Fowler Sisters: Stealing Rose Part 20

I can feel him above me, hear him breathe, hear him swallow hard. He sounds just as overwhelmed as I feel and when I finally crack my eyes open I see him reach out, his fingers light on my stomach as he, too, touches the come he left there. Marking me like some sort of primitive beast, it had been all sorts of hot.

"I, uh, got a little carried away there for a moment," he admits, his gaze lifting to meet mine. I see a hint of doubt in the depths of his gaze and I want to rea.s.sure him. I want to tell him I liked it. Loved it, even.

He can't take the entire blame for this. I was just as out of control. Out of my freaking mind with pleasure. "It's okay," I rea.s.sure him, reaching for his hand so I can clasp our fingers together.

He smiles at me, flicking his head so his sweat-dampened hair isn't hanging in his eyes. "You're f.u.c.king beautiful," he whispers.

I shake my head, embarra.s.sed for some reason. What just happened between us ... I can't explain it. I feel closer to him. I feel as if he's become a part of me.

Does he feel the same?

"Don't deny it." He collapses beside me, gathering me in his arms so he can hold me close, my back to his front. His c.o.c.k is still hard, poking against my b.u.t.t, and I'm amazed.

And aroused. Still. But I don't know if my body can take another round. Yet.

"You're gorgeous, you know. All limp and sated after I made you come." His voice is full of pride. He likes that he just did this to me. That he wrecked me for any other man. No one has ever made me feel like Caden does.

Never.

"I made you come too," I point out, smiling when he squeezes me close and drops a kiss to my shoulder.

"Yeah, you did," he murmurs against my temple. "It felt f.u.c.king amazing, being inside you bare."

It so did. I need to get on the pill stat if we're going to continue this ... relations.h.i.+p. Whatever the heck we're doing. I've never had s.e.x without a condom before and when he first slipped inside me, hot and slick and with no thin piece of rubber between us, I almost came on the spot.

His hands move up so he's touching my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, rubbing them, circling my nipples, and I sigh as my body melts into his, savoring his touch, the little sparks of heat that light my skin as he continues to toy with my nipples. "I love the way you touch me," I tell him in a heated whisper.

He doesn't falter, just keeps caressing my skin, driving me crazy, ramping up the warmth within me when I came only moments ago. "I love touching you," he murmurs. "I could f.u.c.k you all night. For days. You're all I want, Ro. All I need."

I want to believe him, but I don't know if I can. He's opened up some but not enough. Our s.e.xual connection is so incredibly strong, but what about our emotional connection? Would he want a real relations.h.i.+p with me? Or are we both caught up in the fantasy of being in another country, not dealing with work or friends or family-for the most part, considering I'm dealing with the life-changing choice of quitting the family business-all alone, just the two of us in this hotel suite?

His c.o.c.k is rock hard, pressing between my b.u.t.t cheeks, and I squirm against him, making him groan. "Tease." He grips my hips, brus.h.i.+ng the head of his c.o.c.k along my crack, and I roll away from him, onto my stomach. He follows me, tugging on my hips so I lift myself onto my knees, and another moan escapes him as he runs his hand across my backside, his fingertips playing with my p.u.s.s.y. I'm so wet, and it would be so easy for him to slide back inside me. I want it. I want him. I feel almost crazed with it. "You want my c.o.c.k?" he asks.

"Please," I say into the pillow, my voice m.u.f.fled. My legs are shaking, my entire body is trembling, and I brace myself on my elbows, wagging my a.s.s at him to spur him on to do something about it and quick.

"Ah, baby. You drive me f.u.c.king insane with this s.e.xy body of yours." He pulls me back, his hands firm on my hips as he guides me onto his c.o.c.k. My body takes him, slowly but surely, until my a.s.s is brus.h.i.+ng his stomach and I can feel his heavy b.a.l.l.s press against my p.u.s.s.y.

He is so thick and so long. When he pulls out, it seems to take forever, a delicious drag of flesh against flesh, and I shudder and cry out, a surprised gasp flying from my lips when he rams his c.o.c.k back inside of me, hard and so fast I swear I see stars.

"I gotta be careful," Caden says, his voice tense, his fingers gripping my hips so hard I know he's going to leave bruises again.

But I don't care. I want the bruises. I love the reminder that he's taken my body so perfectly.

"Why?" I ask on another gasp. I swivel my hips, working his c.o.c.k, and he smacks my a.s.s playfully, commanding me to stop.

I don't want to stop. I want to come again. I need to come again. When we're naked together, it's as if I have no control. All I want are the endless o.r.g.a.s.ms he's so good at delivering. I crave his touch, his words, the comfort he gives me.

More than anything, I crave the way he looks at me. His eyes are full of untethered emotion, his touch gentle and full of reverence. He cares, more than he'll ever admit, and I love that. I need it.

"I'm gonna blow and I don't want to do it inside you," he says, sounding tortured. He holds my hips still, preventing me from moving, and I release a little moan of frustration. "Sshh. Let me make this good for you."

Antic.i.p.ation races through my veins when he touches me, his fingers tickling my skin, drawing closer to my p.u.s.s.y. He touches me there, tracing my folds where they rest against his c.o.c.k, a fleeting tap against my throbbing c.l.i.t. He's trying to drive me out of my mind and I'm about to yell at him when he draws his finger up, up, until he's touching a forbidden spot, circling around and around my little hole.

"Ever had a man take you here?" he asks, his voice deep and dark and rumbling along my nerve endings, making me weak with desire.

I shake my head, unable to speak. I'm holding my breath, biting my lip when he presses, slowly breaching the barrier with just the tip of his finger. A moan escapes me at being filled in both holes and I hang my head, again waiting for the shame or embarra.s.sment to come.

But it doesn't. All I can focus on is the way he moves in me, the way Caden is making me feel. His finger slips deeper as he starts to move and I give myself over to the pleasure. My head is spinning, my body feels like it's spiraling out of control, and I whimper when he pulls out of me, replacing his c.o.c.k with his mouth as he licks and sucks my p.u.s.s.y, f.u.c.king my a.s.s with his finger, sending me right over the edge with a scream.

I slump onto the mattress as he moves away from me, trying to catch my breath, gather my thoughts. With much effort on my part, I finally roll over to find him sitting on his knees, his c.o.c.k sticking straight up, the tip covered with creamy pre-come. He looks as if he's in pain and I go to him, wrapping my fingers around the base so I can draw him into my mouth.

"f.u.c.k yeah," he practically growls, his hand pus.h.i.+ng away my hair before he slides his fingers into it and tugs so hard, I feel the stinging pain in my scalp. "Harder, baby. I want to come in your mouth."

I do as he commands, giving him all of me, opening my eyes so I can stare at his face. He's seemingly transfixed, his eyes flaring with unmistakable l.u.s.t as I pull his c.o.c.k from my mouth and lick the head, down his length, mapping every distended vein with my tongue. His entire face flinches, a shuddering sound coming from his lips, and when I draw him back into my mouth he explodes all over my tongue, the salty musk taste of his s.e.m.e.n filling my mouth.

Withdrawing from him, I let some of it spill out of my mouth and onto the head of his c.o.c.k, getting him nice and sloppy, and I swear that brings on another spurt of s.e.m.e.n. He's groaning and shouting and saying the crudest things ever and all I want to do is make this good for him.

So good he'll never, ever want to leave me.

"You are a filthy, dirty girl," he says after long, quiet moments of our panting breaths as we both try to calm our racing hearts. He collapses onto the mattress, his head buffered by a pile of pillows. I crawl alongside him, lying on my side so I can press my body close, throwing my leg over both of his.

"You like it," I whisper as I race my fingers down his stomach, feeling the muscles s.h.i.+ver beneath my touch.

"The question is do you like it. What I did to you."

I gaze up at him to find him studying me, worry making his brow furrow, that wrinkly spot above the bridge of his nose a sure sign he's apprehensive. "I liked it."

"Enough to take it ... further? Sometime?"

I skim my fingers lower, into his pubic hair, the head of his softening c.o.c.k brus.h.i.+ng against me. "Yes," I whisper as I turn my face into his shoulder. I'm a little embarra.s.sed, but not enough that I don't want to talk about this. "As long as you're gentle. You're ... kinda big."

He laughs a little as he slips his arm around my shoulders. "Did I hurt you?"

I shake my head. "Not really. It stung a little."

"I'll be careful. I'll always be careful with you. You know this, right, Ro?"

I don't know. Do I?

"Caden?"

"Yeah?"

I clear my throat, scared over how I'm about to change the subject big-time. "You mentioned your father earlier."

He tenses up; I can feel his muscles go completely still. "Yeah?" he says again.

"Can I ask you a question?"

He's quiet for a moment before he says, almost reluctantly, "Go ahead."

"How ... how did he die?" I trace patterns on Caden's skin, running my finger through the little patch of hair in the center of his chest. I feel like I have every right to ask him that question. I have a dead parent too. One n.o.body talks about and I want to share in our past grief together. Not get weepy or anything, but I want ... I want rea.s.surance that it's okay to talk about our parents. It's fine to speak of the dead, you know? I'm tired of hiding my feelings.

Caden lets out a harsh breath and gives my shoulders a squeeze. "It isn't pleasant."

"Death never is," I rea.s.sure him.

"He killed himself." He stiffens against me for the tiniest moment but I continue touching him, my heart full of sadness but also ... relief. We have something in common, however terrible it may be. "He worked for an investment firm in Manhattan and was a real hotshot. Worked up the ranks quick, made all sorts of money."

"And then?" I urge because I know there's an and then moment. Something awful must have happened for the man to take his own life.

"And then he got too greedy. Started using his clients' money for personal expenses, figuring he could gain it all back with his investments. But that didn't work. He got caught in a vicious cycle and once it was discovered ... he was ruined. He lost his job. There were threats of lawsuits and criminal prosecution. My mom said she would stand by him no matter what, that we could get through this together because we were a family, but he ... went to work to finish cleaning out his office and then threw open the window and jumped out."

"Oh, G.o.d." I sit up to look at him, our gazes meeting, his full of pain and irritation and ... yes. Anger. "That's awful."

"Yeah. I was mad for a long time. I still am. He hurt my mom almost irrevocably. After he died, she wouldn't date, had no interest in men at all. She still won't consider letting anyone into her life for fear they'll leave her," he explains, sounding sad. He reaches out and grabs my hand, playing with my fingers.

That explains so much. So, so much. I'm having a total aha moment here and it's at his expense, making him have to tell this painful story. But it needs to be said. This sort of reveal will only bring us closer and I want that so badly.

"How old were you when it happened?" I squeeze his hand in mine.

"Thirteen."

My heart hurts for him. And for me, too.

Swallowing hard, I decide to share my own secret. "My mom committed suicide, too."

His eyes widen the slightest bit. "She did?"

I nod, dropping my head so I don't have to look at him. You'd think it would be easy to share this, but the topic of my mother is hardly ever discussed. I find it difficult to talk about her and I didn't even know her. "I was practically a baby. She overdosed on prescription pills. My father woke up one morning and she was lying next to him, cold and still. She took the pills during the night and he had no idea."

"Ah, Ro." He pulls my hand so I'm falling on top of him and he gathers me close, my head tucked under his and my cheek pressed against his shoulder, our arms around each other. "That's terrible."

"I know." I bite my lip, ready to reveal the secret that has been weighing on me since I read her diaries right before Cannes. "What's worse is I think I know why she did it. Why she killed herself."

"What do you think?" He runs his fingers up and down my arm lightly, making me s.h.i.+ver.

"I read her diaries. Our father gave us each a box of her personal items and I found her last diary inside." I take a deep breath. "She met someone else. Another man. She was having ... an affair and when the man broke up with her, she was completely devastated. She wanted to leave my father. She'd been making plans."

Caden says nothing, just keeps stroking my arm, holding me close. I close my eyes and breathe in his scent, not sure if I should say anything else or let it go. It feels so good to confess what I found. I've kept this as my personal burden to bear and it's been so hard. No one else knows about my mother's indiscretions. At least, I don't think anyone knows.

My father might know, but I'm sure he didn't want to shatter my mother's image. And I appreciate that, but I also feel like it's such a lie. We're a family full of lies and secrets.

But maybe every family is that way.

I decide to continue on despite how hard it is to say everything. "In her diary, her last few entries were so ... sad. They were so full of hopelessness. I can feel her pain come across the pages, in her handwriting, and it hurt me to read it, but those entries also made me mad. That she gave up so easily on her life. That she gave up on us, on my sisters. On me." I'm crying. The tears are flowing down my cheeks and the sob that comes from me sounds like it was wrenched from deep inside my soul.

"Baby. Sshh. Come here." Caden pulls me even closer and I sob all over his shoulder, his neck. My tears won't stop, my entire body is shaking, and I cling to him as if he can save me from all the horrible truths in the world. He's stroking my hair and kissing my forehead, whispering sweet words to console me, and I've never felt more cherished.

"I'm sorry," I murmur against his neck long minutes later. "I haven't told anyone about the diaries yet, not even my sisters. I've never even given myself a chance to cry over it, you know?"

"I know. I do." He squeezes me. "You okay?" Slipping his hand beneath my chin, he tilts my face up so our eyes meet. With his other hand he swipes away the tears from my cheeks. "You need a drink of water or something?"

"I'm fine," I whisper, my gaze roving over his face, taking in his handsome features. A face that has become dear to me, a man that has begun to mean something to me these last couple of weeks. "I just ... thank you."

He frowns, his beautiful mouth curving downward. "For what?"

I touch his lips, streaking my fingertip across his full lower lip. I love his mouth. I love everything about him. Everything that I know, that is. I wish I knew more. I wish he would be honest with me. Open. Slowly but surely I can make this happen. I know it. "For being there for me. For letting me talk and for listening."

"I should say the same to you." He parts his lips, drawing my finger into his mouth, and I feel his teeth graze the tip of my finger.

"Then why don't you?" I'm teasing him, and it feels good to be light and silly after only moments ago revealing such heavy information.

He smiles and I pull my finger from his mouth. "Thank you, Rose." His smile fades, his expression going dead serious. "I mean it. It's been a long time since I've talked about my dad with anyone. Even my mom."

"I'm sure especially your mom. I know my father gets uncomfortable when any of us ask questions about our mother."

He strokes underneath my chin with his thumb, his gaze thoughtful. "Have I told you lately that I think you're beautiful?"

"Stop." I bat at his hand but he doesn't let go of my chin. He tells me I'm beautiful more than any other man has ever done but when he talks to me like this, I get embarra.s.sed. "Seriously. You're going to give me a complex."

"A complex over your beauty? That doesn't sound like such a bad thing." He releases his hold on my chin so he can touch my cheek and run his finger down my nose, along my brows. "You're unnaturally pretty, I swear. Like a little angel face."

I roll my eyes and grimace. My cheeks are hot and I don't know if I can take much more of this. "That's what Violet says and it's so embarra.s.sing. She claims I look like one of Botticelli's angels." I don't really believe it. Lily's the beautiful, outrageous one. Violet's the quiet, smart one, but truly? She's just as beautiful as Lily.

"I had thoughts of wanting to paint you a few nights ago," he admits sheepishly, flas.h.i.+ng a lopsided smile.

My brows go up as if I have no control over them. "I didn't know you were a painter."

"I'm not." He chuckles. "But you were lying on the bed, naked and spent, your skin all rosy and your hair everywhere. You had this satisfied look on your face, and I totally understood at that moment why artists always want to paint nudes of beautiful women."

"Please." I shake my head but he leans in and drops a kiss on my mouth, his lips lingering. "You don't mean it."

"I totally mean it," he whispers, his lips moving against mine. "You make me ... feel things I've never experienced before, Ro. You've changed me."

I'm speechless. Not that I could say anything anyway. Not with the way Caden's kissing me, his tongue sneaking into my mouth, sliding against mine. His hands start roaming my body and soon we're lost in each other.

Not that I'm protesting.

Chapter Nineteen.