I open my eyes to find him staring at me. His mouth begins to move upward, leaving a trail of soft kisses behind it. Slowly. Decadently. The moment his lips land in the valley between my breasts, he pauses, smiling against my skin, testing my control. But fuck control. He isn’t supposed to stop now. Groaning, I grab his head and pull him closer to me.
He chuckles before he mouths my breast, sucking it in. I tighten my hands into fists while I try to control the light trembling of my limbs, but I can’t. Hot and cold chills scatter throughout my body as he continues to torture me. His eyes on me, I observe the pink tip of his tongue tracing the outline of my erect nipple, flicking it, turning the wet material a dark pink. “So damn sweet.”
I moan and reach for my bra. He places a hand on top of mine, a devilish light in his eyes. “Not yet. I’m still having fun.”
“Seriously?” I say breathlessly, my heart pounding.
He smirks. “Yeah. I told you, I’m going to take my time with you.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re beautiful.” He lets go of me and stands up.
I turn on my side and watch him undress, feeling like I was just cockblocked. “Do you ever not say the right things?”
“I don’t know.” He looks at me, his gaze penetrating and full of something I understand but don’t want to acknowledge. “Maybe it’s because you make me feel all the right things, Blaire.”
As he unbuttons his shirt, I observe his exposed muscles, showcasing a tattoo of a crouching tiger on his left pectoral. He kicks his Converse sneakers off with his socks, his jeans going next. Ronan stands in front of me wearing boxer briefs that mold to his thighs and ass, the perfect V between his hip bones and a raging erection sticking out like a bulls eye. God, he’s breathtaking. When he turns around to close the curtains, I see an Asian-inspired black and gray dragon covering most of his back. I’m not sure what’s more stunning—the artwork or him. It’s probably Ronan who makes the tattoo that beautiful. Every thick groove and muscle on his back moves as he extends his arm. His body is art.
With the only light in the room from the lamp on the night table, he gets in bed behind me. “I need you closer than this,” he says, wrapping me in a tight embrace.
With my back touching the front of his chest, he begins to gently stroke my thighs, the apex between my legs, lightly tracing my mound, my stomach. His touch is reverent, possessive. He pulls down the cups of my bra and lets my breasts spill out into his large hands. He cups them, his fingers lightly grazing my nipples, awakening them to his touch, awakening my body as it hums with the promise of what’s to come. With each stroke, each caress, the man is engraving himself on my skin. He’s learning my body as I learn his touch, and there’s no going back for me.
I want to turn around, but he holds both my wrists in one of his hands, stopping me from moving, while the other begins to caress my ass, palming the soft skin.
“Don’t move.” His hand goes inside my thong, seeking my core from behind. He runs his tongue along the edges of my ear and whispers, “I want you like this. At my mercy.”
He spreads my legs open with his free hand, hooking one behind his hips as one, two, three of his fingers begin to pump into me, stretching my opening. I tremble as I break free from his hold and place my hand on top of his. I follow the movements of his hand as he continues to thrust his fingers in and out of me, each time a little deeper, feeling how wet they become with my essence.
It’s pleasure.
It’s pain.
It’s euphoria.
He pulls out and rubs my clit, making me feel as though life sprouted from his touch. “This,” he breathes against my neck, “belongs to me now.”
I laugh shakily when he pulls his hand out of my underwear, turning my head in his direction. I watch him raise his fingers to his mouth and suck them clean. Once he drags them out, the tip of his tongue traces the flavor of my body lingering on his lips. He grins, his eyes wolfish. “So fucking sweet.”
“Ronan …”
“Shhh …”
“But—”
He kisses me, and I can taste myself on him. Is there such a thing as a pulsating kiss? A kiss that breathes life into you, a kiss you feel from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, a kiss that awakens your senses and makes them sing? Because this feels like it.
Ronan breaks away and begins trailing kisses from the valley of my chest to my belly button, down between my legs. Opening his mouth, his probing tongue traces the outline of my core through the wet lace. He breathes me in, inhaling my smell deeply into his lungs as though it was the last bout of air he’d take in his life. And then he nudges my panties aside, his fingers spreading me open until I feel the warmth of his tongue caressing my clit, licking me, plunging deep inside of me. I moan as he arouses every sensation in my body with his wicked mouth. Slow, fast, faster, slower, each swipe drives me closer to paradise. I want to die of bliss yet my body hums with life. He curls his fingertips up against my walls, never ceasing his divine assault. “You like this, Blaire? My fingers inside you, fucking you senseless?”
“Please, Ronan …”
“What do you want? Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”
I watch him drive his fingers deeper inside me as he flicks my clit with the tip of his tongue. “I want you. I need you. God …” I pant. “Now.”
He stops his torment and slides my thong off my legs. His tongue runs up my inner thighs, the back of my knees, each naked area the fabric touches as it leaves my body. He stands up, removing his briefs, puts a condom on his rock hard erection, and lies back down. Ronan then moves behind me, spooning me, and brings his cock to my entrance. But instead of pushing all the way in, he drags the pulsing head along my wet opening, grazing my clit.
“Mmm … you feel so damn good, Blaire.”
The roots of my hair are soaked in sweat, my body in flames. I begin to grind my hips in circles, seeking his fullness, wanting him to fill me—own me. And he continues to tease me by pushing lightly into me, just to pull out. My eyes are closed. My breathing accelerates with each lustful second that passes between us. I’m so close to begging when he lets go of his hardness, grabs my hips from behind and pushes all the way in. Putting a hand in the middle of my back, he pushes my body forward and starts to pump into me. Our bodies tuned, we become one. At first his thrusts are shallow, his thickness impaling me, filling me, but like a slow train gaining speed, he begins to drive into me harder.
I push my ass toward him. “Deeper, Ronan. I need to feel you deeper inside me … harder.”
He curses, placing his hands around my waist. Restraint gone, our hips slam violently, driving us closer to the edge. The room is filled with the sounds of wet skin slapping against each other. Flesh against flesh. So fucking fierce. So fucking beautiful. His groans. My moans. I begin rubbing my clit furiously as he fucks me from behind like a savage. His cock sinks deep inside me over and over again, the intensity of his plunges erasing all logic. He’s everywhere, saturating my senses. And I give him my all. Skin against skin, we live through our bodies with every kiss, every glance, and every touch until we can’t go on any longer.
“Oh, God …”
“Yeah, baby?” he teases, his voice strained.
I half laugh, half moan. He feels so good moving inside me, like sweet agony and painful pleasure all at once.
I’m so close. So close.
And then there’s nothing but pure ecstasy surrounding me as I come undone. Ronan slams one last time inside me as a cry tears from his chest with the power of his climax. We’re both left trembling and breathless.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt more complete than at this moment with his throbbing cock still buried inside me and his hands bruising my skin with their demanding hold.
We bask in the after-sex glow, Ronan’s arms wrapped around me. I trace the outline of the tiger tattooed on his left pectoral. A French quote runs along the back of the animal.
“What
does this mean?”
“‘What is essential is invisible to the eye.’ It’s a quote from The Little Prince. It was my mom’s favorite book.”
“Oh, I love that. I haven’t read that book yet. I should check it out.”
“You definitely should.”
“So I guess this is the part where we’re supposed to bond by sharing earth-shattering truths about ourselves.”
“Yeah?” He tightens his hold on me and nuzzles my neck. “I thought we bonded all right.”
I flick him on his side, making him chuckle. “Not that type of bonding, you pervert. I’ll start. I love the smell of wet grass and old books. I’m a die-hard Janeite and I love dogs.” I chuckle, remembering Jalina. “When I was a little girl, my mom found a mutt puppy abandoned in a cardboard box in the empty lot behind our house. She was going to take it to a shelter, but my dad told her to give the puppy to me instead. Anyway, I named her Jalina. My nanny told me that I would dress her in my mom’s clothes and put makeup on her, and the poor dog wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. God, I loved her so much. She was my best friend.”
He kisses my bare shoulder before he grabs a strand of black hair and twirls it in his fingers. “What happened to Jalina, and what’s a Janeite?”
“Old age,” I say, feeling the familiar pang in my chest whenever I think of her. It’s been nine years since she passed away and not a day goes by when I don’t miss her. “And a Janeite is basically someone who’s obsessed with anything about and related to Jane Austen. Okay, your turn.”
“Let’s see … the details are muddled because it’s been so long, but one of my favorite memories is of my mom holding her camera and taking pictures of my father while he painted Jackie’s bedroom a light pink. I remember thinking she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I think that’s when my love for photography was born.”
“How old were you when your …” I hesitate.
He finishes the question for me. “When my parents passed away? I was seven. They dropped me off at school because it was snowing and they didn’t want me to take the bus since the roads were covered in ice. They never made it back.”
My heart breaks for the little boy that he was. “I’m so sorry, Ronan.”
“It’s okay, it’s been a very long time. I just hate the fact that I have to look at their pictures to remember their faces. It’s not fair, you know? They were so full of life, so fucking beautiful, and now all that’s left of them are frozen and lifeless images on paper. By staring at those pictures, you would never know that my mom had the sweetest laugh and always smelled like cookies. And you would never know that my father loved to take Mom and Jackie in his arms and twirl them around the living room. Anyway,” he smiles, a trace of sadness lingering in his gaze, “I have one more. Ready?” He tugs the strand of my hair wrapped around his finger, pulling me closer to him, and biting my lower lip.
I nod, lost in his eyes, in him.
“I met a girl and I’m crazy about her.”
“Crazy, huh?” Fighting a smile from escaping, I lean over and rest my cheek on his chest as the beat of his heart fills my ears with music. “I hope she’s nice.”
He squeezes my ass with his hand. “She’s all right. Can’t keep her hands off of me though. But what can I say? Chicks dig me.”
I push my body slightly away from his and smack him on his flat stomach. “Asshole. Chicks dig—”
Ronan laughs before silencing me with a kiss. When we pull apart, the air charged with electricity, we stare at each other without saying a word. We let the comfortable silence fill the space between his walls as we soak up the sensation of being in the arms of one another. Nothing has ever felt this right before.
“For what it’s worth, I think your parents would be very proud of the man you’ve become, Ronan, and I mean it,” I say hoarsely. “And now you can stop looking at me like that.”
“Why?”
He looks so handsome with his lips all swollen because of my kisses and his hair all wild because of my hands.
“Why what?”
Letting go of me, Ronan rests the side of his body on his elbow and cradles his cheek in the palm of his hand. With his free one, he caresses the side of my face tenderly. “Why do you want me to stop?”
“Because.” I feel myself blushing and I hate it. “You’re looking at me funny.”
And he is. His eyes are … I can’t explain it. It makes my stomach flutter. It makes me yearn for things that I don’t want, things I don’t have the luxury to feel.
“And how is that?”
I’m quiet for a moment.
“I can’t really say … I don’t know.”
He smiles, and there’s so much tenderness behind it that it shatters me. “You don’t know or you can’t say?”
“Oh my God … just stop!”
I hide my face in the pillow and groan. When I hear him laugh at my reaction, I turn to look at him, murder written in my eyes. How dare he? “Are you laughing at me?”
Humor leaves his face, a serious, thoughtful expression now in its place. “I’m looking at you because, right now, that’s all I want to do.”
And that, ladies and gents, is what I call a knockout.
If I were a cartoon, I’d be lying on the floor with hearts and cupids twirling around my head. But there’s a voice inside my head warning me that this thing between Ronan and me is becoming very dangerous. For the first time in my life, I’ve found someone who makes me feel—someone who could easily make me fall madly in love with him.
I know I should be afraid of what he makes me feel, of how much he makes me want to change, to be a better person, even try to become whatever he needs me to be. I should be afraid because he makes me want to let go of my fears, my hang-ups. He makes me want to give my whole self to him just as he has given himself to me. I hunger for the feeling I get when I’m with him because it almost fools me into believing I am the Blaire that he wants.
“What’s the matter, babe?” Ronan must see the fear reflected in my eyes.
“Nothing … I’m just happy. You make me very happy,” I lie, kissing him under the chin.
He’s about to speak, but I stop him, placing my fingers on his mouth. “Shhh … don’t say another word.” I push myself closer to him, grab his hardness in my hand and stroke it, feeling the veins of his cock throb in my palm. “Fuck me, Ronan. I need you again.”
“Your wish is my command.”
I laugh. “How obliging of you.”
“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, after all,” the ass says, a devilish grin on his face as he reaches for a foil package.
Ronan kneels in front of me, pumping his dick in his hand as I spread my legs open and let him watch me begin to touch myself. I push my fingers shallowly into me and coat them with my desire for him and what’s to come.
“Christ. You’re beautiful.”
He leans over me, his mouth finding mine. Placing one hand on the bedframe for support, the other seeks my swollen warmth, pulsing with fire for him …
Just a few more dates.
Just a few more days of paradise.
And then this will all be over. I have to end it.
There won’t be any real harm done as long as I don’t let him get any closer to me than he already has. He’ll forget about me and move on. As they all have. Like they always do.
I just …
I just wish the thought didn’t make me feel sick to my stomach.
WORKING IN AN EXTREMELY HIP eatery in Midtown means that we get a huge influx of powerful men around lunch and dinnertime. Politicians, executives, lawyers, and businessmen all come here to conduct business (more like trying to assert who has the bigger cock when they aren’t stroking each other’s egos) while eating an overpriced piece of meat. It’s one of the reasons why I loved my job so much. This place is what you’d call the perfect hunting grounds for someone like me. It’s how I met Walker … and a few others.
And today, for the first time in a
very long time, I wish I weren’t here. That thrill that I used to get when men looked my way? Gone. That nervous energy that always had me on the move and never satisfied? Finito. There’s no noise filling my head and disrupting my peace of mind. I’m a floating cloud on a blue morning sky. I’m a loose leaf twirling in the air, dancing with the breeze as my partner. I feel carefree. And Ronan has done that to me.
I smile at a couple as I tell them that their table is ready, but the smile isn’t for them; it’s for Ronan and Ronan alone. My body might be here, but my mind is with him back at his small apartment, making love on a warm bed. I might be standing here dressed in Prada from head to toe, but I’d prefer to be wearing nothing but the scent of Ronan on me. Ronan is my new favorite brand.
“Blaire? Hello! Are you there?” Elly says, bringing me out of my reverie.
“Oh hey, Elly. How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to see that your mind is somewhere else, or with someone else.”
I sigh, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles away from my black pencil skirt. “Sorry. Yeah, I was thinking of Ronan.”
She looks at me as though I had two heads.
“Brooklyn boy?” I remind her.
Elly smiles as she grabs my pen and twirls it in between her fingers. “I knew it. You’ve been acting funny this past month. And if you’re telling me his name, things must be getting serious.”
“They aren’t. We’re just having fun, and what do you mean funny?”
She shrugs. “You really can’t see it, huh? And I don’t know, you’re always smiling now. And by the way you’re glowing, I can definitely tell that you, my friend, got laid last night.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “You’re wrong. Well, partially wrong.” I glance at her sideways. “I got laid last night and this morning.”
“You loose woman,” she teases.
I blow her a kiss playfully. “And proud to be one.”
We laugh quietly, making sure we don’t draw too much attention to us. “Elly, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I really, really, really like him. It’s scary how happy he makes me.” I look down at my nails, noticing that my usually pristine manicure is chipping away. “But I’m not good enough for him. He’s everything that I’m not. He’s the kind of guy a nice girl should date, not one as fucked up as me.”