Rowe by Gadziala Jessica

Author:Gadziala, Jessica
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Billie

I lied, Billie. I’ve always wanted you.

I can’t tell you how many times I’d fantasized about him saying that very thing to me. Or how many times I’d berated myself for having those fantasies. Because he’d been very clear that he didn’t want that, had never wanted that, and would never want that. Not with me anyway.

I had never been able to stop thinking What if when it came to Rowe. Or to beat myself up for wondering what it would be like if things had been different.

So a part of me was almost, I don’t know, angry when I heard those words.

Don’t get me wrong, the larger part of me was elated, over the moon, over the fucking Milky Way to hear that it hadn’t all been in my head, that I wasn’t imagining the chemistry between us, that whatever it was that kept drawing me back to him even after his rejection was something more than me being a glutton for punishment.

But still, there was that little, niggling voice that was angry and resentful that in lying to me, he’d forced me to second-guess myself.

I was going to say something. I was going to demand an explanation. Hell, I wanted an apology.

But then his hands were drifting up my spine and slipping into my hair, and my righteous anger decided to take a back seat and let my desire take over instead.

Rowe’s dark gaze was on me as his fingers started working gentle circles across my scalp, making an immediate tremble course through me. Seeing it, feeling it, Rowe’s eyelids went heavier.

This time, my class wasn’t around. There weren’t any rules about no contact.

My hips sank down on Rowe’s lap, and I felt the proof of his words pressing against the juncture of my thighs, making me suck in a surprised breath.

I couldn’t seem to prevent my hips from rocking against him. Once. Twice.

Desire exploded through my system, the flames lapping at every inch of my skin, the fire burning through my bloodstream.

Suddenly, the thin material of my linen harem pants and tank top felt too hot, too itchy, too oppressive.

My arm lifted, reaching back to grab his wrist, guiding his hand around my body, sliding over my breast, but not lingering. I wanted him to linger. Sometime. But right then, the need for release was becoming a clawing, aching, undeniable thing.

So I glided his hand down my thigh toward where the material slit up the sides to allow for free range of motion. But also for curious fingertips to graze over bared skin. Up my thigh, over my hip. Then over. And down just slightly.

“Fuck,” Rowe hissed when I pressed his hand between my thighs. Right up against my bare skin since everyone knew panties and yoga didn’t really mix. Rowe’s thumb moved up, finding the swollen bud of my clit and working the pad of his finger in slow circles around it. “You’re so wet,” he groaned as his middle two fingers slid down my cleft to tap against the entrance to my body.

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