Chapter Six
SIX
RONAN
She’s back.
Like a sudden slap across the face, Maven Blackthorn has returned to Solstice.
Twelve years with no contact from her. Not a single word.
Twelve fucking years.
An eternity.
Yet now, seeing her again, it seems like a blink of the eye.
She’s as alluring as ever. That soft, husky voice. Those luminous green eyes. The fierce individuality and unapologetic defiance that’s always marked her character.
She was a girl when she left. Now, she’s all woman. Sleek, elegant, confident. Dangerous curves and sharpened claws, a sorceress who knows the power she wields and exactly how to use it.
Her voice dripping honey and venom, she said my name and jolted all my darkest instincts to life.
Standing in front of the hearth in my living room, the only light and warmth coming from the logs crackling on the grate, I shake another cigarette from the pack, stick it between my lips, and light it. I inhale deeply, pulling the smoke into my lungs, and close my eyes.
Her face is seared into my mind. The sweet scent of her perfume still lingers in my nose. The memory of her voice, the way she looked at me, has my blood thrumming through my veins.
There’s a part of me—twisted, selfish—that wants to punish her. Force myself into her house, her bed, her body. Make her submit and beg for forgiveness for leaving the way she did.
But I keep that dark part of me under control and unbuckle my belt instead.
It slips through the belt loops and my fingers and clatters against the wood floor. I shrug off my coat and let it fall, too, then yank down the zipper on my trousers.
With my head tilted back and my eyes still closed, I draw on the cigarette and grip my cock in my hand. I begin to stroke myself, thinking of Maven.
That voice.
Those eyes.
That mouth.
I’m rock-hard for her. Stiff and aching for release, my mind filled with memories of the smell of her skin, the feel of her breasts in my hands, her soft, muffled cries of pleasure. It all comes flooding back in a rush so hot, it leaves me sweating.
Bracing my free hand against the fireplace mantel, I jerk on my hard dick until I’m groaning. My balls tighten. My cock throbs. The lit cigarette falls from my lips.
I climax with a guttural groan that echoes off the living room walls, mingling with the hiss of steam as my cum sprays over my hand and lands on the burning logs in the fireplace, and my mouth forms the shape of her name.
Maven.
We’re not done, you and I.
Not even close.