Текст книги "Wicked Is the Reaper"

Автор книги: Nisha J. Tuli

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 7 страниц)

Chapter Thirteen

We met in a fevered rush, Wicked’s mouth devouring me. His moan sparked through every one of my nerves as he crushed me to the wall, his hips thrusting into mine. There was no doubt he was ready for anything. His hands slid up the backs of my thighs before he lifted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist.

I drove my hips against the rigid length of his cock, seeking the relief of more friction. His tongue plunged into my mouth while his hands roamed along my ribs and skated up the sides of my breasts, his thumbs sweeping over their curves. While he kissed me harder, my hands slid into his thick hair. It was silky and luxurious, and he made a helpless sound in his throat when I scratched my nails along his scalp.

A moment later, he pulled me from the wall and, with his large hands gripping my ass, he carried me across the room and dropped me on the bed. He wasted no time collapsing on top of me, our mouths parting only for a breath before he kissed me again. It was frantic and wild, the sounds of our fevered groans filling the air.

I should probably put a stop to this.

But as his weight stretched over me, and he swirled his hips again, I was finding it hard to care about any future repercussions. There was only this moment, and this was a kiss I’d been waiting for. It was nothing like Ellis’s kisses. It was like comparing a light breeze that tickled your skin to a hurricane that ripped through you and shattered your bones.

I wasn’t entirely inexperienced—Ellis and I had succumbed to curiosity, hormones, and the security of knowing we’d be sharing our bed for the rest of our days, but that had been quiet and sweet and this was a chord wrenched from a taut string. This was raw animal energy.

“Rowan,” Wicked said, his mouth dragging down my throat as he pressed hot, wet kisses over my collarbone. His warm palm slid under my tunic, skating across my stomach, his fingers curling into the waistband of my leggings.

My hands ran up his back, my fingers digging into the bunch and flex of all those miles of glorious muscle. I yanked on the fabric of his tunic, tugging it up. He pulled it off and then went for the hem of mine before I raised my arms so he could pull it up over my head.

After he tossed it away, he sat back on his knees, staring down at me with that hungry, predatory gleam that did strange things to my insides. It was a look that had once frightened me, but now it did things that scared me in entirely different ways. A second later, he dropped on top of me again, sucking on my bottom lip, his kiss deep and blazing.

“I want to touch you,” he said, his voice ragged. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about making you come on my fingers.” He pulled up, searching my face, asking for permission.

Grabbing his head, I pulled him down to my mouth. “Yes, gods, yes,” I said. If he didn’t follow through on that request, I might implode into an unrequited heap of tissue and organs. At that, his kiss grew even more hungry, his tongue thrusting into my mouth as if in mimicry of how he wanted to thrust another body part into me soon.

He squeezed my breast, kneading and pinching the tip, curving my back into an arch with a gasp. His mouth closed over my nipple as he flicked his tongue and sucked. Then he bit me hard enough to summon a cry that straddled the wobbling line between ecstasy and pain.

His fingers burned a trail down my stomach, his hand sliding between my legs and cupping me. I moved my hips against his palm, craving more pressure. With his other hand, he reached for the buttons on my leggings and flicked them open.

In recompense, I reached for his waistband, tugging on the laces like he was a gift to be unwrapped and appreciated for all its highlights. “Oh, gods. Wicked,” I groaned as he slid his hand into my pants.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, Princess,” he said, his voice rumbling in appreciation. His finger slipped through my core, pressing my clit and sending my hips off the bed. I continued pulling open his laces and then wrapped the searing heat of his cock in my hand. His moan vibrated through me as I pumped my fist along his thick length.

We continued touching each other, his caresses driving me to the brink of madness. He slipped a thick finger inside of me, and I cried out as he thrust it in and out, adding a second finger and using his thumb to circle my most sensitive spot. I whimpered with helplessness, and he made an indistinct sound of satisfaction in his throat as he continued to pump and thrust, my hips swirling with the movement.

At the same time, I stroked him over and over, gripping him as his cock grew harder. His breath came out in shredded gasps.

“Tighter,” he growled. “Tighter, Rowan.” I did as he asked, and he moaned, his eyelids fluttering. “Fuck, yes. That’s perfect.” I gripped him hard, his hips also thrusting against me. We were a tangle of limbs, arms and hands and legs, hips gyrating and groans echoing into the quiet winter evening.

Our gazes bolted to each other, our cries grew more desperate and fevered. His dark eyes were a mix of emotions. Fury and longing. Vengeance and lust. I wanted to know every thought running through his head.

As he continued touching me, my release spiraled tighter and tighter. Sensing it, he moved faster, pressing down on my clit as I broke apart and screamed, exploding on his hand. His hips were pumping harder and faster in my fist, his movements becoming erratic. I felt him thicken and then he moaned before he released in a hot, thick spurt.

Both breathless, we lay next to each other, my hand still around his cock and his fingers still inside me, our gazes locked as our heartbeats returned slowly to normal.

Eventually, I released my hold, and he did the same, pulling out his fingers and leaving me feeling strangely empty. His eyes didn’t move from mine while he put them in his mouth and licked them clean.

The corner of my mouth hooked up with a mischievous smile. My mother would have had a fit if she knew what I’d just done. And with a rogue Fae, everyone called the Reaper, no less. Who was he?

Wicked rolled off the bed and found a cloth, cleaning himself up before coming over to wipe off my hand.

He then sat down on the edge of the bed, his head buried in his palms, and I scooted in next to him.

“So,” I said. “That was...”

He looked up at me, his expression serious. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

I rolled my eyes. “In case you didn’t notice, I was there, too.”

“Fine. We shouldn’t have done that.”

I hated he was saying this, even if I knew he was probably right. “Because you plan to kill me?” I asked, sort of joking, but not really. “I knew that when I decided I was okay with doing this, so you know...”

He scowled as though I were the one to blame for everything and got up, storming over to the kitchen to make dinner. He said nothing while he worked, slamming the pots and pans and dishes. I kept my mouth shut as I lay on my stomach and admired the muscles in his back and arms, since he hadn’t bothered to put his shirt back on.

Soon, the smells of food filled the air, and I slid over to sit at the table. Placing my elbows on the surface and my face in my hands, I continued watching him, just enjoying the view. Gods, he was beautiful.

He turned around to glower at me.

“Why are you so mad?” I asked.

“I’m not.” He turned back to resume tending to the frying pan on the stove.

“Could’ve fooled me.” His response was more silence as he finished cooking and then put the food on the table, dropping into the seat across from me. He picked up a piece of bread and tore into it furiously, his deep green eyes blazing, before he said, “Tomorrow, I’m taking you home.”

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Chapter Fourteen

“What?” I asked, my fork pausing in mid-air. “You are? Why?”

“Because,” he said, sawing at his steak like it had personally wronged him.

“No. That isn’t good enough.” I held up my hand to count off his transgressions. “You dragged me out here. Stole me from my intended fiancé and my crown. Left me nearly to die in the forest. Then built me a fucking cage to use me as bait. You don’t get to just decide I’m going home without telling me why. I deserve answers, and I’m not leaving until I get them.”

His jaw ticked while he stared at me, his knife and fork gripped in his hands like he wanted to use them to crucify a bear.

“Is this because of what we just did?” I asked, wondering why he suddenly wanted to get rid of me. “Did you not...enjoy it?”

He let out a sound of frustration, dropping his utensils with a clatter and pushing himself up from the table. “Of course I enjoyed it,” he said, practically seething. “It was the most alive I’ve felt in centuries.” I frowned at that statement, noting the way his voice dropped at the end. Like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

He walked over to the bed and found his tunic, pulling it over his head with furious movements. When he was done, he stalked back over to the kitchen and opened a cupboard, pulling out a glass decanter full of amber liquid. He poured himself a generous amount and tossed it back, finishing most of it in one gulp.

“If you’re pouring that, I’ll have some too,” I said. With the glass in his hand, he studied me with such a conflicted sense of emotion, I felt like I was being picked apart stitch by stitch. He put his glass down and then found a second, dispensing a generous portion.

Our fingers brushed as he handed it to me, the sensation winding through my limbs and straight to my toes. After what we’d just done, this innocuous touch shouldn’t have made the very marrow of my bones ache. But the way he looked at me left me feeling exposed and like I might tip off the edge of the earth.

With my eyes on him, I took a large gulp, and then immediately started coughing. The liquor burned straight down my throat, my eyes watering. “Good gods, that tastes like shit,” I said, wiping the back of my lips with my sleeve.

Wicked was laughing, his mouth stretched into a glorious smile I hadn’t seen before. It made his already gorgeous face so breathtaking, my heart nearly stopped.

“I’m glad you think this is so funny,” I said, though I was laughing along with him.

He snorted and was trying to clamp down on his amusement, but I didn’t want him to do that. His laugh was wild and big and seemed to filter out through every pore. In fact, some instinctual part of me wanted to make him smile that way forever.

“Do you want some wine instead, Princess?”

Still rubbing my tongue with my sleeve, I nodded. “Yes, that’s more what I’m used to.”

He grinned, and I savored this glimpse of a different version of him. One that was younger and carefree. I wondered what had turned him into this angry Fae living so alone in the woods. I didn’t ask though, sure that would make him clam up and growl at me again.

He poured me a glass of ruby red wine, and I sipped it with a happy sigh. “That’s better.”

“Go sit by the fire,” he said. “I’ll finish cleaning up.”

He began clearing the plates. “Do you want some help?”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. Though next time you owe me dinner.” Right. I forgot I’d promised to cook for him if he took me outside today. “I also recall saying that if you tried anything, I’d make you sleep outside on the battlements tonight.”

I sipped my wine and looked out the window where the snow had started to fall in thick white flakes. The wind had picked up since this afternoon, the howl echoing through the empty castle.

“Um, about that... I’m sorry about that whole thing with the cage?” My voice pitched up at the end, because I wasn’t actually sorry. “How did you get out of there, anyway?”

He cast a look over one of his broad shoulders. “You don’t really think I designed it without a way to unlock it from the inside?”

“Well, actually I did think that, or I wouldn’t have bothered shoving you in.” He arched a skeptical brow. “Okay, yes. I still would have tried.”

With a soft chuckle, he turned away and resumed washing the dishes.

When it seemed like the matter of both the dinner I’d promised and the threat he’d made had passed, I got up and moved to the worn sofa in front of the fireplace, my wine in my hand. As the wind picked up, I stared into the flames, feeling curiously comfortable and at peace with my surroundings.

Curling my legs under me, I set my head against the back of the sofa and listened to the crackle of the fire. Eventually, Wicked finished cleaning up and settled next to me, his drink full again. Ever careful about giving me space, he didn’t sit too close despite the notable fact he’d had his fingers inside me an hour ago.

“Should we talk about what happened?” I finally asked, unable to stand the tension any longer. It hung in the room as if it were a nosy aunt fishing for the latest gossip. He looked at me, his dark eyes full of thought and his expression inscrutable.

“I wasn’t going to put you in that cage,” he said, surprising me and quite obviously changing the subject. “I was building it for the Reaper.”

“I thought I was the bait?”

He huffed out a sound of frustration and ran a hand down his face. “You were,” he said.

Past tense.

“And now?”

He pinned me with a dark look, but I didn’t get the sense it was me he was angry with. I recalled the words he’d uttered before he’d kissed me. How he wasn’t angry with me.

“And now, I realize I can’t do this.”

A band I’d been wearing around my chest loosened. I hadn’t even understood how worried I’d been until that moment. In silence, I waited for him to continue.

He seemed to be hanging onto the edge of something and couldn’t bear to look down. He took a deep sip of his drink, his gaze on the fire.

“I’ve been trapped in this forest for almost three hundred years,” he said softly.

My brow furrowed as I watched him, studying his profile, the red and orange of the flames reflecting off the edge of his straight nose and the planes of his high cheekbones. He looked at me then, shadows of pain clouding his eyes.

“Why?”

“A witch cursed me to spend eternity within these trees. That’s what these are.” He gestured to the markings that covered his skin, and I had the strongest desire to touch them. I curled my hand into a fist as he continued. “To break the curse, I need an ogre’s heart. She chose this spot near their nest to taunt me. They’re notoriously hard to catch. I’ve tried and tried for centuries and though I’ve come close so many times, I’ve never managed it. But they aren’t immortal, and they’ve been slowly dying out and now there is only one left. If it dies, I’ll be imprisoned here forever.”

As he spoke, I felt the shattered pieces of heartbreak in his voice. His tale seemed to take on a life of its own as it wove through the room, wrapping around my arms and my legs and drawing me closer. Before I knew it, we were sitting together, my knees resting against his thigh, his arm casually thrown over them.

“Why did she curse you?”

He took in a deep breath. “We were lovers for a time. She ended up leaving me for my younger brother, who had his eye on the crown I was set to inherit. He was always more ruthless, and they were a better match. They colluded to get rid of me, the witch cursing me and banishing me to this place.”

“That’s terrible,” I said, my heart squeezing as I imagined how that kind of betrayal must have left the caustic taint of venom in his veins.

“I’ve done some things I’m not proud of,” he said. “You aren’t the first girl I brought here, hoping to lure an ogre.” Both our gazes drifted to the cage. “It never worked, though, and I let them all go. Eventually, I stopped trying to catch them that way.”

“It didn’t work? Ever?”

“No.” He sipped his drink.

“Then why did you need me?”

“Not many wander to this place, but a few years ago, a wizard happened to pass by. He asked for shelter for the night, and I shared my tale. He told me only the blood of a princess would bait an ogre. That they wouldn’t be able to resist its lure. It would put them in a trance, and it would be the only thing they could focus on. Then I could strike it down.”

My mouth popped open as he gave me a wary look.

“It wasn’t long after that I heard about the princess who would soon be of age and that I could win her in the Hunt. So instead of chasing ogres, I spent the last three years learning to bring down the biggest and fiercest stags in the forest.”

He fell silent then, his arm still draped over my legs. I wasn’t sure how to feel. Part of me understood how desperate he had become after all this time, but he had still planned to take my life for his happiness.

“I’m sorry,” he said, reading my mind. “It was a selfish, terrible thing to do. After the last girl, I swore I’d never do that to anyone again. But then that wizard offered me what felt like a lifeline, and I was thinking only of myself. I had no idea you’d be so...well, you aren’t what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know exactly...I didn’t expect to like you.”

I snorted at that. “You like me?”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Princess, but yeah, I do.”

I tried not to feel good about his words, nor look too closely at why they made me feel that way.

He had still planned to bring me here to kill me. His story, while tragic, didn’t absolve him of that. I backed away, moving his arm off my legs, not sure I wanted to be anywhere near him right now. The wind kicked up, rattling the panes. The snow was falling heavily now, white streaking across the window and blocking everything out.

“You took me from my family. You took me from the man I was supposed to marry. My friends and my home and my life, all so you could free yourself.”

“I know,” he said. “I promise I’ll take you home tomorrow. I release you of any tie you have to me. You’re free to go home and live the life you were supposed to.”

I nodded slowly, not sure what to say. Not exactly sure how his words made me feel.

“Your brother?” I asked, the pieces clicking together. “He’s the one responsible for the decree?”

Wicked nodded. “He’s responsible for everything your kingdom has endured, Princess. For all the misery and control they hold over you.”

“So if you had been their king...”

Wicked raked me over with a thoughtful look. “I can’t pretend to know if I would have made a better ruler, but I wouldn’t have done this.” He swept out a hand as if to encompass some fractured dream he’d been clinging to for three hundred years.

“Why don’t you look like the others?”

He shook his head, his gaze casting skyward. “They don’t look like that, either. Those are glamors they wear to interact with humans to convince them to kneel. They think it makes them seem more godlike. More omnipotent.”

I considered that, canting my head. “Well, it works.”

Wicked huffed out a derisive note. “Indeed.”

“I think I want to go to sleep now,” I said, my hands pressed to my stomach.

“You take the bed,” he said. “No chain, of course. Fuck, Rowan, I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry.”

“Yeah, okay.” I stood to walk over to the bed and then stopped and turned back.

“Who lived in this castle?” I asked. “Why is it out here?”

“No one. I built it over the years, hoping one day people would fill its halls.” Wicked paused, his eyes drifting over the room as if creating the life he’d envisioned but had run out of paint. “But when it was done, and I was still alone, I realized it was too depressing to live in it all by myself, so I closed it off and moved into this room where I’ve stayed ever since.”

“You built the entire thing alone?”

He rolled his shoulders as though the memory was a painful one and met my gaze with one full of remorse and yearning. “I had nothing else to do, Rowan.”

I nodded, digging up the seeds of my empathy for what it must have been like to be so lonely for so long. Climbing into the bed, I slid under the covers and fell asleep to the howling of the wind.

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Chapter Fifteen

The wind still whistled when I awoke the next morning. The fire roared in the hearth and snow whipped against the windowpanes. I sat up, shivering. The blankets had kept me warm, but the fire wasn’t enough to stave off the chill in the room.

I looked around, frowning. Wicked was nowhere to be seen. I stood up and peered out of the window, only to be greeted by a wall of white. Where had he gone? Perhaps outside to use the latrine? I shuddered, trying to ignore my own pressing bladder. Traipsing out there had been miserable enough when the weather was mild. How I missed my palatial bathroom in the palace with its hot running water and its giant tub. I hadn’t had a proper bath in weeks, having to settle for cleaning myself with a sponge and a bucket when Wicked went outside.

If he’d gone to see to his needs, then he’d be back soon. I didn’t enjoy being here alone without him in this storm. I also didn’t know if I could find my way to the outhouse without him in this snow.

Diving back under the covers to stay warm, I waited. I estimated when an hour had passed and then another. Where was he?

My stomach rumbled, and I decided the least I could do was fend for myself as I tried not to think about all manner of unpleasant possibilities. I was out here alone with minimal food and no real idea of how to make it back to the castle. For the first time in a while, I prayed that Ellis, or anyone, was out looking for me.

I walked to the kitchen and started opening the cupboards. I hadn’t made him dinner last night, so I still owed him a meal. When he returned, I could have it waiting. I shivered again, grateful he hadn’t followed through on his threat to make me sleep on the battlements. I probably would have suffocated under a mound of snow.

Eggs, flour, and sugar were here, so I thought I’d try my hand at making pancakes. I’d eaten them hundreds of times—how hard could it be?

I kept watching the door, hoping that at any moment it would open. Was I worried for him? Or for me? Maybe a little of both, if I was being honest. I set to work, finding a bowl and estimating the ingredients, mixing it all together, stirring and stirring, trying to smooth out the lumps. It wasn’t perfect, but surely it was good enough.

Finding the frying pan and butter, I put them on the stove and spent several minutes figuring out how to light it. I wondered who had taught Wicked to do all these things—he was an excellent cook—or if he’d had to learn everything on his own. Finally, I got the stove working and watched in satisfaction as a yellow puddle formed in the bottom of the cast-iron pan.

When it seemed ready, I dropped in a dollop of batter and listened to it sizzle, rather proud of myself. With the spatula in my grip, I waited until it seemed ready and then flipped it and grimaced. The pancake was more charcoal than golden, and it wasn’t fluffy. Maybe the next one would be better. I tried again, turning out another blackened disc that resembled cardboard more than food. I stared at the stove, wondering what I had done wrong.

It was at that moment the door crashed open and a monstrous frame filled the doorway. A leering skull covered in ice, a beast with fur and fangs dripping in icicles to the floor. I screamed and brandished my greasy spatula. “Get out!”

But the beast paid me no heed and lumbered inside, and then I recalled that skull. It had been weeks since I’d seen it, but now that I had my wits about me, I’d know it anywhere. Wicked shook the snow off his shoulders and pulled off the mask, his dark hair spilling around his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” He arched an eyebrow, stomping his boots on the floor and hanging the mask on the wall.

“I’m cooking. Where have you been?” He shucked off his cloak and shook it out. I winced. He was getting snow everywhere. It was going to leave a muddy mess on the floor.

“Miss me, Princess?”

“Not at all,” I lied. “I was hoping the Reaper got you.”

He snorted and then pulled off his gloves and overcoat and finally his boots. His nostrils flared in awareness and at that moment I smelled it, too.

“No!” I yelled, pulling the pan off the burner where the pancake I’d been cooking was now burned to a crisp on one side and completely raw on the other. Wicked came to stand next to me, eyeing the stack of inedible pancakes I’d already ruined.

“I made breakfast,” I said meekly. “Or I tried.”

I waited for him to mock me. To scoff at what a useless little princess I was. Instead, he took the pan off the stove, stalked to the door and tossed the ruined food out in the snow.

“Hey!” I said. “I was going to eat that!”

“You were not,” he said. “It looks like you forgot the baking powder. Can I help you?”

I opened my mouth and then closed it. He wasn’t trying to make me feel bad. His offer was genuine. “Okay.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up, and we got to work. He showed me what I’d missed and how to cook them. Before I knew it, we had a stack of fluffy golden pancakes ready to eat.

“Where were you?” I asked through a mouthful of food.

He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. I promised I’d take you home today, so I was checking to see if there was a safe way to do that in this storm. But the pass through the hills is already blocked. I’ll need to shovel it out when this stops.”

“You went out in that for hours just to see if you could take me home? Now that the ogre doesn’t want me and you have no use for me, you want to get rid of me as quickly as possible?” I wasn’t entirely sure why his words hurt so much, but as my voice got louder and louder, I realized how much they’d cut.

“No,” he said. “No, that’s not it. I thought you’d want to go home.”

“There was no reason to risk your life.” The words came out angrier than I intended. He gave me an enigmatic look, saying nothing before he took another bite of his food.

“The ogre came that night,” he finally said, so softly I wasn’t sure if I’d heard at first.

“What?”

“It came. Closer than it’s ever come. It did want you, Rowan. So no, this has nothing to do with you being no use to me. And I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I truly am sorry for what I did.” There was so much remorse in his voice I believed him. I wasn’t sure I was ready to forgive him, though. “I just wanted to take you home like I promised.”

When I thought of home, I tried to understand the hollow feeling in my chest. Did I want to go back? What was waiting for me there? A loveless marriage? A crown I wasn’t that interested in? A life of being told constantly what to do?

But I couldn’t stay out here. What kind of life would this be?

“How do you do it?” I asked finally.

“Do what?”

“Survive. Get supplies and food. You said you couldn’t leave the forest. You left it that day you claimed me.”

“I can travel short distances past the tree line. The day of the Hunt, I was close enough that it didn’t bother me, but if I try to go much farther, it becomes painful. If I lose sight of the forest, the agony is so fierce, it’s all I can do not to black out. When I was first banished, I tried so many times to leave, but it was no use. I couldn’t make it.

“As for food and supplies, I have contacts in the village who I trade with. I hunt and bring them meat and they provide me with everything else I need.”

While I listened, I understood just how alone he’d been all these years. The only people in his life had been out of necessity. I could hear the despondence in the fissures of his voice. It sounded like the echoes of a life barely lived.

“Why have I never heard of you? Surely someone would have noticed?”

“I wear the mask and let them believe I’m the Reaper. No one else knows there are actually two monsters living in this forest.”

“You aren’t a monster,” I say, the words defiant.

He tilted his head, arching that soul-destroying eyebrow. “That’s not what you said last night, Princess.”

I scowled. “You can’t hold that against me.”

He grinned. “What are you smiling at?”

“I love it when you look at me like that, Princess. Like you want to strip off my skin and gnaw on my bones for dinner.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping so low I felt a throb between my thighs and my cheeks flush.

“So you’ve been...alone all this time?”

“Mostly,” he said, trying to make it sound casual, but there was a strain in it.

“What about...you know?”

He graced me with a smug look, his mouth twisting into a wry smile that did things to me. “Are you asking if I’ve fucked anyone lately, Rowan?”

“I—no—yes,” I stammered, my skin tightening, his words burrowing deep in my stomach. His grin was feral.

“You’ve got nothing to be jealous of, Princess. There has been the occasional visitor, but they’ve been far and few between. It’s also been a very long time.” His jaw flexed, heat burning in his gaze.

“I’m not jealous,” I said. A lie.

“What about you?” he asked. “Did I sully your pristine princess perfection?”

I scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.” His grin stretched wider.

Why did I bring this up?

“How long?” I asked, apparently unable to stop myself from wandering this path.

His brows rose, and he studied me. I felt his look like a touch, a gentle, pressing finger caressing my skin. “I’m not really sure that’s any of your business, Princess.”

“Right, sorry. Of course.”

He leaned forward, placing an elbow on the table and piercing me with those deep green eyes. “Not so long that I’ve forgotten how to make a woman come so hard she sees stars, Rowan.”

Oh gods. He had totally done that.

My thighs flexed, and my nipples went tight. I swallowed the thickness in my throat, convincing myself not to ask him to prove it again.

His eyes dropped to my mouth and then lower as if he could read the filthy thoughts in my head. Shit, he could probably smell it.

Thankfully, the wind saved me at that moment when it battered wildly against the windows, snow and ice drumming against the panes.

“I think this is going to last at least a few days,” he said, frowning at the darkening sky outside. “I’ll take you home as soon as it’s safe.”

I nodded and rubbed my arms, the shiver running over my skin having nothing to do with the chill.

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