"Please? That's not demanding." Wren arched his brows.
He propped himself up on his elbow, and his gaze slid down Rowan's chest. Rowan squirmed when Wren's eyes lingered too long on one nipple.
"I meant for you to use your hands, not your eyes." Pent-up lust sharpened the edges of Rowan's voice. "Stop looking there."
"No. I don't want to stop looking."
Rowan didn't think it possible for the smirk to become even more smug, but it did. He sighed in frustration. "Fine. Look at whatever you want, but I want you to touch me. Why must you always be so…"
The last part of his sentence died on his lips when Wren began to worship his skin. He used his fingers and his knuckles, the back of his hand and the heel of his palm as he moved from freckle to freckle, catching as many of them as possible as he slowly made his way down Rowan's torso.
"Your skin is so perfect. I never want to take my eyes off it. Next time I will see everything."
