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The next morning, I wake to find the most beautiful man asleep against my bedroom wall. He’s so adamant about avoiding my bed. He’ll make me cum over and over again with his hand, but it’s like he’s terrified to really let me love him... to get to know him, I mean.
I take a moment to stare at him. His massive frame steals away so much space, and I find myself curling my knees against my chest as if I could fit myself against him if I think about it long enough. In his sleep, his rugged, handsome features are softer, more at peace. The hard angle of his jaw is tipped up, and the length of his neck and the peppering of his five o’clock shadow sends strange fluttering through my chest. The hinting lines of tattoos feather around his neck there like wings. The scar isn’t so stark on his face as it is when he’s awake and frowning. My fingers itch to touch that scar, but I keep my hands tucked beneath my cheek and to myself. Moments pass like that in the hazy morning sunlight of my quiet bedroom.
After our little talk in the shower the night before, he’d turned the frigid cold water to a more comfortable, warm temperature. He then proceeded to undress me and wash me from head to toe. It was sensual but prompt, and he didn’t paw at me or kiss me again. When we finished, he was meticulous as he dried me off and put me to bed.
Then he slept on the floor. Again.
I pretend like I’m not dying to feel him, to have him buried deep and claiming inside me. I haven’t had sex in years. And the boys I slept with in high school, they have nothing on Rowan. I swallow hard just imagining his hips spreading me open for the brutal thickness of his cock to slide in. I bite my lip and shake the thought away.
He’s still keeping things from me. He isn’t letting me in, and I thought if I gave him time, he’d tell me, but here we are... still strangers.
Strangers who whisper sweet words and make each other cum in their free time.
We’re frozen in time right now. If I don’t move, and he doesn’t move, all the darkness I shared with him and all the things he hasn’t shared with me don’t exist. Only he and I do.
Nothing else.
But that’s not how life works. And I can only ignore our problems for so long.
I get up on silent steps. I tiptoe across his long legs and into my bathroom where I close the door and lock it behind me.
Rowan very nearly fucked me in the shower last night. The evidence of it is all over the wet floors. As if having him in my room and on my floor isn’t evidence enough. This makes it all seem more real, seeing his things in my own space. His shirt hanging on a hook. His phone on my bathroom counter.
I shouldn’t... and yet the urge grips me tightly that I can’t hold it back at all. My fingers grasp for his phone and swipe it open. Only to find it’s password protected.
Fuck.
How am I supposed to...
I type in a bunch of random number combinations at first. Generic things.
1234
0000
Nothing.
If I try too many times, it’ll lock the phone and not let me in at all. But what could it possibly be? I think back to the past few days. The things he said. He knows my mom was taken from me. He knows she was locked up. He knows my entire life story. He knows my fucking father!Howcould he possibly know that? How did the two of them come together? How do our lives align? And why did he even care about what happened to me at all? Why go to the bat for me against someone as powerful as my father? What did he have to gain from all of this? It doesn’t make any sense.
Oh, not to mention he openly admitted to wanting to fucking kill me. Though that’s definitely not the craziest thing about this whole situation.
All these revelations are freeing, yes. But there’s more to all of this. There’s still so much cloaked in shadows, so much truth hiding behind the fog, and I can’t make sense of it all.
It seems he hasn’t told me the full fucking story, and now I’m determined to find out just what secrets Rowan Stone is keeping. About himself. About me. And most importantly, about fucking Ed.
I look back down at his phone, furrowing my brow. What could the passwordbe? Unless...
An idea goes off in my head. I’ll feel really fucking ridiculous, but I try it. He’s been following me for years, so it might not be much of a stretch.
I add in my birthday one digit at a time and hold my breath.
The phone unlocks.
Jesus Christ.
His background is a picture of me that I’ve never seen before. It’s from just a few months ago. My face is mostly hidden behind thick curls of my hair from the shitty Ohio weather, but I sit in my reading chair with a paper in my hands. The faintest smile tipping my lips, and the biggest tears are in my eyes. I recognize the details of the day and the paper in my hand.
That’s my acceptance letter to Greystone University.
