Wounded: A Black Diamond Novel by Ashley James

Author:Ashley James [James, Ashley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-06-16T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Caspian

Rowan is falling apart. Ripping at the seams.

I love to see it. In fact, I probably enjoy it a little too much.

He looks almost… angelic, as he stands there before me, hands raised and bound above his head, his cheeks painted a rosy pink, his forehead slick with the perspiration caused by the loss of release. His lips, swollen and red, are still slick with our shared saliva, and pushed out into a pout, and a bruise the size of a quarter on his neck caused by me is a dark shade of purple. It stands out drastically against his creamy, pale skin. It’s a good look on him, being marked by me.

His thick, dark brows dip, his eyes overflowing with want and need, and a little frustration too. He’s furious with me, body practically thrumming with it, but beneath all that rage is a bone-deep arousal and a blood-thirsty hunger.

Rowan lacks patience. It’s obvious in the way he handles himself. Instant gratification is his true love. If it were up to him, I would’ve been balls deep inside his tight fucking ass and made him come twice already. He’s a royal pain in my fucking ass, but apparently not enough for me to not want to be a pain in his.

The attraction, the vibe, the raw fucking chemistry between us is undeniable at this point. I hate the pull, the draw between us, like two life-forces destined to lock together. The more I shut him out, the harder he pushes back. The more I try to ignore him, the more he plagues my mind.

His hair—short and fake blond. Fucking stupid, but annoyingly attractive.

His jawline—sharp and enticing. Especially when he smiles.

The way he doesn’t give a single fuck that he dresses like he shops in a dumpster.

The spark and the light burning inside of him that I’ve never possessed.

The way his lips feel against mine, and the way his mouth tastes like mint, and sometimes tobacco, and sometimes marijuana.

How utterly fucking responsive his body is to me.

And the way I know for a fucking fact he lies about dumb shit, and how it makes me think maybe, just fucking maybe, he’s more like me than I’d care to believe. Maybe we aren’t so different. Maybe he’s fucked up like me. And maybe that means it’s okay to let him in.

But that… that fucking pesky thought scares the ever-loving shit out of me. It scares me more than the threat of being kicked out of my band. It scares me more than the possibility that one day I’ll be nothing more than a washed-up musician who ends up just like my fucking dad, cold and dead, six feet under.

It terrifies me because nobody, in my twenty-four years on this fucking god-forsaken planet, has ever—ever—made me want to let my walls crumble, even a little bit.

Not until Rowan fucking Davies.

I refuse to let myself spiral about this, though. At least, not right now. Not when he’s hard and willing and hungry for me.

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