Page 118 of Borrowed Pain
"To more than surviving—living," he countered.
We ate standing at first, impatient. Rowan twirled pasta around his fork, then held it out to me like an offering. Sauce dripped down my chin when I took the bite, and he caught it with his thumb before I could wipe it away.
"You're messy," he said.
"You like it," I shot back, tongue flicking against his thumb before he pulled away.
The silence that followed crackled with electricity. Rain tapped at the tall windows, and freight trains groaned somewhere in the distance.
We carried the rest of the meal to the table, but sitting didn't slow us down. Our knees touched under the wood, brushing once, then pressing together. Rowan twirled another forkful of pasta and held it to my mouth. I took it, lips brushing the tines.
"You're dangerous," he said.
"And that's a problem, why?"
His smile was quick and sharp. He set his fork down and leaned closer until I could feel his breath. My pulse spiked, the food forgotten.
"Leave the dishes," he murmured.
We left them.
It was a short walk to the bathroom. Rowan tugged his shirt over his head as he went, muscles shifting under his skin. I followed, undoing buttons with clumsy fingers and shedding layers, leaving a trail across the floor.
The bathroom light caught the sharp angles of his collarbones and the hollow at the base of his throat. Steam had already fogged the mirror by the time we stumbled into the shower, my back hitting the glass door with enough force to rattle it.
Water beat down scalding and relentless, plastering his dark hair to his forehead and streaming in rivulets down his muscular chest. He hauled me under the spray with a growl that vibrated through my bones, his hands sliding possessively down my slick skin.
Rowan's mouth crushed mine. The kiss was savage, our teeth clicking once before we found the right rhythm.
He shoved me back against the cold tile, water drumming against my shoulders while his hips pinned mine in place. His tongue tasted like expensive wine and salt, while his forearmsbraced on either side of my head, pinning me precisely where he wanted me.
"Fuck, Miles," he said against my mouth, voice gone rough. "I've wanted this since the courtroom, since you stood there and—"
"Shut up," I gasped, biting his lower lip hard enough to make him groan.
His hand tangled in my hair, tugging my head back, exposing my throat to his teeth. The scrape of them made me arch, water slicking every curve of our bodies. I dropped to my knees on the wet tile, taking him into my mouth.
He hissed through his teeth, one hand braced against the wall, the other gripping my shoulder. I worked him slowly, savoring the taste, weight, and low, broken sounds vibrating out of his chest. When his hips jerked, he yanked me up by the arms.
"Not like that," he rasped, water dripping down his face. "I want you in bed. Want you open for me."
"Yes," I grunted, every nerve sparking.
We stumbled out of the bathroom, dripping water across the floor, leaving a damp trail. The sheets were cool when we tumbled onto the mattress. He was on top of me, grinding hard.
"Slow?" he asked, voice wrecked already.
"Fuck, no. I want this."
Rowan's teeth scraped my chest, pulling a gasp out of me. When his mouth closed around my nipple, heat shot straight to my gut. He pulled back, watching my reaction with a glitter that made me shiver.
His hand slid lower, fingers teasing, testing, until I opened for him, shameless.
"Ready?" he murmured. His fingers trembled around the packet from the nightstand drawer.
"Please."
He opened me with his fingers, but the first thrust of his cock burned in the best way, stretching me wide, breath catching in my throat. He froze, jaw locked tight.
