Page 115 of Stolen Harmony

I stopped in the hall, catching him by the wrist, and pulled him in for a kiss—slow, deep, possessive. I wanted him to feel it, wanted to remind him he was mine in a way the others never could touch. His mouth opened under mine, his arms sliding around my neck, the taste of him—sweat, salt, the faint tang of Tom and David—lighting me up from the inside out.

We staggered into the bathroom, barely breaking the kiss, my hands roaming down his back, cupping his ass, thumbs brushing over the places where David’s hands had pressed him open. I spun him gently, pressing his chest to the cool tile, mybody covering his from behind. His breath fogged the glass, and he arched back into me, hungry for more.

“Stay right there,” I murmured, voice rough with promise.

I popped the cap on the lube, slicking my cock and my fingers, then let my hand drift lower, spreading the mess between his cheeks. David’s release leaked from him, and I used it shamelessly, mixing it with the lube, rubbing slow, filthy circles around his hole. Rowan moaned, hips rolling, need sharpening his every breath.

“That’s it,” I whispered, pressing kisses along his neck and shoulder. “You take everything so well. Still hungry for more?”

He nodded, pressing his cheek to the wall, voice gone soft and pleading. “Want you. Need to feel you—just you, Elias. Please.”

That was all I needed. I lined myself up, sliding in slow, feeling the tight heat grip me, the lube and the remnants of David making the glide easy, slick, perfect. Rowan gasped, hands splaying against the tile, his whole body shuddering as I buried myself to the hilt.

I let him feel every inch. His pulse fluttered beneath my lips, the trust in his body making me ache with the want to take care of him.

I started to move, rolling my hips in deep, measured thrusts. Each slide was slow and deliberate, designed to remind him he was wanted, worshipped, claimed. My hands mapped every inch of his skin, fingers tracing over bruises, scars, the curve of his ribs and spine.

Rowan arched back into me, meeting every thrust, his voice gone breathless, desperate. “More. Elias—harder, please. Want to feel you tomorrow.”

I bit his shoulder, not enough to mark, but enough to ground him. “You’ll feel me for days,” I promised, and drove into him harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the steam-fogged room. My chest pressed to his back, my arms curling around his waist, I fucked him with everything I had left.

He reached back, grabbing at my thigh, trying to pull me deeper. His head fell back on my shoulder, lips parted, breath catching on every thrust.

I knew I was close—too close, with the way he squeezed around me, the heat and mess and the scent of us everywhere. I reached around, stroking his cock, coaxing him back to hardness even as he whimpered from oversensitivity.

“I’m gonna fill you,” I whispered, my voice fraying at the edges. “Take it. Let me mark you, Rowan.”

He nodded, grinding back against me, his own hand joining mine. “Want it. Want all of you. Please—don’t stop?—”

I bit down on his shoulder, groaning as I slammed into him, the pleasure crashing over me like a wave. I came hard, spilling inside him, hips stuttering as I pressed him to the wall, our bodies shaking together.

For a long moment, we stayed like that. When my breath finally steadied, I pressed a string of kisses along his neck and jaw, holding him close.

“Stay with me,” I whispered. “Let’s get clean. Let me take care of you.”

He nodded, turning to wrap his arms around my neck, mouth finding mine in a kiss that was soft and slow and grateful.

We stepped into the shower, the water washing away the sweat and salt and every mark the night had left behind—except the ones I’d made sure would last.

And under that steady stream, I held him close, reminding him with every touch that he was safe, wanted, and never alone.

Chapter 22

Ultimatum

Elias

The first thing I noticed was warmth. Not just the comfortable heat of shared blankets, but the specific warmth that came from another person's body pressed against mine, breathing slow and steady in sleep.

Rowan lay on his side facing me, dark hair falling across his forehead, one hand tucked under his cheek like a child. In sleep, all the careful guards he carried during the day had fallen away, leaving behind something softer, younger, more vulnerable than he ever allowed himself to be when awake.

I watched him for a moment, memorizing the peaceful expression, the way his lips parted slightly with each breath. Three weeks of careful navigation had led to this—sharing a bed not out of desperation or need, but because we'd both finally admitted we didn't want to sleep alone anymore.

His eyes fluttered open, catching me watching him. Instead of the wariness I might have expected, his mouth curved into a sleepy smile.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” I said back, and before I could overthink it, I leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.