Page 37 of The Older Brother
Rowan is no longer here. This is all the beast. And he is happy. And hungry. So . . . fucking . . . hungry.
“Your ass is so goddamn perfect. I’m going to fuck that next time, Saylor. I’m going to fuck every single inch of you. I’m going to ruin you.”
“Yes,” she whimpers, her hips beginning to quiver in my grip.
“Come for me. Come with me,” I command, driving my hips up as she slams down on me. She begins to sway her hips in fast circles when her orgasm hits, and I feel her pussy clench around me as my cock swells inside of her until I’m empty.
Our bodies are covered in a sheen of sweat. I should get both of us into the shower. We need to hit the road soon. I must convince my father of a lot of things, most importantly that Iwantto spend time with him, to learn. But the beast is still present. My dick is still inside of her, and it feels too good to leave. I roll our bodies to the side and hold her to me, finally pulling my cock out but keeping her in my arms.
“Rowan?” Her voice is a faint whisper, and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s satiated or having doubts.
“Yes, baby.” I kiss her shoulder blade.
“I think I want to be ruined.”
The beast smiles. And so do I.
Chapter 12
I don’t wantto go back. I want to stay here, two hours away from our reality, and pretend that it’s always been Rowan and me. But I can’t run away. Neither can he. We have obligations, people attached to us, expecting things. Though, I think we’d both be fine disappointing those people. I know I would.
My mom texted me early this morning, sometime before Caleb did, probably while Rowan and I were both asleep. She pieced together that we’re both here. Probably along with Caleb. Her text was fairly to the point.
MOM: Just don’t be stupid, Saylor. I hope you met with the dean. We can work on your enrollment when you get home.
I haven’t responded. I won’t, not in text. This conversation needs to happen in person, not that my mother will actually pause to hear me this time. I don’t want to be a business major. I don’t want to work with money, to sell things, to climb a corporate ladder or have my own office. I want to be outsidesomewhere, working with humans and putting something good into the world.
Rowan’s hand brushes along my thigh from across the console of the truck, pulling my eyes from my mom’s message. I glance up at him with a faint smile.
“Something wrong?” He nods toward my lap where my phone rests.
My mouth puckers on one side as I lift a shoulder.
“Something’s always wrong. Just my mom, wanting to make sure I don’t throw my life away.”
“Ah,” Rowan says, turning his gaze back to the road. He sucks in his upper lip as he glances at the rearview mirror then checks the side ones.
There’s very little traffic, which is making our trip home pass quickly. It feels like I’m waking up from a dream. The faint music filling the cab isn’t enough to distract me from my thoughts, and there’s a new tightness beginning to clutch at my chest from the inside. I’m anxious, and I can feel the energy starting to tingle in my arms and legs. I kick my shoes from feet and shift in my seat, tucking one leg under the other as I lean into the door for a better view of Rowan as he drives. He smirks at first, then lets out a breathy laugh as he glances my way.
“You know, it’s hard to focus on the road with you looking at me like that.” He grabs the back of his neck and squeezes it as he laughs a little more.
“I like watching you drive. I get to see the little things, like the way your forearm muscles shift underneath your skin when you move your arms. And the length of your eyelashes. You have very long lashes, by the way.” I cross my arms over my chest as if I’m jealous of his lashes. I may be, actually.
“You like them, huh?” He blinks rapidly and glances my way again.
I shift my body again, so my feet are now resting on the console and my back is flush against the door. I stretch my left leg out until my toe reaches Rowan’s side, and I do my best to tickle him. He stops me, though, snagging my foot in his hand and moving it to the center of his lap, then pressing his thumb into the pad of my food while squeezing my arch.
“Oh god, that’s incredible,” I say, my entire left leg relaxing with his touch.
“You’re tense,” he says, massaging my foot while his other hand remains on the wheel.
“I think I am. I’ve been a little stressed,” I admit.
Rowan’s hand moves up to my ankle, and as he rolls it with his hand, it feels like a decade of rust begins to crackle away from the joints. I shut my eyes and let exhale slowly through my nose to aid in my muscles’ relaxation. I’ve fought tendonitis since my junior year of high school. Years of using my feet the way a dolphin uses a fin have taken a toll. I can’t imagine how I’m going to feel by the time I complete four years of swimming at the college level.
“I hope I’m not adding to your stress,” Rowan says. I peel my eyes open and find his looking back at me before quickly moving back to the road.
My brow pinches as I unclick the seatbelt, which I’ve already contorted into a useless position. I pull my foot from Rowan’s lap and fold my legs up against my body so I can wrap my hands around his arm.
