Page 79 of Hate Wrecked

I laughed, and he clenched his jaw. The ride to his apartment, the sight of him on his couch, the water...I still felt the alcohol, but I felt the power of my want more than anything. “I stopped drinking hours ago. When he left.” I regretted the words before they left my lips.

When I looked at Rowan, I hated what I saw. Unfiltered heartache.

He swallowed, and I braced myself for the rejection.

Instead, he shook his head and then walked away.

When he returned, he had a shirt and a towel. “Here,” he said. “Take a shower. Put this on. I’ll take you home in the morning. And then—then you need to make a choice, Riley.”

“A choice?”

Rowan set his jaw and squared his shoulders. “A choice between whatever it is you have with him, and whatever this is with me.”

I didn’t speak; I didn’t argue that there was no choice. I didn’t argue that I knew who I wanted, and I was standing in front of him. I simply took the towel and the shirt that smelled like him.

I left the bathroom door open as I stripped out of my party dress and into the shower. And when I let the water cascade over my skin, when I pretended it was his hand making me come—not my own—I wondered if he was out there, watching me through the glass, listening to every gasp and cry.

ENJOY THE SHOW?

RILEY

I’m lostin thought as I walk the next morning, with Garfield following, on autopilot, stepping over branches and debris. The jungle floor is a mess. One of the things Rowan said the researchers will rectify when they show up. A messy and wild and beautiful circle of islands that will be studied and cleaned up. But they will study the weather, the birds and fish and wildlife here. They won’t study the darkness of this place, the curse. That isn’t for scientists.

That is for artists—writer’s like Rowan.

I let my thoughts wander to his hands, the shower, the feel of him inside of me. To the past. But I don’t get to linger there. When I raise my head to look in front of me, I am stilled.

The sight before me is breathtaking, and I raise my hand to cover my mouth before dropping down to my knees.

Rowan is leaning against a tree. He’s bare-chested, his shirt hanging around his neck. His shorts are pushed down, and his hand is on his length.

His eyes are closed, and that perfect mouth of his is open a little as he strokes himself.

Is this what he does when he wanders the jungle alone?

Fuck. I need to go. I need to get the fuck out of here. But if I move, he’ll see me.

Garfield rubs against me, and I glare at him, as if he’ll know what the fuck I’m trying to say.

I lower myself further to the ground, my hands on the jungle floor, my eyes on Rowan.

It’s been so long since I’ve seen him like this—untethered, raw, and wild. It’s what the island has done to him. He hunts and gathers and keeps us alive.

I can’t help but wonder who he’s thinking of.Why won’t you let me forget?I would give anything to be in his fantasies. In his arms, on his side of the tent.

He brings his hand up, licks his thumb, and reaches down again, rubbing it against the head.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

I can’t stop myself. I reach between my legs, my hand slipping into my bikini. I’m wet, wanting, desperate for something out here to fill me. My fingers will have to do, since he hasn’t touched me the way he did in the shower again.

I stay low to the ground. One hand holding me up, the other working over my clit as I watch Rowan—his eyes closed tight, his lip between his teeth. While one hand travels up and down his length, the other travels up to his chest, to his throat. He wraps it around, a slight tension in his hands as he moans. I can hear him. I can hear every sound, and if he wasn’t so loud, maybe he could hear my breathing, the erratic tempo. My hand works faster, and I’m almost there. It’s so easy while drinking him in. My breasts graze the jungle floor, my hard nipples searching for friction.

I blink and look at Rowan again as he comes—hot and sticky on his hands. He reaches back into his pocket, grabbing another swatch of fabric, turning away just as I come, riding my hand into the earth. I settle down, my breath moving the leaves next to my mouth. Garfield runs away, and I close my eyes.

I don’t care if he sees me; it’s inevitable; I’m in his path. So I roll over, closing my eyes. I hear him begin walking straight toward me. And I don’t care.I don’t care.

I lay there as he approaches, sense his slowing, then hear him stop.

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