“I’m so sorry, Rogan,” I offer in as steady a voice as I’m capable of, but even to my own ears it sounds watery and weak. I feel him stiffen behind me, so I roll my shoulders back and turn to meet his eyes. They’re dark in the low light and the set of his jaw is like steel. “What is it?”
“I told you I don’t want your pity.” I can hear that his teeth are gritted.
“I know you did. And you’re not getting pity. My heart hurts for the little boy who lost so much, but I feel nothing but admiration for the man, Rogan. The man you’ve become is . . . he’s amazing. I only wish I was as tough as you were. As you are.”
His expression softens and he leans forward to kiss the tip of my nose. When he relaxes behind me again, I melt into him, something I’m finding is surprisingly easy to do.
It’s nearly a full minute later when Rogan rises over me, his lips descending to cover mine. And when they do, I know the sad memories are over. He’s put them back where they need to be, where they can’t hurt him anymore.
Despite the heartbreaking conversation of moments before, a fire is kindled within seconds of his large palm skating down my stomach. He finds me unerringly. His fingers know the way to my core just like his words do. He touches me. Always he touches me, it seems.
I reach behind me to drive my fingers into Rogan’s hair, fisting them when his tongue slides between my lips. Gently, he tugs my top thigh up onto his legs and guides his tip to my entrance from behind. He hovers there, his mouth devouring mine, his fingertip back to tease between my folds. When he stills and lifts his head, I open my eyes to find him staring at me. We stay like this for endless seconds until, with his gaze locked onto mine, he eases into me, slow and deep.
He covers my mouth again, my gasp perfectly timed with the breath he exhales. I breathe him in, take as much of him as I can into my body. And it’s in these sweet, quiet moments that I realize I’ve never felt more myself than when Rogan is inside me.
TWENTY-TWO
Rogan
I don’t know what I expected when I woke up, but to be in bed alone at nearly noon wasn’t it. I can’t believe it’s so late! I haven’t slept that well in years. Maybe ever.
I roll over to face the sun streaming in around the shutters that cover the windows. The other side of the bed is cold. I guess Katie has been up for some time.
For several minutes, I stare at the dent in her pillow, considering the woman who made it. I’m not surprised that once I unraveled the mystery of the shy girl with the haunted eyes that I’m still interested. Something told me right from the start that this one was special. And I wasn’t wrong. She’s different and special in the best possible way.
I finally drag my pathetic ass out of bed and find the bathroom directly across the hall. I pause in the doorway to listen. All I hear are sounds of battle coming from the living room. I smile to myself, shaking my head as I walk naked to the toilet. It’s hard to tell what other surprises this woman might hold.
I borrow Katie’s toothbrush and brush my teeth. I figure since we’ve licked each other from head to toe, she surely won’t mind if I use it. In the mirror, I catch sight of my stiff dick, so I go back to the bedroom for last night’s clothes. I figure it might be prudent to wear something other than a hard-on when I go out to greet her this morning. I’m ready for some more of the untamed Katie from last night, of course, but it’s hard to tell where she might be in the bright light of day. Women and their mood swings!
When I’m dressed, I run my fingers through my hair and head for the living room. I smile when I see her. Like I do most of the time.
Katie is curled up on the sofa, covered with a blanket, munching from an enormous bowl of popcorn, watching what looks like The Walking Dead.
“Popcorn for breakfast?” I ask from the doorway so as not to startle her by walking up behind her and kissing her, which is actually what I want to do.
She cranes her neck to look back at me, eyes bright, lips curved. “Yep.”
“And The Walking Dead before noon?”
“Yep.”