⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆✼♡✽⋆∘∙⊱⋅•
I really couldn't say who'd made the first move. One moment we were joking around with lazy threats about causing trouble, and the next, it felt like someone had pulled an invisible leash, and I lunged forward. My hands hit Rowan's chest, pushing him back onto the pile of pillows with a soft oof that quickly turned into a low, dirty laugh. The breakfast tray rattled on the nightstand, and coffee almost spilled over the edge, but neither of us paid any attention to it.
Finally, the towel wrapped around his hips decided it was done. It slipped away like it had been waiting for this moment all morning, revealing a canvas of inked skin, sharp V-lines, and the thick, flushed length of him that made my mouth water without even trying. Seriously, he was unfairly gorgeous—his white hair messy and falling out of its bun, black studs in his ears, and that infuriating rock-star smirk aimed right at me.
Rowan's hands found their way to my hips in an instant, fingers digging possessively into my skin. His thumbs traced slow, deliberate arcs that sent sparks racing straight between my legs.
"There's my greedy boy," he rasped, his voice rough from sleep and last night's performance. His dark, half-lidded eyes sparkled with delight, like I had just given him the best gift ever. "Knew you couldn't wait five more minutes for this."
And then his scent hit me like a ton of bricks.
It flooded the room, like someone had uncorked a bottle of pure temptation: a mix of thick smoke from concert pyrotechnics, hot leather jackets left under stage lights, and an electric metallic hint that made my knees weak. It wrapped around every part of me, my own scent responded before I could even think—warm vanilla mixed with caramel and something so sweet it felt almost scandalous.
We both groaned in unison, raw and helpless, like the air had transformed into one big live wire.
"Jesus, Theo," Rowan growled, tilting his head back against the headboard for a moment, his throat working as he breathed me in. "You smell like you want me to ruin you completely."
I rolled my hips just to see his eyes flutter, leaning down until our noses brushed. "Then ruin me, rock star," I whispered, my lips barely grazing his. "I've got a staff meeting at nine. Make it quick."
His grin was all teeth and danger. "Quick?" He thrust up, letting me feel just how hard he already was. "Baby, you just declared war."
I climbed onto him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. The only thing between us was the soft, worn cotton of Rowan's black tour shirt that hung loosely over my thighs. It was ridiculously oversized on me, brushing mid-thigh even while sitting, and it still carried his scent: smoke, leather, and that electric buzz that clung to every stage outfit he owned.
Rowan's eyes traveled over me like he was starving. His hands slid under the shirt, palms gliding over bare skin until his fingers caught the fabric and shoved it up, bunching it just beneath my armpits. The cool hotel air hit my chest, my stomach, everywhere, making me shiver so hard my thighs clamped around his hips.
He didn't take the shirt off, not even try. Instead, he growled, low and dirty, right against my collarbone, "Keep my shirt on." His voice turned gravelly, making my spine melt. "I want you walking into that fancy office later smelling like you spent the morning getting fucked by me."
Those words knocked the breath out of me. Heat rushed through me so fast I felt dizzy (classic omega morning horniness mixed with the remnants of a stupid dream about Xavier), and I was embarrassingly wet. I could feel it slicking my thighs, warm and shameless, and Rowan definitely noticed; his nostrils flared as his grip tightened.
"God, listen to you," he murmured, one hand slipping between my legs out of nowhere. Two thick fingers pushed inside me like they belonged there, curling just right to make my hips jerk. I was so ready there was hardly any resistance, just wet heat and the filthy sound of him sliding in deep.
He pulled them out slowly, deliberately, holding my gaze the entire time. His fingers came out glistening, coated with me, and he brought them straight to his mouth. Tongue swirling, eyes locked on mine, he licked them clean with a satisfied hum that made me whimper like I was personally offended.
"Rowan—" It came out high and desperate.
He smirked, wicked and slow, wiping his thumb across his bottom lip. "Yeah, baby?"
"Stop showing off," I panted, rocking down against him, unable to control the movement, "and just fuck me already."
Rowan shifted us effortlessly. He pushed himself up, half-sitting back against the headboard, exuding lazy power and coiled muscle. His hands clamped around my waist, dragging me forward, pulling me into his lap like I weighed nothing.
I willingly complied (more than willingly), knees spread wide over his thighs, slick already dripping down my skin and making everything messy and perfect. The second I settled, his cock nudged right where I needed him, thick and hot and pulsing. I sank down in one brutal drop, taking him to the hilt, the stretch making a broken moan escape my throat.
"Fuck, yes," I hissed, my head thrown back so hard that my hair spilled everywhere.
Rowan's growl vibrated through my chest. His big hands slid down to grip my ass, fingers digging deep enough to leave bruises, spreading me open as I started to move.
And I moved.
I braced my palms on his shoulders (inked skin flexing under my fingers) and rode him like the world would end at nine-thirty. Up, slammed down, ground, circled, repeat. Fast, punishing, desperate. Every bounce drove him deeper, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside me, turning my brain to static. The shirt slipped off one shoulder, hanging loosely, revealing the dark, perfect bite mark he'd left last night (his brand, still tender and throbbing with each breath).
"Look at you," Rowan rasped, his voice shredded. His eyes were glued to where we connected, watching himself disappear into me again and again. "Taking me so fucking perfectly. Like you were made for this."
I couldn't even reply. All that came out was a wrecked whine as I slammed down harder, chasing that electric burn. My thighs were already shaking, slick coating us both, dripping onto his stomach with each filthy roll of my hips.
Rowan's grip turned brutal. He started helping (lifting me, yanking me back down), meeting every desperate drop with a sharp thrust of his own that knocked the air from my lungs. The rhythm grew savage: me grinding, him thrusting up, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the hotel walls.
"Harder," I begged, voice cracking. "Rowan, please—"
He snarled and snapped his hips up so forcefully my vision whited out for a moment. "Like that, baby?" Another thrust, deeper, meaner. "Want me to wreck this pretty little hole before you sit at your fancy desk?"
"Yes, yes, fuck—" I babbled, head thrown back, throat exposed, nails digging half-moons into his shoulders. The shirt was basically a belt at this point, bunched around my waist, doing nothing to hide how completely wrecked I was.
Rowan's thumbs spread me wider, holding me open so he could watch himself split me apart.
"So wet for me," he groaned, his voice breaking on the last word. "I can feel you dripping down my balls, Theo. Fucking obscene."
I sobbed out his name, my pace frantic. Every drag up had his cock catching on my rim, every slam down had him hitting that spot that made me see stars. My whole body coiled tight; my thighs trembled, my stomach clenched, the pleasure sharp enough to hurt.
"D–don't stop," I gasped, grinding in tight circles that made us both curse. "Rowan, I'm—"
"I know," he growled, one hand leaving my ass to grab the back of the shirt, yanking me down into a messy, bruising kiss. "I feel you fluttering, baby. Come on my cock. Let me feel it."
He thrust up once, twice (hard, filthy, perfect), and that was all it took. I shattered with a cry that he swallowed in the kiss, clenching around him so tightly my vision tunneled. Pleasure crashed over me in relentless waves, blinding, until I shook and sobbed, grinding helplessly through it.
Rowan kept moving, dragging it out, fucking me through the aftershocks until I was limp and whimpering in his lap, shirt soaked with sweat, the bite mark throbbing like a second heartbeat.