His forehead pressed against mine, his breath ghosting over my lips, a promise unspoken. My hands flattened against his chest, feeling the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat as he barely held himself together.
“I’ve never felt like this before, and I know I should fight it. I should walk away.”
His hand dug into my back, and I could feel the tension radiating off him. “But gods help me, I don’t want to.”
Then he kissed me.
There was nothing careful or slow about it. His lips crashed into mine with a hunger that stole my breath right from my lungs, like he had been starving and I was the only thing that could satisfy his ache. My back hit the mirror behind me, his body following with no space left between us, and I felt every inch of him.
His hands roamed without hesitation, one gripping my waist, the other threading through my hair. I should pull away. I should’ve stopped it.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t want to, I wanted him, I wanted this.
I kissed him back with urgency. I curled my fingers into his shirt, fisting the fabric, dragging him closer when we were already pressed tight.
Oh, I really wish he had come in at least half-naked. I wanted to feel him like he could feel me.
His tongue brushed against mine—teasing, claiming—and I parted my lips just a little more, inviting him in.
A soft moan escaped before I could swallow it, and it snapped something in him. His grip on me tightened, and his kiss consumed me. It was messy and addictive.
But the intensity of it—the raw consuming heat—made my head spin, and I tore myself even though it was the last thing I wanted.
My lips tingled as I licked them, and he caught the movement. My mind was a mess, but my body already missed the feel of him. The taste of him.
Ronan stood there, chest heaving, eyes burning with something feral. He looked at me like stopping had physically hurt him, like the only thing keeping him from kissing me again was sheer, brutal restraint.
I didn’t trust my voice. So instead, I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against his chest, grounding myself in the rapid beat of his heart. Strong arms wrapped around me instantly.
He held me like I was the most fragile thing in the world—and somehow, that only made me want him closer.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Cherry,” he said quietly into my hair, a breath of frustration. A whisper of something dangerously close to devotion.
I huffed a laugh, looking up. “I’m not that bad.”
“You are,” he whispered, brushing his lips against my temple. “And the worst part? I don’t even care.”
I took a step to the side, moving away to create some sort of space so I could think clearly. “We need to talk to Kieran about Darian.”
And about everything else.
Ronan’s expression shifted as he nodded, his lips a little swollen from our kiss.
“I’ll see if he’s awake, but fair warning—he’s not exactly a morning person.”
Truth be told, neither am I.
“That makes two of us,”Xarothar grumbled in my mind.
“Nobody’s keeping you awake, sleeping beauty.”
The dragon scoffed.“You are with your emotions about the chatty one.”
“He has a name.”
“Don’t care.”
