Rowan looked away from the television, glancing his way, probably feeling his gaze.
“Do you like the soup?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You aren’t eating it.”
“I’d rather eat you.” Her faced flamed with rosy heat. Her pale skin had no chance of camouflaging her reactions. This flush wasn’t from embarrassment but from need. He could tell by her eyes that she wanted him.
They set their trays on the side tables. She crawled over the couch and straddled his lap, kissing him once before sliding his t-shirt over his head. He took hers off, too, palming her breasts the minute they were free. She was wearing tiny sleep shorts that allowed her to feel the thick ridge rocking between her legs.
“Condom?” she asked between kisses.
“Pocket.”
“Prepared.” She nipped his lip and rocked faster.
“Always,” he moaned.
“Want you inside me now,” she panted, dropping her head back to give him better access to suck her nipples into his mouth.
He’d just hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants when someone—he would gladly kill—pounded their fist on the front door.
“Ignore it,” Hugh demanded, continuing to take his pants down when the pounding started up again, and he heard, “Dad, I know your home. Open up.”
He and Rowan both groaned at the interruption. Her hands had already fisted around his sex. “He’ll go away,” he reasoned.
She was already backing off his lap, pulling her hands from his body. “It’s Pat. It might be about River.”
“She would have called you,” he groused, standing and pulling his pants up. He attempted to find a position for his dick where it wouldn’t pop out.
“God, I love your body, babe,” she said, stepping forward once more, smashing her chest against his abs.
He wrapped her up and was about to lift her against his body when Pat had the nerve to bang on the door. Again. “Dad! I need something!” Pat whined.
He grabbed up his shirt and slid it over her body before storming toward the apartment’s entrance.
As he yanked the door open, Patrick’s fist was raised, presumably in preparation to beat on his door for a third time. His son smirked as he took in Hugh’s appearance—raging hard-on and shirtless.
“Jesus, Dad, you’ll poke my eye out with that thing. I would have called, but I forgot my phone downstairs.”
Hugh gritted his teeth against the teasing, wanting desperately to tackle his son and beat the smartass out of him. He heard Rowan snort in amusement behind them. She must have moved into the kitchen.
“What in the fuck do you want?” Thankfully his erection was powering down. He only had to get rid of the jackass at his door, and he’d be hard again and sinking into Rowan’s heat.
Patrick pushed past his dad and went straight to Rowan. Over his shoulder, he said, “Riv wants one of those Germangarlic pickles, and I’m out. I saw you had a case in your pantry the other day.”
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
He disappeared into the walk-in pantry and got out two jars for River, shoving the heavy glass jars into Pat’s chest, causing the nuisance to make a satisfying grunt. He propped his hip on the center island near Rowan and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Leave.” Patrick ignored him.
“Hey Sister, Dad’s shirt looks better on you than him.” He grinned at her blush. “It’d probably be more comfortable if it wasn’t on backwards.”
With that parting shot, the swaggering shit let himself out. Hugh was congratulating himself that he’d managed not to cringe when his son called Rowan, Sister. He promised her to lighten up, and he was pretty sure he’d nailed it.
“He’s gone. You can stop clenching your jaw in embarrassment,” she giggled, poking him in the stomach.
