by A. Zavarelli
Mack stares down at her feet, and I realize why she’s being so weird about it. She thinks I’m going to be upset with her.
“I’m not mad,” I tell her. “If that’s what you think.”
Her shoulders sag in relief and she nods. “I don’t know how to do this whole thing. I mean, I’m sort of friends with Ronan, but not really. I think he just feels comfortable talking to me about you because he has no one else, ya know? I couldn’t even imagine him talking to the guys about it.”
I focus on my coffee cup and bite my tongue to keep from asking her a million questions like a teenager with a stupid crush. But Mack must sense my curiosity because she explains on her own.
“The whole conversation was pretty vague, but I get the gist that he isn’t very experienced. He’s nervous, and he wants to talk to you, but I honestly just don’t think he knows how, Sash.”
“Tell me about it,” I sigh.
“I don’t know what’s up with him. Lach is really weird about it. Like oddly protective of him. More so than the rest. He doesn’t let people touch him. And once, I saw him threaten Michael when he laughed at Ronan at the club. Like he wanted to tear off Michael’s head for laughing at him.”
I’m somewhat surprised by the fact that Lachlan seems to have told me more about Ronan than even Mack knows, and I have to think it’s for a reason. But then I remember what he said and try to tell myself that this is for the best. That I need to let Ronan go and concentrate on my future.
“I don’t get it either,” I reply. “I know next to nothing about him. And it doesn’t matter anyway at this point.”
“Doesn’t it?” Mack asks softly.
“No,” I say firmly, still feeling the tug in my chest at the way he left the other morning. “I meant what I said, Mack. When Ma is gone, I can’t stay here anymore. I just can’t. It’s time for me to get out of this vacuum.”
“Okay, Sash,” she says. “If that’s what you want, then I respect that. And I fully back you up on whatever you choose to do.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sasha
I’m lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling when I hear him come in.
He isn’t loud. In fact, he’s so quiet it only serves to remind me who he is and what he does. I don’t even know how he’s getting into the apartment. Or when this habit of his started. Any normal person would be upset. Freaked out, probably.
But when I feel the bed dip and the leather from his gloved hand as he reaches out to touch me, I’m enveloped by a sense of calm. Relief. I feel safe with him, this killer. This man with the somber brown eyes who I don’t understand, but want to more than anything.
“Ronan.”
My bedside lamp turns on, and he blinks down at me. “Ye’re awake.”
“I am. How’s your shoulder?”
“Almost good as new,” he answers. And for some reason, I think he actually believes that.
He has a cheap plastic shopping bag next to him. It looks out of place resting beside this sharp dressed man with the flawless hair and suit. On the outside, he’s so perfect it’s hard to believe I could ever measure up to him.
I’m sullied. Tarnished. Unclean.
And yet he’s looking at me right now like he’s never seen anything more angelic in his life. His eyes are unguarded and open. It doesn’t happen often. And I’m honestly surprised he’s here at all after what happened the last time.
He comes and goes as he pleases. When things get uncomfortable, he runs. But somehow he always knows when I need him. And tonight, I do need him.
“What do you have there?” I gesture towards the bag.
His cheeks flush as he dumps the contents onto the bed. There’s an entire armory of condoms, lube, foams, and other over the counter birth control methods.
“I didn’t know which ones you like,” he says.
His eyes are avoiding mine, and I’m grateful. Because I’m smiling. He’s overwhelmed and uncomfortable. I don’t know why he gets like that. But I’m curious as hell the more I get to know about him. I want to know how many others he’s been with. I want to know why he’s so keyed up about something that is second nature to the majority of the men he spends time with.
But I also know that those subjects will likely push him away, so I don’t ask.
I grab a box and open it, handing him the foil packet.
“We only need one to start with,” I offer.
The room is quiet while Ronan stares down at the packet in his hands. After a pause, he tries to tear it open. It doesn’t work. He’s fumbling with it because he’s being too rough, and there’s a red flush creeping up his neck.
I place a hand on his shoulder and he startles. “Do you want some help?”
“No,” he clips out.
I bite my lip and wait, and eventually he gets it open. When he pulls out the condom, he stares at it again. I can’t see his expression, but he keeps tugging at his collar and the vein in his neck is now throbbing.
It’s only when he gets up to leave that it occurs to me he doesn’t know what to do with it. I jump out of bed and chase after him, catching him around the arm. He’s staring down the hallway, desperate to get away. His skin is on fire beneath my palm, and I know he’s counting the steps to the door.
He’s frustrated. And I don’t know what to do in this situation. Because he won’t tell me what’s wrong. So I take a chance, and leaning up on my tiptoes, pull his gaze down to mine.
“Come back,” I whisper. “I don’t want you to go.”
His gaze dips to me, and he studies me like I confuse him. Like he doesn’t know what keeps bringing him back here. To me. But he isn’t trying to leave. He isn’t saying no. So I reach down and link our hands together and pull him along behind me. When we get to the bed, I gently push him down on the mattress. I shove all of the products he bought save for one condom into the nightstand drawer so he doesn’t have to think about it. And then I crawl up and kneel beside him.
I have his undivided attention. And I’m fully aware that one wrong move on my part will make him bolt. He’s here, but he’s already halfway out the door. I need him to relax. I need him to feel comfortable with me.
So I start out gradually. My hand grazes his thigh, waiting for his approval or rejection of my touch. He doesn’t flinch away, so I take it as a sign to continue.
I drag my fingers up his muscular thigh and over the heated bulge in his trousers. He makes a strangled noise in his throat and closes his eyes as I rub him several times over. His trousers are stretched to their limit here, straining against his swollen erection beneath.
His eyes are losing the battle raging inside of him, growing sleepy with lust. He’s so hard against my palm it must be painful for him, but he’s waiting to see what I do next. I find the tab of his zipper and pull it down. His belt comes next, and I unwrap his trousers and then grasp him through the cotton of his briefs. My hand slides over the soft cotton, jacking him off through the material. Ronan’s hips jerk with every pass, and I know I’ve eased him back from the edge a little.
I take a chance with my next question, my hand never leaving his shaft. I don’t want him to think about it too much.
“Can I take off your pants?”
He blinks up at me, but doesn’t answer. The confliction is distracting him. He’s uncertain, and I don’t want to push him.
“We can leave them on,” I amend. “It’s not a big deal.”
I pull them out of the way as best I can, and he watches as I tear open a new condom wrapper. When I tug down his briefs and his cock springs free, his breathing stops completely. Mine does too. I’m staring at his erection, plump and heavy against his thigh.
Jesus.
He’s huge. I knew that, but seeing it is something else entirely. But I’m afraid that if I stare too long, he’s going to misinterpret that. So I reach forward with a shaky hand and roll on the condom. Ronan isn’t breathing. But he’s watching the whole process carefully, like he’s memorizing it for next time.
> It doesn’t make sense. The man is fucking gorgeous. And twenty-nine years old now. It’s been two years since he claimed me after killing Blaine, but surely there would have had to be women before that. Right?
As much as I want to ask, it’s still too soon. It’s going to be one battle at a time with Ronan. And right now, I just want to make him feel good. I want to give him another dose of the drug he craves. I want him to keep coming back to me.
We’re oil and water. We don’t mix. I’m bad for him. And he’s no good for me either, probably. But I’m his, regardless. He needs to know that.
So I remove my chemise and then straddle his hips.
“Is this alright?”
He’s staring at my breasts. He’s probably seen them a thousand times up on stage, but you wouldn’t know it by the way he’s ogling them right now.
“Aye,” he replies in a husky voice.
I lean forward and take his face in my hands, rubbing my body against his. His hands find the back of my head, and he kisses me hard and rough. Then his head falls back against the pillow, and he just watches.
I give him what he wants. What I’ve imagined myself doing to him every time I’m up on the stage at Slainte. I grind against his body, and his hands find my ass cheeks, splaying me apart roughly and without finesse. His hips thrust upward, seeking out my warmth.
I let him in, but I don’t let him rush it. His hands are still on my ass, trying to pull me down onto his cock when I lean back and take control. I use my hips to guide him inside of me inch by inch. His eyes are glued to the place where we are connected, a contented sigh escaping his lips once he’s fully rooted inside.
I roll my hips and use his thighs for leverage, sliding my body up and down over his. He watches himself disappear inside of me with a heavy gaze, like he’s doped out of his mind. I know because I feel the same. By all outward appearances, this would look like nothing but a quick fuck to anyone else. His clothes are still on, our skin isn’t even touching, but it’s the most intimate feeling in the world having him inside of me. His eyes fall shut, and I worry I’m going to lose him. Lose this connection.
“Tell me what you like, Ronan,” I whisper.
His eyes open and meet mine. Soft and sweet and content.
“All of it,” he answers in a rough voice. “I like all of it.”
I want so desperately to know him, even though I shouldn’t. I can’t get any more attached to this man than I already am. But looking at him here, now, in my bed and underneath me, starving for my touch, I can’t help it.
“Do you ever think about this?” I ask. “Do you ever think about me like this?”
“Aye,” he answers.
“Tell me what you think about. Tell me what you want me to do.”
He doesn’t reply, but he’s trying to. His eyes are still heavy. He’s struggling to keep them open. Every time I rock down against him, he shudders. He groans and grabs my hips to still me, but I keep going, pushing him towards the edge.
He lets out an agonized growl and jerks inside of me as he comes.
His hands tighten around my hips. Whatever progress I think we’ve made falls to the wayside when he shuts me out again. He’s locked inside of his own head, and he’s going to bolt at any moment if I don’t stop him.
“Ronan, look at me.”
He does. And I crack wide open under the weight of those soft brown eyes.
“We have all night,” I tell him.
I didn’t think they would, but my words relax him a little, so I keep going. My fingers ghost up his neck and over his shoulders, massaging him lightly as he watches me.
“Do you want to know what I think about?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer. I reach for his hand that’s still resting on my hip and slide it down between us. I press his fingers over my clit and show him what I like.
He watches me carefully. Taking mental notes of every breath, every reflex, and before long he’s doing all the work himself. My hand falls away, and he takes over. He jerks my body forward, shoving my breast into his mouth.
Now it’s me who’s out of control. Thrashing all over his body, whining at his every touch.
“This is what I think about,” I tell him. “I think about you touching me. Just touching me like this. Any way that you want. Hard or soft. I just want you to touch me.”
His eyes are dark and warm as they appraise me. He likes what he’s doing to me. This is what he wanted.
“Anywhere, Ronan,” I repeat. “Just keep your hands on my body. I want to feel you.”
My voice is desperate. Frantic. I’m betraying all of the emotion I’ve bottled up inside of me for the last two years. I’m just blurting out whatever I like now. There is no filter.
“Always you. Only you, Ronan.”
He’s hard inside of me again. His breathing is harsh, and he’s not even moving inside of me. All he has to do is look at me like this and it makes him lose control. That thought is what sends me over the edge. I’ve barely finished coming around him when he’s got me flipped over onto my back. He pulls out long enough to tear off the condom, and then he’s thrusting back inside of me.
I cling to his back and suck his throat while he fucks me hard and fast. It isn’t like before. There isn’t a part of him that’s unsure or hesitant now. He’s driven purely by his urges. By his instincts.
“I want you to do the things you think about,” I tell him. “I want you to fuck me the way that you like.”
Ronan groans and fucks me harder. I like to watch him. The way he moves inside of me. The way his arms flex and he loses control.
“Sasha,” he grunts between thrusts. “I can’t stop.”
“Don’t,” is my reply. “Do whatever you want with me.”
The next thing I know, he’s heaving me up into his arms and carting me across the room. I don’t have time to question it when he pins me up against the wall and starts to fuck me there.
His pants clatter to the ground from the force of his thrusts. I wrap my legs around his waist and he cups my ass in his hand. His other hand is in my hair, wrecking it as he kisses me again.
“Is this what you think of?” I ask when he moves his lips to my throat again. “Fucking me against the wall?”
“Aye,” he grunts. “At the club. I want them all to see.”
“See what?”
I’m desperate for information, anything he will give me, I want to know.
“I want them to see that ye’re mine,” he roars as he explodes inside of me again, filling my womb with his warmth.
He buries his face in my neck, the next words out of his mouth coming unbidden.
“I think about ye all the time.”
I reach up and stroke his hair, and for a few blissful moments, we just remain there. Our bodies locked together, holding each other. When he finally lets me down, his come leaks down my thigh.
I look down, and so does he.
He didn’t use a condom the second time.
Again.
That same panicked expression washes over his face. I want to reassure him, even if it is false.
“It’s okay, Ronan.”
But he’s already buckling his pants up, preparing to flee again. And I can’t take this. Indulging these encounters with Ronan is like playing Russian Roulette with my heart. He keeps pulling the trigger. At some point, the wound is bound to prove fatal.
“Don’t go,” I try again.
He smooths his hair back into place. His face is blank. There’s nothing there now. The guard is back up, blocking me out.
He walks towards the front door, and I follow after him. His palm pauses on the handle, and I tell him one more time.
“Don’t leave.”
But he turns the handle.
And this time when he walks through the doorway, I let my anger chase him.
I grab the door behind him and call after him. He turns around to look at me, and I tell him what I know is best for me.
“Wha
t I meant was, don’t come back.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ronan
“I’ve got a lead on Andrei,” Crow says.
I nod and toss back the whiskey before standing and shrugging on my coat.
“Rory already checked it out.” Crow interrupts me. “So there’s no need to rush off anywhere.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Ye haven’t been yourself lately, Ronan. I don’t know what’s going on with ye, but we need to tread carefully here. You need to tread carefully here. I need this handled in the proper fashion. Do ye follow me?”
“So I fecked up once, and now ye have no faith in me, is that it?”
“Ah, Fitzy, quit being so bleeding contrary,” Crow grunts. “The job is still yours. I just want to be sure everything is in line this time.”
I move to leave, and Crow grabs me by the arm. I shake him off.
“Fitz, I need ye to be careful. He’s got men scouring the city for you.”
“I’m not fussed about it,” I tell him. “Let them come. I’d gladly welcome them to try.”
“Goddammit, Ronan.” Crow slams his fist down on the bar. “Ye’re being a gobshite.”
“Ah well,” I answer him. “That’s what I’m good at. Isn’t it?”
I try to leave again when he stops me. He’s staring at me the way he always does. Like he’s trying to work me out. Get inside my head. I don’t like that. I don’t like people looking at me like that. He knows it too.
“I’ve got one in the basement for ye,” he says. “One of his lads. I doubt you’ll get anything else from him, but ye’re welcome to try.”
***
The music from upstairs vibrates down through the floor as I assemble my tools. There isn’t much left of the lad at this stage.
My methods of torture are effective. I know, because I learned from personal experience. So I also know by now this man has nothing else to tell me. He would have given it up if he had.
Most men would like to believe they could withstand anything through sheer will alone. But it isn’t true. They all give something up in the end. I don’t like what I have to do to them any more than they like getting it.
