Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
His eyes flared with hunger. “Oh, cupcake, I can be delicate when I need to.”
My mouth moistened, remembering how long it had been since Rowan was inside me.
Too fucking long.
“Barstool, now,” he barked.
I jumped, hopping to his command. Then I settled in for the show.
I didn’t think that a man baking could be sexy. Then again, I’d never seen a man baking. I’d never seen Rowan baking. Moving around my kitchen as I instructed him how to separate the eggs, when to add the flour and how much. What folding something tepidly meant.
His muscles flexed as he worked the mixture with the wooden spoon, an adorable wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows as he concentrated.
Throughout this process, I’d become more and more enchanted with Rowan and his movements. He was detailed. Careful. Not at all chaotic like me. He cleaned any spills straight away, he inspected the cup of flour to ensure it was level. He did the dishes as he went.
Not that this should’ve been surprising. Rowan was measured, controlled and sure in everything he did.
“You’re so precise,” I acknowledged, resting my chin in my hands.
He glanced up at me. “Well, consider it a side effect of the job. You’re not precise in the military, someone gets killed. You’re not precise building houses, the roof comes down.”
“Right,” I breathed as he bent over to put the tray in the oven.
His ass looked great in those jeans. More than great.
We had not had sex since before the hospital. Obviously.
Now that I was basically healed—apart from a few aches and pains—I was aware of how sexually frustrated I was. Well, I’d been aware of it for days since I was living in the same house as a sex god and unable to act on my feelings for aforementioned sex god.
“How long does it bake for?” Rowan asked, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel.
“About fifteen minutes.” I jumped off the barstool. “Which isn’t enough time, but it should do.”
His forehead puckered in confusion. “Enough time for what?”
“For you to fuck me.” I rounded the kitchen island. The fact that I was comfortable enough to be so brazen with Rowan was a testament to how much I’d grown in the short time we’d been together. Still, heat crept up my throat.
I saw it flash over his face, the naked hunger. The need. Rowan had been in alpha caretaking mode, but I’d still seen his desire when he showered me, when his hands lingered over my breasts long after the soap had been rinsed from them.
And yes, the way his cock got hard whenever he washed me.
But now that hunger lasted only a moment. “No fuckin’ way.”
“I’m better,” I told him, trying to sound sultry.
The determination in his expression didn’t falter, unfortunately.
Not to be discouraged, I stalked toward him. He retreated.
“Nora,” he warned.
I found myself excited by this reversal of roles. It was not often I got to back my broad-chested, dominant man into a wall. Actually, I’d never backed him into a wall. Which was what hit his strong back when he kept retreating.
“I’m better,” I repeated, laying my hands flat on his broad chest so I could go up on my tiptoes and hover close to his lips.
His body tensed even further, but I knew this time it was not from the frustration of me coming onto him, it was from him battling against his hunger for me and the need he had to take care of me.
“Nora, you are not fuckin’ better,” he ground out.
I narrowed my eyes at him and dug my nails into the fabric of his tee until they pressed into his skin.
He let out a hiss that I knew was not from discomfort.
“I am the judge of whether or not I’m better,” I informed him. “And I am. Even though you’re still being ultra-protective and over the top and refusing to see it, I’m better. Therefore, I’m better enough for my man to carry me upstairs and let me thank him for what he created for me.”
Rowan’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “There is no scorecard here, Nora. I do things for you because it makes me happy. Not because I’m expecting anything from you.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but he was being far too serious for that. So, I cupped his cheek instead. “I know,” I told him solemnly. “I’m going to suck your cock because I want to.”
Rowan let out a groan, the veins in his neck protruding.
My wicked plan was working.
“And technically, this counts as taking care of me since I’m medically in need of an orgasm from my man.”
Rowan’s eyes went half-mast. “You’re fuckin’ killing me, Nora.”
My smile stretched in satisfaction.
“Or…” I stepped back, eyes cast downward. “I can just make you some dinner as a thank you, then I’ll go up to my room to satisfy myself.”