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I inch closer to the warmth that emanates from his lean body. His arms are stretched above his head, making his chest stand out in sharp relief. The rigid slab of muscle and sinewy strength makes my mouth go dry. Even though his hair is the color of freshly harvested wheat in bright sunlight, his thick eyebrows and lashes are dark—the latter sweeps in twin crescents across his cheeks. Any girl would be envious of their length.
His softly parted lips draw me closer. I’m tempted to press my mouth against his. No one has ever kissed me with so much skill. And the way he takes his time...
It’s as if we have an eternity to explore and discover each other.
A horde of butterflies erupts in my belly as I study him in fascination. I’ve spent so much of my life pretending Rowan wasn’t there that I never stopped to look at him without my prejudices coloring the lens.
My teeth sink into my lower lip. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. I’m totally bowled over by the man I find in front of me. And make no mistake, Rowan Michaels is all man. Deliciously so. There’s something about him that captivates me and draws me like a bee to honey. Maybe this is why I went to such great lengths to avoid him in the first place. Deep down, I knew this was the one guy who could wreck me, and I wasn’t ready. His admission Friday night has peeled away every protective layer of my resistance. I now find myself strangely powerless where he’s concerned.
It's as frightening as it is freeing. Almost as if I’ve shed all of the constraints that have kept me firmly in check all these years. I can only liken it to jumping out of an airplane and not knowing if your parachute will open before you smack into the ground.
Here’s hoping my parachute opens.
My gaze scours the chiseled lines of his face. He’s all hard angles with sharp cheekbones, pouty lips, and a strong chin. For a second time in a handful of minutes, his good looks hit me like a sly sucker-punch to the gut.
What I’ve learned in the past thirty-six hours is that Rowan is so much more than a hot, football-playing jock. There is a hidden depth I never imagined existed. I’m having a difficult time reconciling the guy I thought I knew with the one he actually is.
Ever since I stepped foot on campus freshman year, I’ve been inundated with the whispered rumors of his sexual conquests. Stories swirl through the hallowed corridors and lurk around every corner. Pictures of him surrounded by busty sorority girls flood Insta after every weekend. Over the years, I’ve heard dozens of girls brag about hooking up with him. And they were all a bunch of lies. It blows my mind that these chicks would fib about having sex with Rowan.
For three years, I steered clear because of those lies. It turned my stomach to hear about his sexual exploits. Like he was somehow incapable of keeping his dick in his pants. Only now do I realize that I’ve never heard him talk about a girl or even flirt with one. They were the ones always running their mouths.
He has a reputation as a manwhore and the guy has never had sex before.
How messed up is that?
I almost snort but bite back the sound at the last minute, not wanting to wake him. I’m enjoying my silent perusal with the light that streams through the windows and across the bed. My room faces the eastern sky and gets a ton of sunshine in the morning. I used to hate it and would drag a pillow over my face so I could sleep.
At the moment, though?
I’m loving it.
My gaze travels from the planes and angles of his face before sliding to the powerful lines of his chest. Even in repose, his musculature is a sight to behold. Rowan works hard to look the way he does. This is not simply a case of good genetics. This kind of muscle tone and hard, sinewy strength takes years of rigorous weightlifting to achieve. As a fellow athlete, I can totally appreciate the dedication. To sculpt your body into a machine takes single-minded focus and determination.
My fingers itch to reach out and trace over his flat male nipples. I want to draw each one into my mouth and nibble at them with sharp teeth. The need to drive him as crazy as he makes me thrums through my blood.
Is that even possible?
For the umpteenth time, I’m bowled over by the thought of Rowan holding out for me. That knowledge only stokes the hunger that demands I explore every firm inch of him. My gaze slides to his lower abdomen, where the sheet lays crumpled. There are so many tantalizing muscles on display.
