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“So… ye’ll be staying here with me?”
I nod again, not trusting myself to speak. Ronan purses his lips and studies me for a beat.
“Good, because I love ye too,momhuirníndílis.”
My heart clenches, and my breath catches at his sweet pronouncement. I’m wondering about the new Irish endearment. It’s notsweetheart, and it’s not something he’s called me before.
Ronan thrusts into me with a groan, and I’m not thinking about much anymore, apart from how I don’t think I’ll evernotget surprised by how good this feels.
I can’t believe I held out for so long. I was missing out. Or maybe I was holding out for Ronan. It might not be as good with anyone else.
“Jaysus feck, but ye feel good,momhuirníndílis,” he murmurs. “Is breá liom tú.”
Sighing, I strain my wrists against his hold until he releases them, so I can slide my hands under his T-shirt, caressing the rippling muscles at his back.
My legs slide up either side of his, and Ronan reaches down to hook one of my knees over his elbow, so his next thrust hits my sweet spot. Shit. My head tips back as I chase my release with a gasp.
Shattering, I’m aware he is still murmuring to me in Irish as he thrusts even harder, right into my sweet spot. I’m not paying much attention to what he’s saying because I can’t stop coming, writhing and bucking my hips like I’m possessed until Ronan comes with a grunt, right as I come again.
I’m a pile of limp noodles when he finally withdraws from me, snuggling me up in his arms on the bed.
“No more talk of leaving me,leannán.”
If I weren’t so relaxed, I would smile. But I can’t find the energy.
“I’m not your sweetheart,” I mumble, my face moving with the vibrations as Ronan chuckles into my hair.
“No. Ye’re my own true love,momhuirníndílis.”
I sigh, my eyes fluttering closed. “Okay. I’ll stay here with you.”
Chapter Nineteen
FIONA
Ronan disappeared after breakfast this morning, but not before smirking at the new shoe rack I installed beside the front door. He hasn’t said a thing about my tiny “improvements” to his house, but I’ve caught him looking at them with a smug smile.
I guess I technically “live” with him now – so I can do some decorating. I’m working up to big changes, like his sofa. The tan leather is very “bachelor pad,” and it’s notuncomfortable. Of course, it’s not as comfortable as a nice squishy fabric sofa.
The doorman calls up to say Mellie is here, and when she waltzes in, she drops a Dunkies bag on the counter. A woman after my own heart. Apart from Christmas, when I went from one underground parking garage to another, I still haven’t left the condo.
I feel safe here and don’t have any reason to leave. Mellie pulls out a cronut from the Dunkies bag and accepts the mug of coffee that I slide along the counter to her. Her eyes linger on the fruit bowl and across at the vase of flowers as she smirks.
“Slowly moving in, huh?”
I grin, batting my lashes innocently. “I live here officially.”
Mellie’s eyes snap back to my face, and her jaw drops. She recovers quickly, whistling low through her teeth.
“Did he ask?” She slides onto one of the stools, eagerly leaning forward on her elbows. I blush, shifting and grabbing a pastry from the bag.
“Not in so many words, no,” I admit. Mellie looks slightly disappointed. “I maybe mentioned finding my own place, and he, uh, didn’t like that.”
“I bet he didn’t,” Mellie drawls, leaning further forward. “So he just told you then, huh?”
I chew my lower lip, shrugging my shoulders. “He asked why I wanted to leave him, and I… maybe… admitted that I loved him….”
I don’t get any more words out because Mellie is squealing excitedly. What is with a woman who I’m pretty sure has squealed like five times in her life, squealing at big moments in my life?
