Sunday, August 13th #2
He grips my hip with his right hand, while he guides himself to my entrance with the other.
“Tell me to stop if I’m too rough, okay?
” he grits out. Then he thrusts into me in one smooth, brutal motion, burying himself so deep he’s hitting the very edge of me.
I gasp, arching into him, my hands bracing against the wall as he begins to move—fast, hard, needy.
Every stroke is thick with desperation, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the hallway.
Nope, not too rough. Perfect. “Yeah, Ran,” I cry, “just like that.”
“Jesus, baby,” he growls. “I hope you don’t mind a quick one because I’m not going to last.”
I can feel him losing control, hips stuttering as he drives into me, his breath coming in broken, uneven pants. He’s already close. So close.
I push back into him, loving the helpless sound he makes when I clench around him.
“You gonna come for me, Ran?” I murmur, glancing over my shoulder. “You gonna come for me like a good boy?”
He groans, loud and guttural, and his rhythm breaks.
“God, Cat,” he gasps, “don’t say shit like that unless you want me to… Fuck…”
“Do it,” I whisper, filthy and sweet. “Come for me, Ran. Be a good boy and let me feel you.”
With a ragged groan, he drives deep one last time and loses himself inside me.
I feel every pulse of him, every desperate twitch, and it lights a spark in my chest, something hot and tender and a little unhinged.
And powerful. I know it’s trust that allows me to explore what I enjoy.
Trust that Ronan won’t hurt me, that he’ll stop when I ask him to stop, that he won’t judge when I try myself out.
We stay like that for a long moment, still connected, hearts racing. I wait for Ronan’s aftershocks to subside, for his breathing to slow a little, then straighten. Ronan slips out of me and the fabric of my dress falls over my waist. Then his arms wrap around me again, tight and protective.
“I’ll never get enough of you,” he whispers.
Ronan
We get to Cat’s parents’ house only ten minutes late, which honestly isn’t bad considering what we were up to before we left my apartment.
I throw the car in park, then dramatically jab the engine button—I’m still not used to this thing—before slouching back in the seat. I can think of a thousand better ways to spend my evening with Cat than having dinner with our parents. But at least we’re not at my dad’s tonight.
“Thanks for suggesting the change of locale,” I say with a half-smile to Cat. “I still don’t love going to my dad’s.” It’s not that I don’t enjoy the people. I do. Well, with the exception of Cat’s dad, who stares at me like I got Cat pregnant only to spite him.
It’s the house itself. It’s the pain I associate with the place—especially the downstairs, the damn kitchen and living room.
It’s where the worst shit happened, and sitting down for a roast chicken and polite conversation in the middle of it just…
fucking sucks. I’m always rushing Cat through the meal, desperate to get the hell out.
Cat could obviously tell, and last week she finally suggested dinner at her parents’ house instead.
She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I know. It’s nice being here,” she says sweetly, and reaches for the door handle. “This place is safe. Smells like garlic bread… and memories of you taking my virginity.”
She giggles and hops out of the car.
Thirty minutes later, we’ve survived—or really, Cat’s survived—the weekly belly touching and barrage of overly personal questions.
Weird cravings? New aches and pains? Strange pregnancy symptoms?
When Penny leaned in and asked Cat if she was “leaking colostrum yet,” I bailed and took my spot at the dinner table, pretending I didn’t just hear the word “colostrum” come out of Penny’s mouth.
She followed it up with how she used to soak through shirts during her second trimester with my baby brothers, and… yeah. That was my cue.
We’re at the table, eating beef stroganoff—I’m picking out every morsel of beef I can spot—when Jen turns her attention to me.
“So, Ran, Bobby and I were talking and we thought it might be a good idea if you moved in with all of us,” she says with a smile.
Uh, that sounds like a terrible fucking idea to me.
I’m completely caught off guard and look to Cat for help, but she only shrugs like she’s hearing this for the first time, too.
“We just thought it would be good once the baby is here,” Jen continues. “Bobby and I could help you guys. I work a flexible schedule, and Bobby is home in the afternoons.”
She turns to Bobby for backup, but his expression doesn’t exactly scream enthusiasm. If anything, he looks like he’d rather stick his fork into his eye socket than have me live with them.
“Jen, that’s so sweet,” Penny says, her voice full of encouragement. She looks at me. “It’s a great idea, Ran. You should take her up on the offer!”
And just like that, my walls slam up. I feel completely overrun, boxed in, like this whole thing was decided for me before I even walked in the door.
Luckily, Cat is so in tune with me she picks up on my apprehension instantly. She reaches for my hand under the table and gives it a soft squeeze.
“I don’t know, Mom,” she says sweetly. “Ran and I were thinking of living at his place. We don’t want to burden you and Dad.”
I don’t deserve this girl.
Her dad lets out a dry, condescending laugh. “Come on, Kitty. You’ll need help when you have that baby. You’ll be sleep-deprived, busy taking care of a newborn. Who’s going to take care of you while you’re taking care of the baby?”
No he fucking didn’t…
“I am,” I growl.
He chuckles again and glances around the table. “Ronan, with all due respect, do you expect me to believe you’ll be able to give Cat and her baby everything she’ll need? There’s laundry, meals to cook, errands to run, cleaning. Babies require a lot of care—there won’t be time to go out and party.”
I seriously wonder who the fuck he thinks I am.
“Bobby, I’m sure Ronan will be able to handle all those things just fine,” Jen says in a calming voice, but Bobby just lets out another derisive laugh.
“He handles things, Bobby,” my dad says, clipped. “He’s plenty responsible.”
“Yeah? You call getting my daughter pregnant at eighteen responsible?” Bobby asks, his anger finally breaking through the sarcasm.
“Jesus, Bobby, that was an accident,” my dad growls.
The air in the room turns sharp.
“Some accident,” Bobby mutters. “Seems Ronan’s prone to those. First he breaks Cat’s heart, then he gets her knocked up. Look, Ronan, I’m sure you’re a good kid, but I just don’t trust you with my daughter. And I sure as hell don’t know if I can trust you to take care of her and my grandbaby.”
“Dad, stop!” Cat says, anger threading through her voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” He rises from his chair. “How can you be so sure Ronan’s good for you, Cat? Last I checked, you didn’t have the best track record picking good guys.”
He’s talking about Adam. That smug, controlling asshole who hurt her more than once. And the fact that Bobby’s comparing me to him?
That’s the last fucking drop.
“With all due respect, Bobby,” I say, repeating his words, my jaw so tight it hurts, “I would never lay a hand on Cat. And you keep talking about Cat’s baby—your grandbaby—like you forgot that the child she’s carrying is also mine. I have every intention of taking care of her and our baby.”
“Ronan, do you even know how to make a sandwich?” Bobby shouts. “Do you know how to do a load of laundry, boy?”
“I do,” I say, calm but steely. “I’ve been doing my own laundry since I was eight. Been cooking, cleaning, handling my own shit for a long fucking time—because if I didn’t, my mother would’ve beaten the living crap out of me.”
Bobby recoils, his face softening just a little—maybe remembering who the fuck he’s talking to.
“I get that you’re pissed at me. I fucked up.
I admit that. And I’ll probably fuck up again, in one way or another.
And yeah, Cat is too fucking good for me—believe me, I know that.
But she chose me. For some insane reason, she picked me.
And I will never stop being grateful. I will do everything in my power to take care of her the way she deserves.
I love her, Bobby. More than anything or anyone in this world.
“I don’t know what I can do to change your opinion of me—and honestly, I don’t care to.
You can think and feel whatever you want.
The only thing that matters to me is how Cat thinks and feels.
If she wants me to move in with you guys, I will.
If she wants to stay at my apartment, then that’s where we’ll be.
Fuck, if she asked me to build her a goddamn hut in the forest and go completely off-grid, I’d do it—because that’s how much I love her.
“Whatever happens, I’m going to make damn sure Cat and our baby are taken care of.”
Silence.
Then I add, a little softer, “You might also consider trusting your daughter a bit more. She’s pretty fucking smart.
Her being hurt by some motherfucker doesn’t mean she’s bad at choosing good men.
Abusers don’t walk around with signs telling you they’ve got rotten souls.
If they did, my mother wouldn’t have gotten away with what she did for seventeen years. ”
I turn to Cat. Her hazel eyes are glassy, full of emotion. She’s still holding my hand under the table.
“I’m done with this dinner whenever you are,” I say quietly.
She nods. “I’m ready to go,” she says, her voice cool, eyes locked on her dad. I’m glad I’m not on the receiving end of that death stare.
“No, guys, please don’t go yet,” Jen pleads, smacking Bobby’s shoulder hard as Cat and I rise from the table. “You’re an ass, Robert.”
I lead Cat out of the dining room.
“Give me five minutes. I’ll be right back down,” she says, brushing past my dad on her way upstairs.