Chapter 24 #2
The fire between us hadn’t burned out—it was only stoking higher, and I could feel it in the way his hands lingered, possessive yet hungry, as if he wasn’t done claiming me. My body still thrummed with the aftershocks of my climax, but the ache for him hadn’t dulled. It was sharper now, insatiable.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with a need that mirrored my own. “You think we’re finished?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. “I’m just getting started.”
Before I could respond, he lifted me from the glass, his hands strong and sure, carrying me to another sofa a few steps away.
Lights glinted off the infinity pool nearby, casting a soft glow over his features—sharp jaw, shadowed eyes, the faint scar beneath his ear that I wanted to trace with my tongue.
He set me down gently, but there was nothing gentle in the way he looked at me, like a predator who’d caught his prey and intended to savor every bite.
He knelt before me again, his hands sliding up my thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that made my breath catch. My dress was still bunched at my hips, my panties long gone, and the exposure made my heart pound. But Ronan’s gaze held me captive, and all I could think about was him.
“You’re so wet for me,” he said, his voice thick with reverence as his fingers traced the slick heat between my thighs. “So fucking perfect.”
He leaned in, his breath warm against my skin, and then his mouth was on me again, his tongue teasing the sensitive bud at my center with slow, languid strokes.
I moaned, my hands fisting in his hair, my hips arching toward him as he licked and sucked, each movement precise, calculated to unravel me.
His beard scraped my inner thighs, a delicious burn that heightened every sensation, and I felt the pressure building again, coiling tight in my core.
I could do this all night.
He didn’t rush. He savored me, his tongue dipping lower, exploring every inch, tasting me like I was a delicacy he’d never tire of. My head fell back against the sofa, my eyes catching the fairy lights tangled in the greenery above, their soft glow blurring as pleasure consumed me.
“Ronan,” I gasped, my voice breaking, and he growled against me, the vibration sending a jolt through my body.
His hands gripped my hips, holding me in place as he pushed me closer to the edge, his tongue relentless, his fingers joining now, sliding inside me, curling just right until I was trembling, my thighs shaking against his shoulders.
The climax hit me like a tidal wave, my cry echoing across the terrace, swallowed by the night air but loud enough to make me wonder if someone heard—if someone saw.
My body shuddered, my nails digging into his scalp, and he didn’t stop, drawing out every pulse of pleasure until I was gasping, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.
He rose, his lips glistening with me, and the sight was so raw, so intimate, that my desire flared anew.
He kissed me, hard and deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue, and I pulled at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.
He helped me, unbuttoning his shirt with a speed that betrayed his own need.
His chest was a map of scars and muscle, each mark a story I hadn’t yet learned, and I traced them with my fingertips, my lips, wanting to know every part of him.
“Turn around,” he said, his voice rough, and I obeyed, my body moving before my mind could catch up. I faced the glass wall again, my hands pressing against the surface, the city sprawling below.
He stood behind me, his hands on my hips, lifting my dress higher until it was nothing but a whisper of fabric around my waist. His trousers were already undone, and I felt him, hard and ready again, pressing against me, teasing my entrance as he leaned in, his lips brushing my ear.
“You’re mine, Zara,” he growled, his hands sliding up my sides, cupping my breasts through my bra before tugging it down, freeing them to the night air.
His fingers teased my nipples, pinching lightly, and I moaned, my back arching, pressing myself against him.
“I want you to feel me everywhere. I want you to remember this.”
He entered me slowly, inch by torturous inch, and I gasped, my palms slipping against the glass as he filled me completely. The angle was deep, intense, and he held me there for a moment, letting me adjust, his hands gentle but firm on my hips.
Then he began to move, slow at first, each thrust deliberate, his breath hot against my neck. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me. “So fucking mine.”
The city watched, its lights glinting like eyes, and the thought of someone out there—someone with a camera—made my pulse race, but it only fueled my desire.
I pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, my body greedy for more.
He groaned, his hands tightening, and then he pulled out, turning me to face him, his eyes burning with something primal, something possessive.
“Not done yet,” he said, lifting me onto the sofa again, this time laying me on my back, my legs draped over his shoulders.
He knelt between my thighs, his mouth finding me once more, his tongue teasing me until I was writhing, my hands clutching the velvet beneath me.
He didn’t stop until I was trembling, on the edge again, and then he rose, positioning himself above me, entering me in one smooth thrust that made me cry out.
This time, it was face-to-face, his eyes locked on mine, his hands pinning my wrists above my head. The sofa creaked under us, the fairy lights casting shadows across his face, and I felt exposed, vulnerable, but so utterly his.
His thrusts were deep, rhythmic, each one pushing me closer to another peak. “I’d give you the world,” he said, his voice raw, his lips brushing mine. “A house, a life, anything you dream. Just to see you smile.”
The words broke something in me, a dam I hadn’t known was there.
I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, my nails raking down his back as the pleasure built, sharp and overwhelming.
“Ronan,” I gasped, my voice a plea, and he kissed me, swallowing my cries as I came again, my body shuddering beneath him, the city a blur beyond the glass.
He didn’t stop, shifting us again, pulling me to straddle his lap, my knees sinking into the velvet as he guided my hips. I rode him, slow at first, then faster, his hands on my waist, his eyes never leaving mine.
The risk of exposure made every movement electric, every touch a defiance of the world that wanted to tear us apart. His hands roamed my body, one sliding between us to tease me where we joined, his fingers slick and sure, and I shattered again, my head falling back, my moan lost to the wind.
His release came moments later, a low groan against my throat, his arms tightening around me as if he’d never let go. We stayed like that, our breaths mingling. He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my lips, his touch tender now, reverent.
“If anyone saw,” he murmured, pulling back to meet my eyes, “I’ll handle it. No one touches you. No one hurts you.”
I nodded, my throat tight, my bag still lying on the sofa, the flash drive untouched. I wasn’t ready to face it—not when my body still hummed with him, not when my heart felt so full it might burst.
He wrapped me in his jacket, the fabric warm with his scent, and carried me to a plush lounger by the pool, settling me against his chest.
“I’ll build you a house,” he said softly, his fingers tracing circles on my arm. “Your dream house. Wherever you want. I’m serious. I’ll do it. Just tell me what makes you happy.”
“You,” I whispered, and it was the truest thing I’d ever said.
He kissed me again, slow and deep, and I knew I’d chosen him. Flash drive or not.