Chapter 16 Ronan
Ronan
The next morning, I woke up before Wes, who was still asleep on his back, one hand tucked under his head.
I stayed silent, just admiring him. There were lines etched at the corners of his eyes that seemed to hold years of laughter.
He had a little softness over his ribs, though he wasn’t exactly soft.
No, his skin was rough, and his muscles were still hardened despite his age.
My finger found his cheek on reflex, trailing lightly from jaw to temple. The skin under my fingertip was warm, and his beard scratched me.
Usually, my mind would be telling me to check for anything wrong, read his expression for a threat, a tell, or a lie. But now my touch just lingered as my mind stayed hushed.
It felt wrong and right and impossible all at once.
Safe was a word I hadn’t felt since before the night my family stopped being a family.
It didn’t fit easily into the sentences of my head, like a piece of clothing I couldn’t quite squeeze into.
But when I pressed my palm flat to his chest and felt the slow thud of his heart, I felt more than safe.
I felt hopeful.
I shifted so that my head rested against his shoulder, letting his heavy arm settle around me more fully. He murmured something in his sleep and tightened his hold, as if he were comforting me in his dreams. I let myself breathe into the rhythm of him.
It was a strange thing to be cared for by a man who could have been my enemy. Ever since that first meeting, I had been waiting for a catch—a shift of posture, a look that would tell me I was mistaken, that he was only pretending to care.
After last night, I was done waiting. I was done waiting, because I’d found nothing but the plainness of someone who had seen the worst and decided it shouldn’t stay that way.
I pressed my lips to the soft spot just below his collarbone, an impulse more of gratitude than love, more of a promise than anything eloquent. “Thank you,” I whispered, not sure for whom I said it. For him. For myself. For the part of me that wanted to be smaller and safer and known.
He shifted in his sleep again, a smile ghosting at the corner of his mouth. The movement had pressed us even closer together.
My lips parted, a tiny gasp escaping, as the realization that he was hard struck.
My body moved before my mind could catch up, a slow roll of my hips against his erection. My heart thundered, louder than the soft drag of fabric as I shifted again, testing the friction. Fuck, it felt good.
I bit down on my lip, holding a needy whimper in.
The feel of it made me shiver, and I pressed in closer, my breath catching as I rubbed against him again. I could almost pretend he wanted this as much as I did, that he wasn’t lost in sleep while I stole the warmth of him.
The harder I tried to stay quiet, the more impossible it became. My breath came too sharp, too shaky. His chest rose and fell under my palm, steady where mine felt frantic.
“Ro?”
I froze, every muscle locking up, my face burning as though I’d been caught doing something shameful. I mean… technically, I had.
But his hand didn’t move away. If anything, it curved against my side more deliberately, his thumb brushing the hem of my shirt, as he pulled me into him.
A gentle thrust of his hips left me whining as he chuckled lowly. “Was someone trying to hump against me in his sleep?” He playfully tsked. “What a bad boy.”
My face went hot, and I buried it in his shoulder, wishing I could disappear straight into the mattress. His laugh rumbled through me, making it worse, because it wasn’t mean—he wasn’t angry. No. He was enjoying this.
“Don’t get shy on me now,” Wes murmured, his lips brushing the top of my head. “I wake up to you grinding on me, and then you want to hide? That’s not fair, babydoll.”
I shook my head against him, mortified, but his hand tilted my chin until I was forced to look up. His eyes were heavy-lidded from sleep but bright with mischief, his smile tugging like he had me cornered in the best possible way.
“To think that you told me you weren’t going to beg me for this anymore,” he teased, voice low and rough. “But here you are… rubbing all over me like you couldn’t help yourself. Your brain was too focused on my cock to wake me up, huh? Did I not fuck you hard enough last night?”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to apologize or plead with him not to stop.
His thumb stroked along my jaw affectionately, almost contradicting the taunt in his words. “Do you need me, doll?”
I swallowed, my pulse wild, and managed a shaky nod.
That earned me another chuckle, but gentler this time, fonder. “God, Ro… you’re gonna be the death of me.” He lowered his hand from my back to grab a handful of my ass. I moaned and tried to shift my hips forward again, but Wes scooted back, leaving me grinding against air.
“Nope, I need to punish you for using my body to get off. Come on, up.” I groaned but slid off the bed onto my feet. Wes moved to the foot of the bed and sat down, spreading his knees apart. My eyes locked onto the bulge in his pants as I padded over to him.
His hand curled into the back of my shirt, hauling me forward until my stomach lay across his thigh. My face was buried in the jeans he’d slept in; I could feel the curve of his leg beneath me. Blood rushed to my head.
“Lay still,” he murmured, tone deceptively casual.
I did. It felt dangerously simple.
His palm came down firm and stinging against my ass. I jerked, a small animalistic noise slipping out of me in shock.
“What the fuck, Wes—”
The second smack was harder, and heat flared across my backside, bright and immediate. I kicked my feet and growled, “Spanking me during sex is one thing, but to actually put me over your knee like a kid?”
Wes’s hand stroked up and down my back like he was soothing me. I could feel the smirk in his voice as he said teasingly, “There’s my brat.”
“I wouldn’t be a brat if you hadn’t—”
Another spank landed, drawing a gasp out of me.
“You remember your safeword?” he asked, genuine care in his words.
I nodded, the movement making him laugh softly. “Good boy,” he said, and the words both humiliated me and warmed me in a way I couldn’t have named. I squirmed, my face flushing as I realized my dick was throbbing with want.
“If you take this well, I think we’ll try to implement daily maintenance spankings. They’ll help you feel more secure. You’ll be reminded of me whenever you sit down.”
I huffed, but didn’t reply.
An indignant “eep” slipped through my lips as my sweats were tugged down, leaving my ass bare since he hadn’t put underwear on me after our time in the shower yesterday. Heat swirled in my stomach as I remembered him dressing me, arranging my limbs where he wanted.
I whimpered as his thumb pressed against my exposed hole, not entering, just putting a bit of pressure on it.
“Such a gorgeous hole,” he murmured, rubbing small circles into my rim. I almost shouted as his other hand suddenly wrapped around my dripping length. “And you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, dragging a finger over my slit. “Tell me who owns this perfect body, Ro.”
I moaned, “You do, Wes.”
“And that means I can do whatever I want with it as long as you don’t say the safeword. So you’re going to lie there and take your spanking like a good boy.”
He set a rhythm—three lighter taps, then two that bit a little more.
Each one left a bright blossom of fire that buzzed along my nerves and made the rest of me go hazy, like the world had narrowed to the angle of his hand and the sound it made.
My skin prickled; I could feel the blood pound beneath it.
Somewhere under the sting, there was something like relief—like the frantic, clawing panic that had lived under my ribs for years was being released.
When a particularly strong strike landed a little too close to raw, he paused, his hand rubbing gently against my burning skin. “Betta?” he asked.
I almost cried just because he cared enough to check in on me. The single word held more steadiness than I felt. I swallowed and managed, “No.”
He exhaled a breath and resumed. The last few smacks sent me flying, and I didn’t even notice when my tears began to fall. After the final one, he shifted, his arms circling me and pulling me flush against his chest.
“Done,” he said, and there was a smile in the way his voice softened. He tipped my chin up with two fingers so I could see him. “How are you feeling?”
I blinked at him, the sting already turning to a dull, throbbing warmth. “Good,” I admitted, the word small and honest.
He leaned down then, kissing the shell of my ear, then my cheek, then my brow. “Good,” he repeated.
I let my face nuzzle into his collarbone, his strong hands carding through my hair. He murmured little praises and compliments that were mostly drowned out by the floaty buzzing in my head.
After a few minutes, he shifted. “Still want to get off, babydoll?” he asked.
I hummed noncommittally. “Can I suck you instead?”
“I can’t imagine ever saying no to that,” he chuckled, loosening his hold around me so that I could slip off his lap to the floor between his legs.
I sat back on my haunches and leaned forward, nosing at his crotch. I undid the button of his pants, then caught the zipper between my teeth and pulled it down. Wes groaned as I continued mouthing at his bulge. With a bit of help from my hands, I managed to free his cock from his pants.
“Want you to choke me on it,” I breathed.
Without waiting for his response, I sucked the head of his cock into my mouth, relishing in the sheer weight of it on my tongue.