Page 71 of Off the Mark
That’s fucking why.
I was used to fighting my physical attraction to Rowan tooth and nail. Never wanted to join the ranks of all the women who routinely swooned in his presence—because what was the point of acknowledging something that would never be?
But after the press event, I cracked open that locked door and found myself windswept and dazed at the strength of my longing, fully unleashed.
I knew why, and the reason was almost more terrifying. That reporter had been infuriating—but Rowan was justtherefor me.Listening, making me laugh, understanding me in a way I’d spent the past couple days obsessing over.
It had once been so easy for me to write off the flirtatious spark that always danced between us. Easy for me to write off the way I opened up to him, turned to him, helped him when he needed it. His orbit had always been wide and full of charm, so alluring I couldn’t blame myself for getting sucked in.
But I’d gone ahead and asked the biggest flirt I knew, the guyfamousin my bar for never staying the night, toworship the ground that I walked on.
He had gone and done it. And done it so convincingly I was starting to believe the lie.
Rowan closed the distance in a few long strides, reaching down to pull me up the same way Riley had. But he kept our hands entwined, turning them side-to-side.
“No knuckle bandaging needed?” he asked.
“Not this time,” I said. “But therewillbe others, I’m sure of it.”
His gaze burned and I fought the urge to squirm beneath the scrutiny. “I’m here for whatever you need. All you have to do is ask.”
He released me, but not before dragging the tips of his fingers along mine.
We’d barely spoken since I’d discovered that sitting on Rowan’s lap would provide fodder for waking fantasies so lurid, I was helpless to resist giving in to them. So later that same night, with my hand between my legs, my fingers circling my clit, I told myself it wasall for the optics. The way I’d ground on top of him. The way I’d let myself so thoroughly enjoy the glide of his lips along my throat, his wandering, confident hands, the rough scrape of his teasing whispers.
Opticswas why I’d taunted him.
And as I fucked myself with my own hand, it was Rowan I pictured—in a fantasy where I was back in that lobby, back on his lap, and we were entirely alone. A fantasy where his hands stayed tight on my hips, working me back and forth against his cock, our mouths so close we shared one long, shuddering breath. My body had ached with the imagined, agonizing friction, my low moans, Rowan’s gasps, and bruising, head-spinning kisses.
I came so intensely that night my spine arched off the mattress, my mind filled with dreams of what Rowan would look like, undone and panting, with my name on his lips.
Only for the optics though.
Rowan dipped his head, catching my eye. “Are you okay, Maddox?”
“Uh-huh,” I stammered, blinking through my sex haze.
“Do you want help getting your bike in?”
“Nope, I got it,” I said, already hauling it up onto the back. I ducked as I secured the tires to the clamps, needing to avoid eye contact for a minute. It was too much, staring back at Rowan with the secret knowledge that I’d fantasized about grinding myself to orgasm on his lap not forty-eight hours earlier.
But when I finally resurfaced, he was perched on the edge of the truck bed, with just enough space for me to join him. I did, grateful for the ice-cold bottle of water he handed me.
“You’ve got a few fans staring at you over there,” he murmured.
I nodded, finishing the water. “Good to know we’ve got an audience.”
I sat across from Rowan, my back to the side of the truck and my feet stretched toward him. I’d replaced my racing boots with an old pair of sandals, so when Rowan wrapped his fingers around my ankle and squeezed, my skin went hot.
A smile played around his lips. “Long time no see, huh?”
“Maybe,” I hedged. “Did you miss me?”
“I always miss you, Charlie.”
I scanned the milling crowd of people, an easier task than basking in the cozy affection of Rowan’s gaze. Though turning back to it wasn’t much better—he was holding a raspberry Ring Pop in his hand.
“For the second-place winner, Charlie Maddox,” he said, flashing a grin. “The best rider with the coolest tattoos in the biz.”
