Something Vanilla
I curled into him, allowing myself to lean into his strength, his warmth. We sat quietly, holding each other, sharing silence in a way that was impossibly comforting.
Finally, Rowan broke the silence, glancing toward the pottery wheel with a teasing smile. "So, I take it pottery is officially your favorite hobby now?"
I laughed softly, shaking my head against his shoulder. "It definitely has its perks."
"Glad to hear it," he teased lightly. "You seemed very enthusiastic earlier."
My cheeks warmed immediately. "Rowan—"
He laughed softly again, pressing a kiss against my temple. "I'm kidding. Sort of."
"Very funny," I muttered, playfully nudging him.
He held me tighter, his voice growing softer, more serious. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For giving me this," he whispered quietly, "for giving us this moment."
I exhaled softly, squeezing his hand gently. "I needed it too."
He shifted to look at me again, his gaze warm and tender. "Remi—"
“Yeah…”
He looked at my eyes then my lips and he gulped.
He leaned forward slowly, I didn't stop him, I looked him in the eyes as if I was giving him the go ahead.
There is this feeling that comes with when you finally let things that bother you go. You can finally feel rather than think with your head so I shifted forward to him and he knew I wanted it.
His mouth caught mine again, softer this time, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of me, the taste. I whimpered against him without meaning to, hands sliding up from his chest to his shoulders, feeling the flex of muscle beneath his shirt, the strength he tried so hard to temper around me.
Rowan pulled me closer, deeper into him, until the world narrowed down to the heat between us. His hand splayed over the small of my back, fingers curling in slow, possessive strokes that made me tremble. His other hand rose to my face, cradling it tenderly as his lips moved over mine — kissing, tasting, coaxing me open.
I parted for him on a soft breath, and he wasted no time, his tongue gliding against mine in slow, languid strokes that left me dizzy. I clung to him, nails dragging lightly along the back of his neck, pulling him closer, needing him like air.
Rowan groaned low in his throat, a rough, hungry sound that vibrated against my chest. His lips trailed from my mouth to the corner, then along my jaw, slow, savoring, as though he had all the time in the world. I tilted my head instinctively, offering more, my breathing ragged.
He kissed beneath my ear, the sensitive spot that made my knees threaten to give. His breath was hot against my skin, his lips dragging slow, wet kisses down the column of my throat.
“Rowan—” I gasped, not even sure what I was asking for. His name came out desperate, broken.
He answered by sliding his hand from my back down to my hip, gripping me firmly as he guided me to straddle his lap. My dress hitched up my thighs as I shifted over him, the heat between my legs throbbing insistently against the hard line of him beneath his jeans.
I whimpered at the friction, helpless against the way my body arched into him.
His hands slid up my thighs, slow, worshipful, pushing the hem of my dress higher. He stopped just short of the place where I ached for him most, his thumbs tracing maddening circles over the sensitive skin at the very tops of my thighs.
I shivered violently, my hands fisting the fabric of his shirt.
"You feel it too, don't you," he murmured against my throat, voice wrecked, his breath igniting little fires wherever it touched.
"Yes," I choked out, hips tilting instinctively into his touch.
Rowan growled softly, like he was barely holding himself back. His hand slid higher, fingertips just brushing the soaked fabric of my panties. I gasped sharply, clinging to him tighter.
"So wet," he whispered roughly, pressing a slow kiss to the hollow of my throat. "For me?"
I nodded frantically, unable to form words, my body pulsing in time with my racing heart.
He kissed a slow, torturous path back up to my mouth, his hand still teasing the edge of my panties but never quite giving me what I needed. His lips brushed mine in a soft, maddening tease before he spoke, voice thick and reverent.
"Remi," he breathed, "you’re so fucking beautiful."
Then he kissed me again, deeper, harder, stealing my breath away. His tongue slid against mine with growing urgency, and I moaned into him, hands clawing desperately at his shirt, needing to feel more, everything.
Rowan shifted beneath me, grinding up just enough to make me cry out softly into his mouth. He caught the sound like a gift, swallowing it down with another slow, bruising kiss.
His hand finally slipped beneath my panties, fingers brushing against slick, swollen flesh, and I jolted, hips bucking against him involuntarily.
"God," he growled against my lips, voice breaking. "You're killing me."
"Rowan," I whimpered, lost in the heat, in the way he touched me like I was something precious and fragile but also something he was desperate to devour.
His fingers teased slowly, drawing lazy circles that made me pant against his mouth. He kissed me through every whimper, every gasp, his other hand tangled in my hair, holding me there, with him, for him.
I broke away from his mouth long enough to gasp his name again, and he captured my jaw in his hand, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"Don't hide from me," he rasped. "I want to see all of it. Every sound, every look."
I shuddered, feeling like I was unraveling in his hands, piece by trembling piece.
He kissed me again, slower now, savoring every tiny gasp, every shiver. His fingers never stopped their maddening, aching rhythm between my thighs, dragging me closer and closer to the edge.
"Let go for me," he murmured against my lips. "I want to feel you come apart."
I clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in lightly, my hips rocking helplessly against his hand. Every circle of his fingers on my clit sent another wave crashing through me, building, building, until I was right there, trembling in his arms.
His low, rough voice coaxed me, worshipped me. "Come for me, baby. You’re so close. I can feel it—your sweet little body just begging."
I whimpered, my breath hitching hard in my throat. His free hand slid behind my neck, holding me steady, keeping my mouth against his, drinking in every broken moan, every desperate gasp.
Then I shattered.
Pleasure burst through me, hot and unstoppable, my body convulsing against his. I cried out into his mouth, clinging to him as he kissed me deeper, swallowing my climax like he couldn't get enough. His fingers slowed but didn’t leave me, coaxi
ng every last tremble from my body.
"That’s it," he whispered hoarsely. "God, you're perfect."
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