With the exception of the soldier currently occupying my bed, the guys didn’t stay as sober as they planned to last night. That left Bri, Rowan, and myself to drive the lot of them back to Boulder after the sun went down.
I dropped Mom at her house where Richard was waiting and met everyone else back at my place. Two pots of decaf for the guys, some homemade hot chocolate for Rowan, and several hours later, Tess, Bri, and myself called it a night, leaving the six soldiers to reminisce in my living room.
Rowan finally climbed into bed around 3 a.m. after his buddies left. His arms curled around me and he whispered a quiet, “Thank you” before I drifted off again.
I look up from where I’m sliding on my tennis shoes. He’s sprawled out on his stomach across my mattress, morning sun glowing off his bare shoulders.
“A little after seven,” I answer. “Sorry if I woke you. I have to go to work.”
He rolls to his back. “You don’t look dressed for theoffice.”
I tug at the hem of my T-shirt over my yoga pants. “It’s setup day for the gala, business dress not required.”
“Come here.”
Rowan pulls me down to the bed, finds my lips in a deep kiss. “Sorry my friends took over the night.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad they came.”
I nuzzle my nose over his and kiss him some more.
Outside of cuddles and practice touches, he hasn’t touched me since before the run-in with Daniel earlier this week. At times I’ve thought maybe I was ready—I really wanted to be—but then my mind would play tricks on me and I’d convince myself otherwise.
Rowan’s never once been frustrated by my indecisiveness. He’s been my calm and steady, the fixed point in a sea of variables.An anchor.
I pull back for air and he takes the opportunity to trail wet kisses over my jaw, down my neck—soft but determined.
“Rowan, I want you to touch me.”
He smiles against my ear. “Yeah?”
I nod, an ache blooming between my legs. “But your family’s all over this house.”
A hum vibrates along my cheek, he peeks over my shoulder. “Door’s closed. Can you be quiet?”
He looks at me, waiting. I shake my head slowly, wet my lips. It only encourages him. In one move, he reconfigures our bodies so my back is to his front.
“Brat,” he says, walking his fingers down my stomach. They creep under the hem of my shirt to toy with the waistband of my pants.
I arch into his touch. “Tease.”
The bed dips behind me and he shifts his hips away from mine. I know exactly what he’s doing. Which is why I reach back, look at him over my shoulder, and urge him forward.
“I wanna feel you.”
“But, baby, I’m?—”
“Hard, I know. It’s okay, I promise.”
His head falls to the pillow, I give his hips another tug. He finally gives in and scoots closer so his hard length presses against the backs ofmy thighs. The contact twists his vocal cords into a whispered rush of air into my neck.
He’s sacrificed so much of his own pleasure for my comfort these past couple of weeks. It makes me fall for him even more—irreversibly. I may not be ready for everything right now, but I’m ready for this.
He makes a gentle thrust of his hips, a tiny taste of friction for himself through his pajama pants, and he stills again.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I assure him.
“Hannah, you don’t have to?—”