Fated to Break | ✓

t h i r t y ~ f i v e

A little late but
Merry Christmas!
This is my gift to you all...even if you've been naughty

<<<>>>

Olivia

        I fling my apartment door open and groan dramatically, my muscles aching with exhaustion. Everything hurts and I hate books. I hate books, I'm done with this writing shit.

Rowan laughs from his place at the dining table, "Have fun at work?"

"I'm dropping out," I drop my bag, toe off my shoes, and throw off my jacket as I trudge to my bed.

I fall face first and my limbs burn when they jolt from the mattress bouncing. I turn my head to glance towards Rowan.

His soft smile grows as he watches his pencil glide across his sketchbook. His hand stops and he closes the book, setting them both on the table.

He looks at me and stands. His grey long sleeve is rolled to the elbows, black joggers hugging his thighs. Never thought I'd be jealous of pants.

"You're so hot. How are you so hot? It's unfair..." I grumble, the side of my lips brushing my comforter beneath me.

He chuckles and it makes my Rowan-butterflies flutter.

He disappears from view when he flanks me, the bed dipping when he crawls behind me. He straddles my legs and presses his palms to my lower back.

I let out a low moan of appreciation when he kneads my overworked muscles in his skilled hands.

"Yup. I'm so in love with you. Ohhh yeah, right there," I giggle, sighing when his thumbs massage up the sides of my spine and over my shoulders.

I feel his lips press to the back of my neck with a soft, tender kiss. My cheeks crack with a smile and he places another, speaking across my skin, "I love you too, darlin."

I bite the inside of my cheek and his hands continue to work the kinks out of my muscles.

"Did they make you put the encyclopedias away again? Your muscles are so tight," he says lowly.

His hands trail down and pushes into my lower back with a jerk, a loud crack running up my spine. My toes curl and a deep groan vibrates my throat.

He rubs where he popped me, "My poor baby."

I wiggle beneath him and my face starts to heat. I whisper, "Harder."

That deep dark chuckle caresses the naughty parts of my brain and my whole body comes to life.

He begins to massage me more firmly, thumbs working the knots away with the skill and precision of a professional. He's so good with his hands.

I nod, "Yup, definitely an artist."

"You like that?" he asks and I fucking swoon.

"Don't start," I huff, arching into his touch.

His warmth covers my back and his breath fans my ear, "I'm not starting anything. I need to know what feels good so I can keep going."