Page 124 of Pack Frenzy
The breath I didn’t know I was holding leaves me in a small, broken sound. “I want this.”
I want you, is what I don’t say. The truth sits hot and reckless on my tongue.
His hands glide down my dress and it feels more intimate than if I was standing naked in front of him.
Cool air licks across my spine as the fabric slips off my shoulders, pools around my feet. I face him, kicking the dress out of the way.
My fingers unbutton his shirt even though I want to yank it off him, but I want to tease him back, show him that two can play at the same game.
When the last button is undone, I slide my hands up his arms to his shoulders, then pull the fabric down. His eyes are hooded and I can feel the strain in his muscles of keeping himself still.
Then I unfasten his belt but don’t remove it. I’m not that patient.
When I unhook his dress pants and ease the zipper down, his breath stutters, but he waits for me to finish.
“Careful,” he mutters, the word more groan than warning. “You keep doing that, and I’ll forget every promise I made to take this slow.”
We hover there for a beat, too close and not close enough. His eyes search mine like he’s checking for cracks. I’m done pretending there aren’t any.
Then I pull down his boxers, and heat brushes my stomach. His cock is solid, heavy, proof he’s barely holding back.
“Rowan,” I whisper.
That’s all it takes. He embraces me, the heat off his body hits me through the thin lace of my underwear left between us. One hand rises, hesitates, then lands against my jaw. His thumb traces the corner of my mouth. I breathe in, and he exhales like it hurts.
“Jess.” Just my name, low and rough.
“Don’t.” It comes out softer than I mean it to. “Don’t stop touching me.”
He kisses me like I’m the only woman in the world. His kiss is the taste of rain, his stubble scraping my skin, and a small, helpless sound slips out of me before I can swallow it. His hands settle at my waist—firm, steady—but he never cages.
Kissing, we move together until my knees hit the mattress, and then I’m falling back onto the cool sheets, pulling him with me.
He could take control; he doesn’t. He waits. The space between each breath stretches thin until I nod.
My palms flat to his chest. His skin is warm and smooth, muscles tense under my hands. The feel of him makes me shiver.
He presses me deeper into the mattress, his weight solid but never heavy. My fingers thread into his hair; his breath catches against my throat. For once, the fear isn’t about being trapped. It’s about what happens if I let go and he doesn’t catch me.
So I do it anyway.
I let go.
His hand trails down my side, giving me one last chance to change my mind. I arch into him instead. My body answersbefore my head can catch up, like it’s known him longer than I have.
Then Rowan’s hands slide to my ass as he kisses me, and the world narrows to the slide of skin against skin, the catch of breath, the way he says my name like a wish he’s finally allowed to speak out loud.
I didn’t realize how much I needed this. Not just the sex—though God, that too—but the closeness. The way his hands map the shape of me like he’s memorizing every curve and angle. The way he watches my face, checking in without words, making sure I’m still here, still present, still choosing this.
“Look at me,” he says, and my eyes snap to his.
There’s something fierce in his gaze—possessive, but not in the way Nexus means it. Not like ownership. Like recognition. Like he sees me, all of me, and isn’t running.
He kisses a path down my body. Heat from his lips seeps into my skin, branding me in places I didn’t even know could burn.
My pulse hasn’t found a rhythm yet; it just stumbles, chasing his. He’s not just looking at me; he’sdevouringme, piece by piece with his eyes, his hands, his mouth, and I’m letting him.
His knuckle drags along my collarbone, and I arch into it, shameless, wanting. He trails kisses and nips down my chest, over the curve of my ribs, and I gasp in half-shock, half-permission. And he takes it as the invitation it is.
