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Rowan’s comment about me being innocent lingers in my mind. I don’t think that’s a good thing. Innocence isn’t sexy. When I think of Rowan having his way with a woman, which I had last night more times than I want to admit, it was aggressive and domineering. He’s been nice, but I sense there something not so nice about him lingering under the surface. And for some reason, I find myself wanting to bring that part of him out.
I want to see it for myself. No, I need to have it. This could be my only chance before I’m shipped back to school and locked away.
But none of that matters if he already belongs to someone else.
7
ROWAN
My cock is so hard it fucking aches. I tear through the door to my place, slam it behind me, then stride to my bathroom.
Fumbling at my jeans, I jerk my fly down. All I can see is Charlie–her pussy barely covered by panties, her scent in my nose, her skin beneath my palms.
I stroke myself, a groan coming from me as I imagine it’s her hand on me, her big eyes staring up at me as she bites her lip.
“Fuck!” I grunt as I come, thick, hot ropes of it landing in my sink as I murmur her name.
Bracing myself against the wall next to the mirror, I suck in a huge breath and listen to the pounding of my heart.
I broke. I fucking fell apart and ran back here to jack myself off like a goddamn teenager. I rest my forehead on my arm and try to get my breathing under control. Slowly, I do. But the release I just had–it wasn’t what I needed. It may take the edge off, but Charlie is still there behind my eyelids, her innocent face and devilish body tormenting me and making me hard again.
“Get it together,” I growl at myself and turn on the sink, splashing water around the basin and rinsing my hands, then wetting my face. “Get it to-fucking-gether.” I glare at my reflection and zip up my jeans.
She’s rattled me. Badly. When I opened her door and found her there in nothing but her panties and a T-shirt, my knees went weak. And when she bent over? I thought I might rip her panties off and plunge into her from behind. I bite my knuckle and try to force the mental image away.
“Um, Rowan?”
I whirl as a knock sounds at my front door. “Yes?” My voice is harsher than I intended.
“Sorry. I just feel like I kind of screwed up before. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, especially if you’re already taken. I know that must be awkward to have someone throwing herself at you, and I’m–”
“What?” I yank the screen door open and stare down at her. “What did you say?”
She tangles her fingers together, color rising in her cheeks. “I was just saying that it’s okay if you don’t want to be around me if you and Constance have a thing.”
“We don’t.”
Her eyes brighten. “You don’t?”
“No.” I’ve never looked twice at Constance. She’s a great cook, and I’ve heard rumors in town that she likes to sleep in a different man’s bed every night. But I’ve never wanted her in mine. In fact, I’ve never wanted anyone in mine, not until this blond temptress showed up. But I can’t say all that, not without coming off like a total fucking creep. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Oh.” She looks even happier.
It makes heat suffuse my chest, my body warming at her nearness. It’s fucking insane. I need to stop this. I’m here for one thing and one thing only–and it’s not Charlie. No matter how badly I want to grab her, drag her inside, and bury my face in her pretty cunt.
“Did you say something?” She cocks her head to the side.
I damn well hope I didn’t say any of that aloud. I clear my throat. “We can get to work.” I move past her and grab my tool belt. “The ladder’s already set up.”
“Okay!” She grins. “I can climb a ladder. Sounds simple enough.”
I take her elbow and lead her down the stairs and into the yard. “Too dangerous. You stay on the ground. I have a job for you.”
“There was a saw by the front steps.” She bounces on the balls of her feet as we walk. “Can I cut things? That sounds like fun.”
I get a flash of her fingers with blood on them, a horrified look on Edith’s face. “Um, no. Not that either. Something better.”
“What could be better than cutting things?” She makes a buzzsaw sound with her lips. It’s so damn cute I swear I might be blushing, but that can’t be right, because I don’t fucking blush.
“Painting.” I show her to my sawhorses where I’ve laid out some of the wood tiles from above the front entryway. “These were originally a bright fuchsia. I matched the paint through old photos. I’ll be carefully removing the tiles and bringing them to you. Then you paint them–two coats at least–and then I’ll replace them. Just doing over the porch will take all day, maybe more.”
