I drag my fingers up his muscular thigh and over the heated bulge in his trousers. He makes a strangled noise in his throat and closes his eyes as I rub him several times over. His trousers are stretched to their limit here, straining against his swollen erection beneath.
His eyes are losing the battle raging inside of him, growing sleepy with lust. He’s so hard against my palm it must be painful for him, but he’s waiting to see what I do next. I find the tab of his zipper and pull it down. His belt comes next, and I unwrap his trousers and then grasp him through the cotton of his briefs. My hand slides over the soft cotton, jacking him off through the material. Ronan’s hips jerk with every pass, and I know I’ve eased him back from the edge a little.
I take a chance with my next question, my hand never leaving his shaft. I don’t want him to think about it too much.
“Can I take off your pants?”
He blinks up at me, but doesn’t answer. The confliction is distracting him. He’s uncertain, and I don’t want to push him.
“We can leave them on,” I amend. “It’s not a big deal.”
I pull them out of the way as best I can, and he watches as I tear open a new condom wrapper. When I tug down his briefs and his cock springs free, his breathing stops completely. Mine does too. I’m staring at his erection, plump and heavy against his thigh.
Jesus.
He’s huge. I knew that, but seeing it is something else entirely. But I’m afraid that if I stare too long, he’s going to misinterpret that. So I reach forward with a shaky hand and roll on the condom. Ronan isn’t breathing. But he’s watching the whole process carefully, like he’s memorizing it for next time.
It doesn’t make sense. The man is fucking gorgeous. And twenty-nine years old now. It’s been two years since he claimed me after killing Blaine, but surely there would have had to be women before that. Right?
As much as I want to ask, it’s still too soon. It’s going to be one battle at a time with Ronan. And right now, I just want to make him feel good. I want to give him another dose of the drug he craves. I want him to keep coming back to me.
We’re oil and water. We don’t mix. I’m bad for him. And he’s no good for me either, probably. But I’m his, regardless. He needs to know that.
So I remove my chemise and then straddle his hips.
“Is this alright?”
He’s staring at my breasts. He’s probably seen them a thousand times up on stage, but you wouldn’t know it by the way he’s ogling them right now.
“Aye,” he replies in a husky voice.
I lean forward and take his face in my hands, rubbing my body against his. His hands find the back of my head, and he kisses me hard and rough. Then his head falls back against the pillow, and he just watches.
I give him what he wants. What I’ve imagined myself doing to him every time I’m up on the stage at Slainte. I grind against his body, and his hands find my ass cheeks, splaying me apart roughly and without finesse. His hips thrust upward, seeking out my warmth.
I let him in, but I don’t let him rush it. His hands are still on my ass, trying to pull me down onto his cock when I lean back and take control. I use my hips to guide him inside of me inch by inch. His eyes are glued to the place where we are connected, a contented sigh escaping his lips once he’s fully rooted inside.
I roll my hips and use his thighs for leverage, sliding my body up and down over his. He watches himself disappear inside of me with a heavy gaze, like he’s doped out of his mind. I know because I feel the same. By all outward appearances, this would look like nothing but a quick fuck to anyone else. His clothes are still on, our skin isn’t even touching, but it’s the most intimate feeling in the world having him inside of me. His eyes fall shut, and I worry I’m going to lose him. Lose this connection.
“Tell me what you like, Ronan,” I whisper.
His eyes open and meet mine. Soft and sweet and content.
“All of it,” he answers in a rough voice. “I like all of it.”
I want so desperately to know him, even though I shouldn’t. I can’t get any more attached to this man than I already am. But looking at him here, now, in my bed and underneath me, starving for my touch, I can’t help it.
“Do you ever think about this?” I ask. “Do you ever think about me like this?”
“Aye,” he answers.
“Tell me what you think about. Tell me what you want me to do.”
He doesn’t reply, but he’s trying to. His eyes are still heavy. He’s struggling to keep them open. Every time I rock down against him, he shudders. He groans and grabs my hips to still me, but I keep going, pushing him towards the edge.
He lets out an agonized growl and jerks inside of me as he comes.
His hands tighten around my hips. Whatever progress I think we’ve made falls to the wayside when he shuts me out again. He’s locked inside of his own head, and he’s going to bolt at any moment if I don’t stop him.
“Ronan, look at me.”
He does. And I crack wide open under the weight of those soft brown eyes.