Page 118 of Cruel Lies

I whine and nod frantically.

He works his fingers in and out while his tongue keeps going. I'm getting louder. I can't help it, but I have no plans on stopping.

"Ronan," I pant. "You're killing me."

"I know." He adds a third finger. It's a lot, but my body opens for it even more. "You feel that? You're opening up for me,kotyonok.Good girl. We're going to need every inch of it."

I reach for him, wanting to touch him back. But he catches my wrist and pins it to the bed. "Not yet," he tuts. "This is about you first."

"Ronan!" I cry out. "I need you."

"And you'll have me," he promises. "But only when the time is right."

He curls those three fingers one more time, right against that spot he's decided he owns now, and drops his mouth back to my clit to suck it between his lips.

It's a landslide. It takes me apart in seconds. I'm simply gone, arching off the mattress, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other still pinned under his, saying his name in a voice I no longer recognize as my own.

He works me all the way through it, gentling as I come down, pressing soft kisses to the inside of my thigh while I shudder and gasp and try to remember how lungs are supposed to function.

"You look so pretty when you crumble for me," he murmurs, sliding his fingers free.

He rises up over me, slow, all that heat and muscle and dark ink of scars I don't ask about, and licks those dripping fingers clean, one by one. I can only watch through half-lidded eyes at this dream of a man tasting me where I just drenched him.

When he's satisfied, he settles his hips between my open legs, then leans forward and braces one forearm beside my head.

I feel him there, hot and heavy against me, and my whole body tenses in anticipation. He reaches over to the nightstand and opens the drawer, then pulls out a foil packet and tears it with his teeth. I watch him roll the condom on.

"Just in case," he says. "I take care of you. All the way."

I don't know why that gets me. But it does. It's such a small thing, but it's one more way he thinks about me first.

When he's sheathed, he takes himself and drags the blunt, thick head of him through my slickness, once, twice, until I'm whimpering all over again.

My eyes flutter closed in anticipation. But then, to my surprise, a rough hand grabs my jaw and wrenches it up off the pillows.

"I don't fucking think so," he growls. "I want you looking at me when it happens. I want you to remember every second. Remember who you're with."

"Yes, Ronan," I gasp, forcing my eyes open, dragging myself up out of the hazy pleasure to find his. Half-gray, half-blue, burning black at the center. "I'm looking. I'm with you."

He nods savagely.

Then he shoves into me.

Under any other circumstance, a man his size, moving like that, would hurt. But I'm so wet, so ready, so shamelessly gone for him that it doesn't hurt at all. It just feels like beingfilled.Completely. Like a puzzle piece I didn't know was missing sliding home with a click I feel in my heart.

"Oh,God," I whimper.

"Not God," he corrects as he seats himself all the way in and goes still, letting me stretch around every impossible inch of him. "Me."

"You," I gasp in agreement. "Ronan. You."

"Now, you're starting to understand."

He withdraws almost all the way out before reversing course and sinking back in. He watches me the whole time, grinning as I sputter and groan.

But I get a little bit of revenge when I clench down around him and his face goes taut before an angry, defiant growl rips out of him.

We're both each other's sweetest torture.