Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
T he walk back to the O’Byrne estate felt longer than usual, mostly because every step buzzed with anticipation.
Ronan didn’t touch her, but the heat coming off him wrapped around her like a second coat. Their footsteps crunched on the gravel lane, the cool air biting at flushed cheeks and wind-kissed skin. Aisling could still hear the last echoes of music ringing in her ears, or maybe it was her heartbeat pounding like a bodhrán in her chest.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.
When they reached the front door, she turned to unlock it. Her hand hesitated on the knob. She felt him step behind her, his breath warm against the shell of her ear.
“You’re quiet,” she said softly.
“Trying not to say something I can’t take back,” he murmured.
She swallowed hard and turned toward him. “Like what?”
His eyes locked onto hers, stormy and dark and full of hunger. “Like how badly I want to come inside. How long I’ve been wanting this. How much I need to know what it feels like to have you, really have you.”
That was it. The final, thin thread of restraint snapped.
She opened the door, stepped inside, and then turned back to him. “Get in here.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click. They barely made it past the threshold before his hands were on her waist, her back pressed against the inside of the door, mouths crashing together like a dam breaking.
His kiss was fire and possession and longing all rolled into one. Her fingers twisted into the collar of his jacket as he walked her backward through the foyer, their lips never breaking. He tasted like whiskey and mischief. Like every dangerous thing, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t fall for again.
And God help her, she was enjoying every damn second with Ronan, so much so, it terrified her how easy it would be to fall for him.
The memory of Michael caused her to gasp. But this wasn’t like Michael. This wasn’t manipulation dressed up as love. Ronan kissed her like she was something sacred.
They stumbled into the sitting room, crashing onto the old velvet couch. He pressed against her, hands moving, waist, ribs, jaw, hair, everywhere at once like he couldn’t get enough of touching her.
Her hands slid under his Henley, skin to skin, discovering lean muscle and heat. He hissed when her nails dragged lightly down his chest. “You’re going to kill me, woman.”
She smiled against his mouth. “Not if you’re lucky.”
He chuckled low in his throat, then stood, pulling her with him. “Bedroom. Now.”
She nodded, breathless, and led him toward the bedroom she currently occupied. They kissed every other step—his mouth on her neck, her hand gripping his arm like she might float away otherwise. By the time they reached her room, they were both a little wild-eyed.
Ronan kicked the door shut behind them.
The moonlight slanted through the lace curtains, painting his face in silver and shadows. His chest rose and fell as he looked at her like she was both the answer and the question.
“Still want this?” he asked, voice hoarse.
The liquor blurred the edges of her thoughts, but not enough to dull the sight of him, standing there like sin in human form, all heat and heartbreak wrapped in one dangerous package. Her breath snagged, sharp and sudden, as if her lungs had forgotten how to work in his presence.
“More than anything,” she whispered, her fingers already undoing the buttons of her blouse. “But fair warning… I’m not gentle.”
He grinned like the devil. “Neither am I.”
Clothes hit the floor in a trail behind them: her jeans, his shirt, her bra, his belt. He watched her like every inch of her was a revelation. And when she stood there bare before him, his expression sobered.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”
She stepped forward and placed his hand over her heart. “Say it again.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Then his mouth was on her collarbone, his hands mapping her like he had all night. She reached for the waistband of his boxers, and he let her strip them off. The moment he stood fully exposed, she drew in a breath.
He was all heat and strength and intensity. Every inch of him was temptation. Her gaze met his, and something unspoken passed between them, consent, connection, something deeper than either one could name.
Her fingers curled around him, hard and pulsing, his heat searing into her skin like a promise. It was power; it was hunger; it was everything she hadn't let herself want until now.
He groaned low, catching her wrist gently, eyes dark with restraint.
"Not yet, love," he murmured, his voice rough with need. "You’ve got me burning, and I’m not about to let this fire go out in a flash. I want to make it last."
He lifted and carried her to the bed.
When he laid her down, he followed, his body pressing into hers with a deliberate slowness that had her arching. His mouth teased her throat, her breasts, her belly—everywhere but where she needed him most.
“Ronan,” she gasped, her breath catching as his fingers found her, slipping between her thighs with maddening precision. He stroked her slowly at first, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves that made her hips jerk and her pulse thunder. Each pass of his touch sent sparks through her spine, unraveling thought, logic, everything except the need building deep inside her.
He watched her, eyes locked on her face, reading every reaction like a map.
“There you are,” he murmured, voice low and wicked. “So damn soft… and already so wet for me.”
“Please,” she moaned.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against her skin, voice low and thick with desire. “And I’ll give it to you. The moon, the stars, my damn soul if you ask for it. Just say you’re mine… and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I’m yours.”
“You, inside me. Now.”
His mouth curved into a sinful smile, and finally, finally, he settled between her thighs.
The first thrust was deep and perfect and made her cry out.
He held her face as he moved, watching her as though memorizing each reaction. “You feel like heaven,” he said, his voice breaking on the words.
Aisling met every stroke, her hands gripping his back, her hips rising to meet his. The room was full of heat and breath and soft, needy sounds. Nothing existed but the two of them and the rhythm they found together.
It was overwhelming. Consuming. And the pressure built like a wave about to crash.
“Damn, Aisling,” he gasped. “I can’t hold on much longer.”
“I’m close,” she whispered, wanting it to last.
He bent his head and kissed her with aching reverence. “Come with me. Now.”
No man had ever commanded her like this, but under Ronan’s touch, she wanted to obey, needed to. The hunger in his voice was a spark against her skin, igniting something reckless and wild inside her. She burned with the need to please him, to give him everything he demanded, and more.
They moved in a brutal, beautiful rhythm, every thrust and gasp sinking into her chest like claws, wrapping tightly around her heart and dragging something raw and aching to the surface.
She broke apart with a cry, the orgasm tearing through her like lightning. He followed with a groan, burying his face in her neck as his body trembled against hers.
They stayed like that for a long moment, tangled, catching their breath.
For a few staggering heartbeats, the world simply disappeared, obliterated in the blinding heat of their release. Aisling clung to him as her body trembled with the last, beautiful shocks of pleasure, Ronan’s weight anchoring her to the earth even as everything inside her felt light and shattered.
She buried her face against his neck, breathing him in, feeling the wild pounding of his heart under her hands. She had never... never experienced anything like this. Not with Michael. Not with anyone. This wasn’t just sex; it was something deeper, rawer, a collision of bodies, yes, but also something infinitely more dangerous.
Something that left her soul stripped bare.
As her body slowly came back to itself, her mind spun helplessly, trying to make sense of the tidal wave that had just crashed through her. No one had ever touched her like this. No one had ever pulled her apart and put her back together in the same breath. She felt seen in a way she didn’t even realize she craved, wanted in a way that had nothing to do with land, family feuds, or ancient grudges.
Just her. Just him.
God help her, she could drown in this man if she wasn’t careful.
Finally, he rolled to his side and pulled her with him. She rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it gradually slowed.
He ran his fingers through her hair, tender in the aftermath. “You okay?”
Her lips curled into a lazy, satisfied smile. “Better than okay.”
There was a beat of silence, the kind that buzzed with the electricity still humming between their bodies.
“Where’d you hide the handcuffs?” he asked, his voice rough and teasing.
She laughed, the sound low and wicked. “No handcuffs. No hidden props. Just me. All natural trouble.” Then she shifted on top of him, her thigh sliding over his. “Now, are you ready to go again? That was so damn good, I think we owe ourselves a sequel. Only this time, I take the lead.”
His hand caught her wrist gently, a smirk playing on his mouth. “On one condition.”
Her brow lifted. “What’s that?”
“You promise not to break me.” A pause, then he added with a glint in his eye, “Unless I beg for it.”
“Ronan, you’re going to beg for it.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that,” he said, his mouth moving over hers.
When they finally stilled, breathless and tangled in each other, Ronan cupped the back of her head and locked eyes with her, so open, so devastatingly real it made her chest ache.
“Aisling,” he said, his voice low and rough, “I don’t know what tomorrow looks like. Hell, I don’t know what the next hour looks like. But I know I want this. Us. I want you. No old grudges, no stupid feuds, no betrothals, no damn goat eating the roses—none of it matters to me. Not compared to this. I’m not going anywhere unless you make me.”
He brushed his thumb across her cheek like he couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t bear the thought of letting her slip away.
“I’m here, Aisling. As long as you’ll have me.”