I stared at his back. Watched him move easily and familiarly around the counter, getting himself a plate and joking with Fiona, Tina and Kip.

He looked incredibly ridiculous, wearing his work clothes behind the counter, all masculine and rugged in my girly bakery.

But he also looked right. So fucking right.

Yes. I loved this man.

* * *

I’m not sure what I expected.

Maybe for his house to be a log cabin in the middle of the woods. We didn’t exactly have ‘woods’ per se, so that wouldn’t really work. But something along those lines.

Rugged, built by hand with trees he’d cut down himself kind of thing.

I did not expect a cottage on the beach. On the actual beach. About ten minutes out of town proper, where the houses got more spaced out and the landscape a little more remote.

He pulled off, down a short driveway to reveal a large cottage, one that looked like Martha Stewart had designed it. Gray shingles covered the outside, roses holding on along the pathway to the front door. The wild Atlantic Ocean was moody today as we ventured deeper into fall, with winter creeping toward us. The garden around it was wild yet purposeful. When I got out of the car, the crash of the waves was what greeted me.

“This is your house?” I was dumbfounded and enchanted at the same time.

“Yeah,” he replied, tugging me to his chest, cradling my face in his hands.

“It looks like Martha Stewart lives here,” I told him.

He grinned. “Well, my mom will be happy to hear you said that.”

“It’s not what I expected,” I admitted.

“You haven’t even got inside yet.”

And that was true.

“Well, let’s—”

Rowan cut me off by kissing me. Hungrily. Furiously. I complied instantly, wrapping my legs around his hips, his hand going to my ass in order to press me against his hard cock in his jeans.

I cried out as he walked us forward purposefully, gravel crunching underneath us.

He must’ve unlocked the door, but I didn’t notice that. Didn’t notice anything beyond our mouths moving together, me ripping at his clothes, desperate for our skin on each other.

Clothes tumbled to the floor, shoes, keys, my purse.

It all happened in a blur.

Rowan had lowered me to the floor at some point, a soft rug underneath my back.

We were both half clothed, exposed just enough so his cock was pressing against my soaking pussy.

Rowan’s face was inches away from mine. “Now I’m gonna think of this sweet pussy every time I walk through the front door,” he growled, pushing into me.

I gripped on to him, crying out in pleasure.

“Gonna think of you clenching around me, taking me like a good fuckin’ girl,” he grunted as he moved inside of me, the cords of his neck straining.

It was safe to say that I fucking loved Rowan’s house so far.