Those are the two most logical questions to ask in this situation, rather than why he’s sneaking into my room, scaring me half to death. Ronan always goes about things in odd ways, and it’s almost comical that I’ve come to expect this sort of behavior from him. He doesn’t answer me though, as usual, so I continue to push him.
“Talk to me,” I insist. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I don’t actually expect him to answer. He never answers me. So this time when he does, it shocks the ever living hell out of me.
“You didn’t tell me,” he says.
His voice is accusing, tinged with hurt and anger.
“I didn’t tell you what?”
“About Donovan.”
Shame wells up inside of me, and I blink back tears as I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t want to try to explain my logic. It will never make sense to him. These guys, they all think the same. He would be offended if I told him I was trying to protect him. But the alternative is even worse.
“I knew what you would do to him if I told you,” I whisper. “I don’t think you would be able to help yourself. Just like with Blaine.”
He’s quiet and still, studying me with his eyes. Those eyes make me feel exposed. Like I can’t hide from him. But right now, I don’t want to.
“Am I right, Ronan?”
Silence. I hate his silence. I don’t understand why he can’t just talk to me. Why it’s so hard for him to talk to me, but not everyone else.
“I knew what the consequences would be if you killed him,” I say. “And I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let anything happen to you because of me. Because of what you did for me.”
He doesn’t blink. Or move. Or show any sort of a response to my confession whatsoever, except for an overwhelming sadness in his eyes. It makes me feel like I betrayed him. He can’t understand. He could never understand.
“I know what you must think of me,” I attempt to justify. “But I never gave him my body. I did things I’m not proud of to keep him quiet. But I just wanted him to keep his mouth shut. I just wanted…”
A sob bursts from my lips, and Ronan lowers his body over mine, swallowing me up completely. He’s got me pinned, the heat of his body soaking into mine. He expels a deep breath. And then another. He’s wrestling with himself. Eye fucking me while he tries to talk himself out of it at the same time. But it’s too late. We both know it.
He’s on me then. His hands are on my body, groping me. They feel huge against me. Rough and calloused. The hard to my soft. His face is buried in my hair, wrecking it as his nose drags along my neck. He’s breathing me in. Taking another hit of me like it’s the thing he’s been jonesing for all this time. His cock jams against my hip bone when he grinds into me.
He nudges my legs apart and pushes his palm between my legs like he owns that part of me. Who am I to argue? He does fucking own me. He's polluted my mind so that I can only ever think of him. Only ever want him.
My hands slide up his back as I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer. My breath is hot against his ear, murmuring his name. Any shame or confusion has dissipated into a haze of manic craving. I will never understand what it is about this quiet, enigmatic man that renders me completely senseless.
Ronan feels it too. This explosive link between us. All I have to do is enter his orbit, and I’m a slave to his power. I suspect that’s why he’s always avoiding me. He doesn’t want to give in to the same force.
But right now, in the darkness of my bedroom, he’s already surrendered. He’s fumbling with his belt buckle, even as he pleads with me to put an end to the madness.
“Tell me to stop,” he chokes out. “Tell me not to touch you.”
I don’t. Instead, I drag my fingers through his hair and watch him shudder.
“Take off your clothes,” I counter. “Let me feel you, Ronan.”
He ignores me, too far gone to hear or make sense of my words. He yanks my panties aside roughly and plows into me in one hard thrust. A strangled sound of shock and pleasure bleeds up from my throat, and he freezes to look down at me.
“Keep going,” I beg.
He couldn’t stop if he tried though. He’s fucking me like he’s drunk. He’s manic and out of control. Banging into me so hard it’s going to leave bruises. His eyes keep falling shut, but he’s trying to keep them open. Watching me.
He’s searching my face, but for what I can’t tell. I feel like he needs my reassurance. That he hasn’t killed me in his insanity. That he’s doing this right. I don’t know why, but there’s vulnerability in his eyes.
I stroke my fingers down the base of his neck and pull him closer. I want to kiss him. He’s never let me kiss him. I can’t even imagine how good it’s going to feel, but I know once I have a taste I’ll be ruined forever.