He kissed me again before I could answer while his hands moved to cup my breasts and explore my nipples with his thumbs. Touching lightly at first, then kneading, tugging, pulling to find what I liked.
I liked it all.
“Ronan,” I gasped, my hips moving again of their own accord.
He was big—somehow I knew that even if I couldn’t exactly remember it. My body certainly did, just like it was fully aware that there were a scant few layers of fabric between his cock and the very damp space between my legs.
“Oh, Christ,” he choked as he bent to take one nipple into his mouth. “So—oh, careful, baby, you’re gonna—oh,fuck.”
His whole body froze, hard enough that I could feel the ridges of his abdomen tense under his shirt.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
His eyes were squeezed shut. His jaw was clenched. His hands had gone still on my breasts. “I—fuck. Yeah. It’s just that I?—”
Eyes still closed, he nodded downward. I followed the gesture to between my legs and—Oh.
Oh.
It took me a second to realize the unbelievable fact that Ronan Black, he of the wicked repartee and implacable facade, had lost control of himself just from making out (and a bit more) on my couch.
For a second, neither of us moved. I barely breathed at all.
Then Ronan opened his eyes at last, and I braced myself for the inevitable lashing out. For him to push me away, to make an excuse, to run.
Instead, he grinned. “Well. That’s fucking embarrassing.”
I giggled. I couldn’t help it. “So you just?—”
“Came in my pants like a fifteen-year-old on second base? Sure fucking did, gorgeous.” That smirk morphed into a cheeky grin that made me want to kiss him all over again. “What can I say? You undo me.”
Now we were full-on laughing together.
I shifted in his lap, and he winced openly. “Should I get you a towel or?—”
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His hands moved back to my waist, sudden vises. “We’re not done.”
I twisted back to him. “But you just?—”
“We covered that, baby. Time to move on.” He stood in a sudden, graceful movement, taking me with him as he urged my legs to wrap around his waist. “Now, I'm going to need a bed. Not a sofa the size of a park bench.”
“Oh. Um. Down the hall. First door on the left.”
His lips found mine again, kissing all doubt from my mind. When he stopped, we were in my bedroom. My tiny, cluttered bedroom with a pile of laundry in the corner, a framed picture of Santorini on the far wall, and the vanity scattered with the skincare products I always bought with the best intentions but forgot to use more than once.
He carried me into the mess, and just like the rest of my apartment, didn’t seem to care. Somehow seemed to belong there right with everything else.
He laid me down on my antique waterfall bed with the crocheted afghan my grandmother had made and the embroidered pillows I’d bought at an estate sale—and stood over me, breathing hard as he ripped off his suit jacket, then his tie and shirt with harsh, intense movements.
“Just so we’re clear, I’m about to worship every inch of you. And I’m going to take my time doing it. Any arguments?”
A slight accent had emerged in his speech, moving away from the urbane, slightly disdainful if non-regional tone he typically assumed, sliding into a more forceful tone where the letter r was flattened into a rougher sound.
I nodded, not trusting my voice as I wriggled out of the rest of the dress, allowing the satin to crumple to the floor so I was left in nothing but my underwear.
“Good girl.” He yanked his undershirt over his head with one harsh pull, then moved to his belt. This was no gentle striptease. This was Ronan Black getting down to business.
I’d seen him naked before, but only from behind. Plus, I’d been too shocked by the circumstances of waking upmarriedto the man to really look.
