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“Such enthusiasm.” His face tucks down, lips to my hair, breath on the shell of my ear. “This is important, princess. Make me believe I’m something you really want.”
I don’t remember a time I’ve wanted anything more…except…maybe…
No.
We don’t think about that. Papa always told me it was pointless to waste time wanting impossible things, unless, of course, they aren’t impossible at all.
Without lifting my burning face, I whisper, “Please, Rowan. I want you.”
Kissing the top of my head, Rowan abandons his other jar of fireflies and carries me inside.
All the way up the stairs.
And into our room.
Chapter 29
~~~~~~~~~~~~
They told me mafia male leads don’t have boundaries; I said sike.
Rowan
Briar’s more skittish than I thought. Resting on my side in our bed, topless, fire scalding through my veins, I trace the way the lamp light caresses her.
Every slender finger.
Each freckle.
The little scar on her pinkie.
The little birth mark by her bra strap.
She is so phenomenally beautiful.
Cushioned atop the comforter.
In complete disarray.
Covering my mouth, I hide my too-pleased smile.
“Sorry,” she whispers past her hands, which are clamped firmly to her blazing face.
My smile grows as I draw a shape up and down her arm. “For what?”
“I’m a tease. But I wasn’t even trying to be this time. And—” She drags her fingers down against her lips, staring up at the ceiling. Eyes giant and tone hopeless, she whispers, “I really am a monster. What am I doing to you? This really is abuse. Can’t I be clear and direct and stable for five minutes?”
“It would have taken longer than five minutes just to kiss you until I was satisfied, sweetheart.”
Her giant gaze cuts toward me, cheeks blistering in the lamplight.
“You are allowed to change your mind.”
She shivers. “I know that. But you’re supposed to be at least a little upset, not…wholesome and sweet and still stupidly attractive while you smile at me like you’re just happy I wanted to be with you at all, for even a moment.”
“My bad. Is my sheer bliss over that very thing interrupting your existential crisis?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. It is. Almost as much the fact you are still shirtless.”
