The electricity that she alone creates is sparking hard inside of me, and I slow down so that I won’t end it before she does. I want to feel her tighten against me and release--and oh shit, she’s doing it. She moves her body so that her hips slam back against me, her ass quivering, her pussy swelling like it’s going to milk me dry.
“Now, Rowan, now. Come inside my pussy. Please...” Her words come out in a demanding hiss, and boy am I ready to deliver.
“Oh hell, woman.” I move my hand down to her clit and rub it in circles so she keeps shaking against me as I thrust into her hard, over and over again. “You belong to me, Cadence. Say it baby, and I’ll give you all of my come right now.”
She cries out and whimpers like she’s trying to talk, but she’s coming again, shaking hard against my cock.
“Say it, baby.” I groan, and I know I’m not going to last any longer. But fuck, I want to hear those words, especially if she’s leaving me in a matter of days. It’s the week before Christmas, and damn if I’m not going to *try to give her a reason to stay. I think of the necklace I bought her last week, sitting in my nightstand. I think of it dangling around her neck, showing the world that she’s mine. I think of her wearing that thing and nothing else. And then she says it.
“I’m yours, I’m yours, baby,” she mumbles. I grip her hard and thrust inside of her, groaning as I release my seed deep inside her.
This woman is better than anything, better than anyone before or since.
I don’t say it. Instead, I just hold on to her waist and close my eyes. If she must leave me, she must. If she’s not ready, she’s not ready. But hell, I’m going to do my best to convince her she *is.
As I’m still inside of her, I know it for sure know. This is the woman that I love, the woman that I should grow old with.
She’s different. She’s a city girl, and every person I know except maybe for Star will say she’s a no-good gold digger, but they’ll carefully avoid the issue of her race because of how much money I do have.
But I don’t give a flying fuck.
Cadence was meant to be mine, just like this. And the whole world can jump off a cliff if they think otherwise.
For the rest of the day, she stays in her nightshirt and drinks cocoa by the fire in the living room. It’s usually a big, lonely living room, and it feels even lonelier without a Christmas tree. But tomorrow, when I give her the necklace and let her know what I’ve been thinking, maybe it won’t be so lonely anymore.
But for now, I let her work on her designs, and I carry the memory of our morning together as the snow keeps falling around us, like a thick white blanket that protects us from the real world outside.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next day, I map out the project to its completion and read the rest of a romance novel I’ve been meaning to finish. The snow falls outside almost continuously, making it too white to see anything. We’re both glad that the man came to tend the horses, that we didn’t have to go out in the mess.
I think about the comfortable time spent with Rowan, our feet entwined under a blanket, Eliza perched on top of the sofa that likely cost several thousand dollars, crushing the cushions. The time I spent with Eli was never like this. It was always fraught with expectations, with disappointments, with all the heartbreak we gave each other over the years we were together.
With Rowan, I don’t expect anything. And I hope he doesn’t either. Though our silences are comfortable, sometimes it feels like there’s something he’s keeping hidden. He has hinted that he’s none too pleased I’m leaving, but he hasn’t mentioned it today. Maybe he’s letting it go, like he should.
Forget a summer romance. This is even shorter. It’s a Christmas romance, and it will be over with the season, even if we both want it to continue. I need the time and space that I promised myself, and here I’m burying myself in Rowan, burying myself in sex and human contact that I so desperately needed. But there’s a bigger part of me that needs to heal. Maybe I should have been upfront, told Rowan about everything as soon as we first kissed.
But no one wants to hear about that particular kind of sadness. I glance at him after I finish the last page of my novel, though, and the words feel like they’re forming at the tip of my tongue. A romance like this deserves an explanation.
This is why. This is why. This is why I can’t stay. I know this is what I need.
“I—” I start. He looks up from his laptop, and I gulp away my fear. This isn’t how the plot is supposed to go. But real life is messy and horrible, and sometimes the story doesn’t make sense. “I have something to tell you.”