I grabbed his hair and yanked. “Don’t you dare stop.”
It was all he needed to hear. He thrust forward on a howl, filling me completely. My own cries were almost immediately covered by that mouth, hypnotized by his tongue and the taste of myself on his lips.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “My—Ari—Laney?—”
There was no waiting this time. No time to adjust to his size or his harsh movements. My hands were freed, but his domination was still supreme as he used one hand to grip my hips hard enough to bruise while delivering stroke afterunforgivable stroke that should have made me run but instead set me alight.
“Mine,” he demanded as his other hand slid up to wrap around my throat. “Tell me you’re mine. Say. It.”
“I’m yours.” I gasped. “I’m yours, Ronan?—”
“Then come, Ari. Squeeze me so tight it hurts. Let me—fuck—let me feel how much you need me too.”
“Ronan!”
His hand left my throat, and with both hands under my legs, he pulled me off the wall suddenly, whirling me to the bed, where the soft sateen sheets were balm to my poor, punished skin.
“Let me see you.” His voice broke as framed my face with his hands and slid back in, slower this time, though no less intense. “Laney.”
My name was half growl, half whisper.
Just as animal, I pawed through his hair, threading my fingers through the soft curls to pet back every anxiety we both shared. “Ronan.”
His rhythm grew erratic, desperate. I could feel him getting close, could see it in the tension of his jaw, the wild look in his eyes.
“I’m going to—oh, God, Laney—” he choked. “Fuck—do it now. Come with me now!”
His sheer, broken desperation sent me over the edge again, and I didn’t stop to wonder what it said about me that I seemed to want his surrender just as much as he demanded mine. We broke on the same shout, my body going rigid as he shoved deep to break, fill, pin me down and make me his, his, his.
Yours, yours, yours.
The admission thumped with my pulse, which was shockingly steady, all things considered.
Maybe because my body knew it was the truth after all. And maybe there was nothing to be scared of in that.
“Christ, Laney.” Ronan’s voice was hoarse when he found it sometime later. Then, a lower murmur, almost too faint to be heard: “‘You burn me.’”
I inhaled deeply, unsure if he was quoting one of Sappho’s simplest erotic poems or not. Knowing Ronan, it was hard to be sure.
Either way, though, I knew how he felt. My whole body had been alight under his touch.
“Too rough?” he mumbled.
I tugged light on his hair, still in my tired clutch. “No. I believe my exact words were, ‘don’t you fucking dare stop.’”
He chuckled, rolled off me and to the side before gathering me close. “I’m definitely a bad influence on you. Or at least on your language.”
“Well, since my husband drops F-bombs every other sentence, it was probably to be expected.”
That prompted another chuckle. “Fuckin’ A, sweetheart.”
He found my wrists, which he started to massage where the belt had bound them. Then his touch traveled down to my backside, where there were almost certainly going to be marks. The look on his face when he propped himself up to check told me I was right.
“Stop.” I pushed him back down. “You had my full consent.”
“Not to be a monster.”
“You were in charge. There’s a difference.” I tilted my head up to kiss him, and he let me do it until I could feel him relax again. But only until I pulled away.
