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What a rare and unpleasant experience.
“Talk to me,” he says
“Rowan…” I whisper.
One of his hands glides up my side, igniting every nerve along the way. His fingers close around the back of my neck. His thumb caresses my cheek. He swears. Begins to pull away.
Before I understand what I’ve done, my hand is locked in the hem of his shirt. My mind goes blank. Logic is fleeting.
Something like relief flashes through the desperation in Rowan’s eyes, then I’m gasping as his mouth settles at the base of my neck, kissing.
He swears. He nuzzles. His arms curl around me—tight—as he plants an open kiss to the dip between my collarbones. With a shudder, my back arches, and I exhale his name. Without warning, he catches the fragile word in his mouth.
He groans, and his fingers dig. My arms lift, and I bury my fist in his hair, my nails in his flesh. Gripping my hair, he pulls hard, thrusting my head back.
A gasp fills my chest, eliminating all the space between us..
He swears, pressed up against me, solid, confident, addicted already. “…name. Say my name, Briar.”
I swallow against his lips, and he strokes my throat with his thumb. “Rowan,” I whisper, even though I know I shouldn’t. He’s too kind, too sweet, too careful…
Too…
His hand closes fully around my neck. My eyes roll back in my skull.
“Stop me if I go too far, princess.” His breath caresses my ear. “You can do that, can’t you?”
Whatever sound I make, it’s something like confirmation, so he kisses my cheek before he kisses me senseless—into oblivion. He wields full control of himself and my body as though he were born for power. Scooping me up when the dresser is no longer managing to support my slow collapse, he sits on his bed and cradles me in his lap without breaking away from my mouth for more than a moment.
It’s dizzyingly good. He’s devastatingly good.
“Every day.” He heaves the coarse words, every inch of him shaking and boring into my curves. Crushing me close, then closer. Bruising. “I want this every day.”
My heart stammers.
He combs back my hair, kisses my forehead, lingers with his hot, damp breaths hitting my skin. “You drive me mad. I’ve never felt chaos like you before in my life, and I spent my youth cleaning shrapnel out of myself.” More kisses speckle my cheeks, my shoulder. He presses his forehead to me and battles for air. “I want to crush you until you submit, until your storm belongs to me. I can’t explain it to myself. You are a frustration. And so…so dear.” Falling apart, he mutters, “People like me should not be allowed to do whatever they want.”
“People like…” Unsteady, I lift my trembling fingers and frame his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. “Hush,” I breathe. I am electric. It’s hard to focus. This is too far. This is way too far. Desperate people are so predictable…but he doesn’t deserve to wind up shattered. “Who has the right to stop you right now?”
“You.”
“Have I?” I should. I need to. I can’t.
His fingertips graze along my jaw, tilt my chin. His eyes take in whatever marks he’s left on me. In the quiet perusal, there is pain, horror, and possession. “No.”
This is too dangerous. But if I fool myself, I can pretend it’s necessary. “You are smart and capable and kind. You can trust yourself. You can trust your heart. You are not the sort of person who twists reality to fit your desires.” I cup his face. “You listen, and you care. You care at such a…such a staggering depth. It is impossible for you to become the monsters you’ve feared.”
He presses my palm into his cheek, dazed, exhausted.
Rage sparks deep in my gut, and I touch my forehead to his. “If anyone tries to hurt you, I will make them regret it in every blistering cell of their body before they take their final, agonizing breath.”
Weakly, Rowan’s lips curve, the faintest idea of a smile, the LaCroix of a smile.
It’s so beautiful I lose all the strength in my limbs.
Tenderly, he says, “How scary.”
“My papa taught me how to protect the things I care about.”
