Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
WHAT YOU WANT RIGHT NOW
Ronan
I find her alone in her cabin, curled up in the soft glow of the lamp, her fingers absently stroking Belvedere’s fur, though she doesn’t seem to realize she’s doing it.
She’s nervous, withdrawn in a way I haven’t seen before.
Something is wrong.
Something has her trapped in her own head, and I don’t like it.
I don’t say anything at first, just step inside, letting her sense my presence.
She takes a deep breath, then looks up—only to immediately drop her gaze again, like she can’t bring herself to meet my eyes.
I take another step toward her. “Maya.”
Her fingers tighten in Belvedere’s fur, and I scent the salty tang of unshed tears before she speaks.
“I was—” She swallows, then tries again. “I was learning about… anatomy.”
Her voice is unsteady, but she forces a small, humorless laugh, shaking her head like she’s trying to make a joke out of it.
“Luna was telling me about mates. About how—” She finally looks up, and her eyes are shiny and wet, heartbreakingly wide.
“I can’t do forever, Ronan.”
The words are soft but heavy, thick with something aching and scared.
She shakes her head, wiping at her face. “I’m not built for it. I get restless. I’ll leave. And you—” Her breath catches.
“I don’t want that for you. You deserve better than that.”
Better than someone like her.
Better than someone who would eventually leave.
I inhale deeply, calming the beast inside me, the one that wants to snarl and claim and remind her that she is already mine.
Instead, I move closer, taking her trembling hands in mine.
“Maya,” I say, voice low, steady. “Whenever you need to go, wherever you need to go, I’d just follow you anyway.”
Her breath hitches, and she looks up at me, startled.
I smirk, just a little. “I think we both know how well you’d last trying to hide from me.”
She blushes furiously, and the sharp, aching tension in my chest eases slightly.
I brush my thumb over her knuckles, grounding her, grounding myself.
“Whatever label you want to use or not use,” I murmur, “you are mine. No piece of paper or ceremony needed.”
She blinks up at me, lips parted, and I can tell she wants to believe me, wants to let go of whatever fear is eating at her.
I take a deep breath, letting my own walls slip, letting her see me, see what I am offering her.
“In the battlefield,” I say quietly, “you don’t know if you’re going to live past the next second.”
Her eyes soften, her fingers curling slightly tighter around mine.
“So I promised myself,” I continue, “that I’d take what I wanted, and I’d protect the future I wanted by living what I wanted in the present moment.”
I hold her gaze, making sure she understands—making sure she knows she is what I want.
“The question you need to ask yourself isn’t what you’ll do in some hypothetical future.”
I press a kiss to her knuckles, watching as she shivers, exhales shakily.
“It’s what you want right now.”
Her lips part, and I can hear her heartbeat pick up, fast and unsteady.
“If you keep choosing me,” I murmur, “then that’s all that’s needed.”
I give her time.
I let her process.
And then?—
“Do you want me, Maya?”
For a single, terrifying moment, she doesn’t answer.
And then?—
“Yes.”
A whisper, but firm. Certain.
I exhale, relief flooding through me, and kiss her tears away.
She relaxes against me, something loosening inside her, a knot of tension uncoiling, melting away.
She clings to me, pressing her face into my chest, fingers gripping at my fur, her body trembling with something unspoken, raw.
“I was scared,” she admits, voice muffled against my skin.
I rub slow, soothing circles along her back, murmuring, “Of what, sweetheart?”
Her fingers tighten. “Losing you.”
I still, letting her words sink in.
“I hold people at a distance,” she whispers, “so it won’t hurt when they leave me.”
I exhale, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“It’s okay to feel,” I tell her. “It’s okay to let yourself want.”
She swallows, her arms sliding around my waist, holding me tighter.
I coax her onto the couch, guiding her gently, carefully, making her sit back, letting her feel safe, comfortable, cherished.
I let her take the pleasure I give her.
I let her lose herself in sensation, in the feeling of my hands exploring her, in the way I stroke, tease, ignite every nerve and pulse point beneath my fingertips.
I want her to feel everything.
I want her to know she doesn’t have to run from this.
I tease between her thighs, drawing slow, tormenting circles that make her whimper, shift, clutch at me.
I pinch her nipples, rolling them between my fingers, watching her squirm, watching the way she bites her lip, eyes dark with growing need.
And when I slide my fingers inside her, pressing deep, curling just right, her hips buck, her breath stuttering into a desperate moan.
I don’t stop.
I work her open, bringing her higher and higher, until her body is shaking, writhing, begging.
Until she is completely undone beneath me.
Only then, when she is spent and wrung out, her body boneless and satisfied, do I pull her against me, wrapping my arms around her as if I could hold her together.
Because she holds me together, too.