Chapter 9: Caught in Heat
606 Words
The snow hadn’t stopped.
Neither had the ache.
It had been days since Aria last looked at Rowan without suspicion tightening in her chest. Days since she’d found her name branded on his skin like some forbidden poem. She still hadn’t spoken more than a sentence to him, and yet… her thoughts wouldn’t stop circling back to him.
Every sound he made in the kitchen.
Every low grunt when he stretched.
Every glimpse of skin when his shirt lifted just enough to remind her how unreasonably built he was.
She hated it.
And craved it.
Tonight, the silence in her room was too thick to ignore. She curled up with her journal, not the one filled with grief and rage and heartbreak. The other one. The one meant for James. The one filled with fiction too intimate for daylight.
Only now… she was no longer writing about James.
She sat on the bed, letting the pen scratch slowly across the page as her thoughts darkened. It wasn’t his memory that stirred her now, it was Rowan’s. His hands. His mouth. His voice, deep and quiet, always carrying some untamed heat that lived between his words.
Her body flushed with warmth, even though the fire had burned down hours ago.
She dropped the pen.
Her skin felt too hot, her pulse too loud.
Without thinking, she walked to the bathroom, peeled off her clothes, and stepped into the claw-foot tub. The water was cold, but it kissed her overheated skin like relief.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
Her head fell back against the edge of the tub. She blinked slowly. Then her eyes drifted to the cabinet above the sink. The one she had shoved a small, white box into the first night she arrived.
She stood.
Still dripping.
Still breathless.
And reached for it.
She opened the box like it might burn her fingertips. Inside were sleek, curved shapes meant for curiosity and exploration.
They reminded her of Rowan.
The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching.
The way his voice roughened when he said her name.
The way he haunted every one of her darkest thoughts.
She slipped back into the water, heart pounding, one hand reaching for the toy as the other slid between her thighs. Her breath came faster as she let her head fall back again, eyes fluttering closed.
And she thought of him.
Rowan.
His lips trailing down her neck.
His hands gripping her hips.
His voice, growling something indecent into her ear.
She didn’t even hear the door open.
But her eyes flew open the moment she felt a shift in the air.
He was standing there.
Rowan.
Leaning against the frame like he hadn’t just walked in on her mid-desire.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Just looked.
At her.
At her flushed skin.
At the water lapping against her thighs.
At her hand, still trembling between her legs.
“Leave,” she breathed. “Please.”
He didn’t.
His eyes were dark, tracing every inch of her with such reverence it made her ache all over again.
“Do you need help?” he asked, his voice low, thick with need.
Her mind screamed no.
Her body whispered yes.
And before she could argue with herself, she nodded. Once.
That was all it took.
Rowan stepped forward, slow and sure, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. His body, chiseled and inked like temptation in human form, moved toward her as he closed the bathroom door behind him.
And everything inside her snapped.
She didn’t want to run anymore.
She wanted to burn.
- Writer
