still have our hands wrapped around the base. Neither of us move at first and I’m acutely aware of the close proximity of his chest against my back. My brain registers every single part of my body he’s touching.

“You did great for your first time,” he breathes, his lips brushing against my ear again. He slowly moves his hands away from me and a rush of cool air drifts across the backs of my hands, replacing his warmth. “I have to move the vase and let it dry before we can do anything else with it.” He rises to his feet, not even bothering to hide his erection. I tilt my head up to look at him, his eyes smoldering as they collide with my gaze.

“It’s too wet.” He pauses, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and something in my stomach flutters. “To put it into the kiln,” he adds, his voice rough as he turns his back to me, walking over to the shelf where a few other pieces are drying. He sets it down, slowly turning back around to face me, propping his arm against the side of the shelf as he leans against it.

His gaze finds me across the small space. I’m completely transfixed, my body frozen in place as I stare at him from where I’m still sitting on the bench. My hands are covered in clay, but I know I can wash that off.

It’s him, the imprint he’s left on me, that I know I’ll never be able to wash away.

“I have to head out,” he says slowly, desire hanging in his tone as the electrical current refuses to waver between us. I glance at the time on the clock hanging on the wall, remembering he had a meeting today that he’s already late for.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

He pushes away from the shelving unit, closing the distance between us as he steps in front of me. I tilt my head back to look at him and he reaches for me, leaving a streak of clay along the side of my temple as he brushes a lock of hair away from my face.

“We’ll just have to finish this later.”

My breath catches in my throat and he pulls away, retreating as he turns around and slips out of the shed. I stare after him, long after he’s gone, attempting to get myself under control before I have to head back into the house.

I need a cold shower after whatever the hell that was...

Or some alone time with my vibrator.