Page 54 of Borrowed Pain
Outside the guest room's windows, the industrial landscape stretched toward the canal, shipping containers and cranes silhouetted against the city's glow. Somewhere out there, Rook and Hendricks were probably hiding.
I was surrounded by the warmth of family and a man who saw a future for us. Rowan unlaced his boots with methodical precision while I stood and walked to the window.
"You can see the canal from here," I said, needing something to fill the silence. "Dorian mentioned he sometimes walks down there when he needs to think."
"Miles, you don't have to make small talk with me."
I returned and sat on the bed's opposite edge. Rowan unbuttoned his shirt. His skin was pale against the brick, the lines of his shoulder blades sharp.
He was lean, nothing wasted. His jaw flexed as he looked back at me. He placed the boots neatly beside the bed.
I closed the small space between us and reached for him, fingers trembling at the first touch—ridiculous how nervous I still was around him. He didn't move. He let me close the gap and decide how close was close enough.
As I leaned in, Rowan's lips parted against mine. I hooked a hand behind his neck, thumb tracing the fine hairs at the base of his skull.
He lay back on the bed, pulling me with him. The mattress creaked under our combined weight.
Rowan pushed up into the kiss, slowly grinding his hips against me. Rowan's hands moved up my back, not tentative—testing the tightness of each muscle along my spine, finding the places I'd tried to hide tension. He cupped my shoulders and held me tightly.
I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it to the side of the bed while Rowan finished removing his. I slid my palm along his ribs and felt the sharp rise and fall of his breathing.
He was all strength under warm skin, broader through the shoulders than his clothes suggested. I wanted to see every inch of him while he gazed approvingly at my awkward, slim chest.
Rowan rolled me over, bracing his arms to box me in. I grinned up at him, loving how his hair fell forward, and how he ran his tongue over his teeth before kissing me again.
I threaded my hands behind his neck and pulled him down until we were chest to chest, his abs pressed against me. Rowan's hand slipped under the waistband of my jeans, palm splayed hot and wide over the small of my back.
I reached between us and undid the button on his jeans, grinning at his sharp inhale. He was hard, cock straining against the zipper, and I traced the outline through the fabric.
He nuzzled my jaw and kissed along the angle of my collarbone, then bit down, leaving a mark that would last days. He stripped me with military efficiency, jeans yanked down and off before I could blink.
When he pressed his thigh between mine, all I wanted was to say yes, take me, let's get lost together. Still, there was a line in my head, a flickering caution that said not tonight, not after everything. Maybe I needed to prove I could still control something.
I slowed him with a hand on his chest, feeling the wild rabbit thud of his heart. "Wait," I said, voice shaky. "Can we just—"
I spotted a brief flicker of confusion, but it softened, and he nodded. He lay on his side and tugged me with him until we were both horizontal, face to face. His skin was warm. Our legs tangled, bare feet touching, the scrape of his stubble against my jaw grounding me in the moment.
We kissed again, slower this time. I trailed my fingers down the ridge of his spine, feeling each notch. It was a new experience—sharing a bed for the comfort of another man's presence. I let myself lean into it, into him.
Rowan nuzzled the side of my head, exhaling against my hair. "Is this okay?" he murmured.
I nodded, eyes shut, letting the world outside the soft circle of his arms dissolve. "This is perfect," I said. The adrenaline was gone, replaced by the comforting weight of safety.
Chapter twelve
Rowan
Miles paced the floor for the third time in ten minutes. His bare feet whispered heel-toe, heel-toe—a rhythm matching my accelerating pulse. The warehouse amplified every sound: the traffic's distant hum and Charlie's nails clicking as he followed Miles.
"They'll be here soon," Miles said, not slowing. His hair stuck up where he'd been running his hands through it. "Marcus is always early. Military precision."
"Are you worried they'll disapprove of the damaged federal agent you've dragged into a family crisis?"
Miles stopped pacing. "I'm worried they'll try to lock me in protective custody until this blows over."
The intercom buzzed.
"That's them," Matthew called, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "I'll get it."
