It takes Rowan turning around and kissing me gently on the mouth to convince me that I didn’t just die or have an out of body experience. Every ounce of skin on my body buzzes in delight. This woman has captivated not only my body, but my entire being. Pulling her against my chest, I bend and kiss the top of her head. Feeling her shudder, I’m about to ask if she’s all right when I realize that I can feel goose bumps on her skin as I caress her back.
“You’re cold.”
“We’ve been in the water a long time,” she says, snuggling a bit closer.
Pulling her by the hand toward the shore, I reluctantly have to admit that fucking Rowan in the river all day could quickly get uncomfortable if we both got chilled.
“I don’t know about you, but breakfast sounds good,” I say, finding it easy to forget about everything else but the woman beside me.
I know this is dangerous. I know I’m breaking all the rules. But right now, in our little bubble in the woods, I’m prepared to face the consequences. Rowan is worth it.
Chapter Fourteen
ROWAN
“Damn, I should have put on a sweatshirt,” I grumble to myself as I scamper through the brush on the way back to the cabin from the dilapidated outhouse. The temperature got low enough last night that there is still a bit of frost clinging to the long blades of grass lining the thin path Z and I have worn down in the four days we’ve been here.
I’m convinced time passes differently out here in the wilderness. Before the attack, my days flew by—full of appointments and outings with friends. It had felt like there was never enough time in the day to get everything done I wanted to, and I’d go to bed each night rattling off all the things on my to-do list I hadn’t gotten to yet.
So, waking up each morning with literally nothing planned to do all day has been a jarring change for me—and surprisingly, I don’t hate it. Of course, being trapped with a sexy as hell Z might have something to do with that.
I stop to grab a few pieces of firewood off the pile we’ve been amassing on our daily walks through the forest. I rush back into the cabin, anxious to stoke the fire that we try to keep going in the fireplace now that the weather has turned colder at night.
I wonder how cold it got last night?
I reach back to the back pocket of my jeans before I can remind myself for the thousandth time that I no longer have a cell phone. Z keeps trying to correct me, reminding me I still have the burner phone they gave me at The Whitney, but that thing is as useful to me as one of the rocks on the shore of the river. Not only are none of my contacts programmed into it, but there is no camera, no internet connection—hell you can’t even download any apps or games—which means learning what the temperature is outside is out of the question.
I hear Z’s footsteps on the small porch just before he comes through the door, and my heart does a little flutter.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” he says, much too cheery for this early. He places the bucket of clean water he’s just carried from the river on the kitchen counter before adding, “I’ve had a hard-on the entire walk back just thinking about last night. It’s time for an encore performance.”
I’ve already started to fill the kettle to boil some water for coffee when I feel his hands on my hips, grabbing me from behind and yanking my body back against his chest hard enough for me to slosh water all over the counter.
I giggle, something I’ve been doing a lot of the last few days. “You’re insatiable. My woo-ha is getting sore,” I joke, loving how he wraps his arms around me from behind. I soak in his warmth.
“Your woo-ha, eh? Well, lucky for you, I love defiling other parts of your body almost as much as your pussy. I’ll just have to bend you over the back of the chair and stick it up your ass. That should take your mind off your woo-ha problems.”
My pussy cramps with desire at his raunchy promise.
“I swear, you really are a beast,” I argue, although I’m telling the truth. I’ve never had the kind of sex Z and I have been enjoying pretty much around the clock for days—not the frequency and certainly not the down and dirty kinky shit his mind comes up with. He’s proven that he is not only creative, but he has the stamina of a marathon runner.
Releasing his hold on me with his right hand, Z reaches into his back pocket and comes back with a small bouquet of wildflowers, offering them to me with a gallant “Flowers for my lady.”