“You’re mine,” Rowan grunted, the veins of his neck bulging.

My body soared as another orgasm rocked me. This one more intense than the last. More intense than anything I’d ever experienced in my life.

Suddenly, Rowan stopped. Completely. Gripped my hip with one hand and the back of my neck with the other. “Say it,” he gritted out.

His body was stiff, his stare cold, almost feral. Rowan was holding himself still with great effort. “Say you’re mine, Nora.”

“I’m yours,” I gasped.

His eyes blazed with satisfaction as I tightened my legs around him. “Now say you’re mine,” I demanded.

He grinned. “Oh, I’m fuckin’ yours, Nora.” Then he began moving again. And he took us both over the fucking edge.

* * *

Again, there could’ve been awkwardness in the aftermath of getting fucked on the counter. Especially with two people who weren’t familiar enough to know each other’s after-sex routine.

But just like everything with Rowan so far, all rules and expectations were broken.

He stayed inside of me after we were done, breathing heavily, holding me to him tightly. I was clinging to him for dear life, my limbs lead, my heartbeat thundering and my mind in pieces. I’d never had an experience that sexual, that explosive.

Rowan pressed his forehead against mine, eyes locking on me, unwavering. Though he was literally still inside me, the act itself, of that unbroken eye contact, felt far too intimate, too meaningful. But also, far too right at the same time.

“You we’re fuckin’ made for me,” he murmured. “Never came that hard in my fuckin’ life. And I already get hard whenever I smell cinnamon. I’m done for now.”

Though he was speaking very seriously, his voice a low rumble, I couldn’t help but let out a little giggle.

“Cinnamon?” I repeated.

A lazy grin spread across his face as he dropped a kiss on my lips. “Let me tell you, baby, any time I smell baked goods, I think of you. Naked.” He grabbed my hips, pulling me closer, proving he was still hard inside me.

I let out a little gasp of pleasure.

“Yeah,” Rowan hissed in satisfaction. “So now, any time I smell cinnamon or chocolate, I’m gonna think of this right here, and I’m gonna be fucking done for.”

Warmth spread through my belly as he gazed at me intently, not speaking for a handful of seconds.

“Yeah, fucking done for,” he murmured, kissing me hard before he gently pulled out of me.

“Stay right there,” he ordered. “Gonna take care of the condom and be back.”

“I couldn’t move if I wanted to,” I told him honestly.

He gave me another lazy grin, staring at me like he was imprinting a photo to memory before walking in the direction of the bathroom.

Another time, I might’ve gone straight into panic mode or started overthinking everything. But in an act almost unheard of for me, I just laid there, thinking of nothing but how relaxed I felt. How every cell in my body felt satisfied.