Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
LILY
Sunlight spills across my bed as he lays me on the mattress, and comes down above me. His lips hover above mine, but before he kisses me, he stops, his thumb brushing near the split in my lip, the bruise on my cheek. His eyes flash.
“Don’t.” I catch his face between my palms, the rough stubble prickling against my skin. “I made my choice when I stepped between you.”
He leans in, his lips barely touching at first, teasing and testing. His breath is hot against my skin, a whisper of control before his mouth finally claims mine. Then his fingers knot in my hair, pulling my head back.
His mouth drifts lower, kissing along the dip of my collarbone.
His teeth catch the lace of my bra and drag it downward, so he can run his tongue around each nipple, and then he’s moving again.
When he reaches my waist, he pauses, lips teasing a path around my navel, before kissing his way back up to my lips.
His hand curves over my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers, tugging and twisting until I gasp, relearning what makes me shudder and writhe. He laughs softly against my mouth. I twist beneath him, until he rolls onto his back and I straddle his hips, so I can look at him.
The years have hardened him. His body is all taut muscle and sharp edges, his skin hot beneath my fingertips.
My hands move over him, learning the new shape of him, discovering scars I don’t recognize, and feeling how different he is from the eighteen-year-old boy I knew.
He’s broader, and harder. Very little of the boy remains, and yet … it’s still him.
I trace the ink wrapping his ribs, and lean away slightly so I can read the words.
She walks in light I dare not touch.
Darkness claims what is mine.
I kiss each line. His breath shudders out, rough and uneven.
Near his heart, I find another inscription.
Memory bleeds in darkness.
I trace it with my tongue. His breath hitches, and for a moment we both still.
“I thought about you,” he whispers into the silence. “Every fucking day.”
I kiss the words again then move up to capture his mouth.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
His hand lifts, hooking around the back of my neck and pulls me back down.
Mouths fused together, he rolls until I’m on my back again.
His hand finds the button on my jeans, and pops it open, before pushing beneath my panties.
The first stroke over my clit makes me arch off the bed.
“You’re soaked for me,” he rasps.
My nails drag down his back in response. When his fingers slide inside me, stretching, teasing ... and the way he watches me … eyes locked on every flicker of pleasure on my face … it makes me unravel faster. He curls them just right, and I gasp, my hips lifting off the bed.
“There,” he murmurs, more to himself than me. “Right there.”
He finds that spot again, watching my reaction. His other hand grips my hip, holding me in place when I start to squirm.
“Ronan—” His name comes out broken.
“I know, Phare.” His voice is strained. “I can feel how close you are.”
He teases me, taking me to the edge and pulling back, making me whimper. His breath ghosts against my ear, and when he speaks again, his voice is lower, darker.
“Tell me what you need.”
“You. I need—” I can barely form the words. “Please, don’t stop.”
His fingers press deeper, his thumb finding my clit. “Like this?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
“Do you like that? The way I touch you … the way I make you fall apart.” His fingers slow, a tease that makes my hip rise, chasing his touch.
“Please, Ronan. Don’t stop. Touch me.”
“Where? How? Tell me.”
“I need your fingers, your mouth. I need all of you.”
“Tell me again.” His voice is low and thick with satisfaction.
“Please. Touch me. Don’t stop. I need you.”
“Fuck, Lily. You have no idea what hearing you talk like that does to me.”
He slides down the bed, forcing my legs apart, and then his fingers are gone, replaced by his mouth. His tongue strokes over my clit, and the sound he makes, low and hungry, vibrates through me.
“Fuck.” The word is muffled against me. “I’ve dreamed about doing this to you again.”
He flicks his tongue over me, sending a sharp wave of pleasure through my body. I arch, my hands clawing at his shoulders, nails digging in, my breath a series of broken pleas as he works me closer, dragging it out until I can’t take it anymore.
His name falls from my lips in a shattered cry as I come undone beneath him. His mouth doesn’t leave me, drawing every last drop of orgasm from my body. When I float back down, he presses one last kiss to my inner thigh. Before he can move back up my body, I stop him.
“It’s my turn.”
He lets me push him onto his back, and I slide down his body, my mouth tracing the taut lines of his abdomen, the deep grooves of muscle. He hisses in a breath as I take him in my hand, stroking slow, teasing, making him curse under his breath.
“You made me beg, I think it’s only fair I get to torture you too.”
His head tips back against the pillow as I wrap my mouth around him, hollowing my cheeks, taking him as deep as I can.
His hands thread into my hair, tightening when my tongue flicks over him just right.
He’s breathing hard, his control fraying, his body shaking beneath me.
And when I pull back, licking my lips, he lets out a rough, desperate groan.
“Fuck, Phare—” His voice is wrecked, his hands flexing in my hair. “Come here.”
He drags me back up his body, his mouth hot and demanding against mine. His control is gone now, completely shattered. And when he flips me beneath him, pressing me into the mattress, there’s no hesitation left in him, only need.
“I can’t wait anymore. I need to be inside you.”
I help him get rid of his jeans, and then he’s back, his body pressing against mine, and I reach between us, guiding him as he pushes inside. The stretch is deep, intoxicating, and he groans against my throat, his breath hot and ragged.
For a moment, we’re both perfectly still. His forehead drops to mine, and we breathe together, adjusting to this … to being connected again after so long.
“Look at me,” he demands, his voice like gravel.
I force my eyes open, meeting his, and the sight of him like this—hovering over me, barely restrained, fully in control yet completely lost to this—is enough to send a new wave of heat curling through my body.
His thrusts are slow at first, his dick sliding in and out of me, but when I wrap my legs around him, dragging him deeper, his restraint snaps.
One hand lifts to touch my lips, my cheeks, my jaw, then his fingers are wrapping around my throat, his thumb tilting my head up so he can take my mouth.
His tongue thrusts in and out in time with his dick, and I’m pretty sure I lose the ability to think.
“Are you okay?” His voice is strained, barely holding on.
“Yes.” I arch into him. “More.”
His thumb presses gently against my pulse point, and his rhythm changes, becoming more erratic, more desperate.
“You feel …” He breaks off with a groan. “Perfect. You feel perfect.”
My nails rake down his back and he shudders.
“Do that again.”
I do, harder, and he drops his forehead to mine, breathing hard.
“I’m not going to last if you—”
“Then, don’t. I want to feel you lose control.”
His other hand hooks around my thigh, lifting my leg, and the angle makes me cry out. His name, his touch, the weight of him … it’s too much and not enough. My fingers dig into his back, my body bowing into his.
“Ronan—”
He growls against my skin, his movements growing erratic, more desperate, his control fraying with every thrust. He flexes his fingers around my throat, then lets go so he can find my clit, while his lips nip a path along my jaw to my ear.
“I want to hear every sound you make. I want to feel you shake for me, lose yourself in me. Give it to me, Lily. Let me feel how bad you need me.” His fingers find my clit again, and the touch sends another shock of pleasure through me.
I gasp, clutching at his shoulders as the tension snaps.
Pleasure crashes through me in waves that leave me trembling, my vision whiting out.
He follows moments later, his release torn from him in a rough, shuddering groan, his body flexing against mine as he buries himself so deep, I’m sure I’ll feel him there for weeks.
The world tilts back into place slowly.
He collapses beside me, both of us breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. For a long moment, neither of us moves. Then he reaches for me, pulling me against his side. I go willingly, my head on his chest, listening as his heartbeat gradually slows.
His fingers trace patterns on my shoulder. Lazy circles in a gentle touch.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I whisper against his skin.
His arm tightens around me. “I’m here.”
We lie there in the afternoon light, tangled together, and for the first time since he sent me away that cold December day, the ache I’ve carried in my chest loosens.
I turn my head, pressing a kiss to his chest, right over the tattoo covering his heart. His hand finds mine in the sheets, threading our fingers together. My pulse is still hammering, and I’m not really in full control of my thoughts, so I’m as surprised as he is when I speak.
“Why did you go back there?”