8. Maeve
8
MAEVE
Y es, I tried to climb out his window, but I'm captive here. What did they expect? They are the ones in the wrong here. I didn’t deserve being smacked around for wanting to return to my life and get away from these people. I'm terrified now, shaking as I sit with my legs curled up on this bed watching Ronan and his maid, whom he calls Brigid, lay out a tray of food for each of us. My face hurts, and my arm. My wrists are sore too from being lashed to this stupid chair.
"That'll be all, Brigid. Thank you," Ronan says, and he seems softer, the same gentle side of him I just saw less than an hour ago when he rushed in and untied me and gently laid me in bed. I don't know what's going on, why he's being so kind, but I don't hate it. It's not completely unlike him, but he's usually very stiff and matter-of-fact. This softness seems strange and maybe dangerous.
Brigid retreats with her cart of empty trays, and I look down at the tray in front of me. A plate of roast and vegetables steams and smells amazing. It makes my mouth water. I've been abstaining from food for so long, I can barely restrain myself. My stomach growls as Ronan takes small bites and studies me.
"It's okay to eat, Maeve." He's still stern, a bit overly commanding with his tone, like a father who wants to be nurturing but doesn't know the first thing about it.
I swallow hard and watch him take a few more bites, and my stomach screams at me. So I cave in. The first bite is small, a piece of well-seasoned carrot. It practically melts on my tongue, sending my appetite into overdrive. I find myself so ravishingly hungry, I begin to devour the food, eating so quickly I don't stop to enjoy any of the wine on the nightstand in a glass.
When my plate is finished, Ronan pushes his toward me, and I sigh as I take it and continue devouring it. The food is amazingly delicious, or maybe I’m just that hungry that anything would taste good. I eat and eat until both plates are clean and my glass of wine is empty, and when I'm finished, I still want more. But I'm not about to ask him for more. This kindness surely won't last. He's a criminal, not a father, and definitely not a gentleman. Though I appreciate this gentler side of him. It makes me wonder if I can show him there is a side of me he hasn't seen, either. A side he can trust.
"Well, that wasn't as awful as you thought…" Ronan stands and removes the trays of food, setting them on a table by the door. He picks up the bottle of wine left on the table by the door and brings it to the nightstand and refills my glass. "How do you feel now?" he asks, and I'm genuinely shocked that he does.
I narrow my eyes in confusion. This man has absconded with me and held me prisoner, and now he's asking about my wellbeing or mental status? What does he expect me to feel? And am I supposed to be grateful to him for feeding me?
On the other hand, the instant he saw me tied to that chair, I saw the rage flash through his eyes. He was furious and outraged by the sight. And he didn’t leave me that way. He untied me, cared for me, even spoke softly to me, when I know that's not his natural inclination.
"I feel better…" My lips have a mind of their own. But I'm not angry they've given that detail to him. I do feel better. The ache in the pit of my stomach that has made me nauseous and irritable for days is gone now. I feel tired, though, the rush of sugar and insulin in my bloodstream playing up.
"Good," he says. He sets the bottle down next to my glass and picks it up to hand it to me. I take it from him and sip, watching him carefully. I'm not sure how to read this man anymore. I know his type and what he said about me. I'm his. He owns me. I'll leave in a body bag… But he doesn't seem that hard and edgy right now. He seems to care.
"And thank you for untying me. You have to understand that I'd want to go home. I've been asking…" I let my words hang in the air as he picks up his own glass and takes a swig. His eyes stay fixed on my face, and I feel unnerved by the way he looks at me. He is intimidating, and not because of the threats he's made. There's just an air of power and danger about him.
Any other time, a man like this would grab my attention. The bad boy type, the ones who are just tough and bold and they don't even notice that women notice. They don't care what anyone thinks or how people might respond. They live their lives and own their shit. Those men are alluring, irresistible. Ronan O'Rourke is the exact type of man I'd be attracted to—if I didn't know he was the chief.
"You see," he starts, setting his glass down, "I'm in a very delicate position here, Dr. Walsh." Ronan relaxes on the side of the bed closest to me. He leans on one arm, crosses one leg over the other. His other hand rests casually in his lap, and he continues as his fingers dance over the fabric of his slacks. "I like you, and I think you know that."
I stiffen at his words, uncertain what that means. Is that the reason he's being nice all of a sudden? He likes me? And does that mean he likes me as a person or as a doctor? I'm confused, but I can't even ask him those questions. It would be to admit I care, which I can't do. I want to go home.
"I'm stuck between this jagged rock and a very hard place. My family ties and the oath I've made to protect my brothers, to lead my organization, require me to uphold certain… standards." His eyes trail across my face and lock on my lips. More specifically, the corner of my mouth. His hand reaches out, and his thumb drags across the edge of my lip, wiping something away, some bit of food I've neglected.
"But I am trustworthy. I saved your life. I can keep a secret. I just want to go home." I shudder as his hand remains on my face, now cupping my cheek. He isn't shy about the way he looks at me or touches me. He really does believe I'm his—whether an object or something he cares for, I'm not sure.
"I have no doubt in my mind that you're trustworthy, Maeve, but the choice isn’t mine to make. You understand, my brothers would make the choice for me, and if I fail, they'll remove me as well." He's speaking, but his words are becoming obscure, more of a drone of sound to my ears.
Ronan scoots closer on the bed, magnetized by the warmth spreading across my skin at his touch. He's good. He's really good. He's got this powerful, enigmatic leader aura around him that feels hypnotizing. I'm not even hating his touch at all. In fact, I like it. I like that this man who is chief of the most powerful criminal family in the dark underworld of Dublin is touching me, focusing his energy and emotion on me.
"But… I have a life…" I breathe out, and my protest is weak. I know that.
My eyes drop to his lips, and I know I'm going to cave in and do something I'll regret, but he's so attractive. The thrill of electricity across my skin as my body becomes aroused is something I have always had a difficult time fighting against. Besides, just because I fuck him doesn't mean I agree with him. Right?
And maybe if I just give in and sleep with him, it doesn't mean I have to stay. Maybe it will give him a sense of safety with me, prove to him somehow that I can be like his men who live their own lives, in their own houses.
"This is the life, Maeve," he rumbles, and I suck in a breath as he closes the gap between us. This wasn't what I planned. It isn't necessarily what I want, but I succumb to the chemistry between us and allow his lips to brush over mine—softly at first. Then he deepens the kiss, parting my lips and hungrily searching my mouth with his tongue.
His fingers curl around the back of my neck and pull me toward him, which makes my head arch back and my mouth open farther, and my hand rests on his chest, pushing slightly against him, but not enough to show my hesitation. Resist him and end up angering him? Then what? He takes me anyway? Or just cave in and indulge myself for a moment… Will I really be his if I do that?
"Fuck, you drive me wild. I've been looking forward to this since the night in your bathtub…" His growl against my lips reminds me of when I washed him clean. His dick was so hard, it stood up out of the soapy, filthy water.
Some women would be highly aroused that a man got turned on by them. I'm not sure what to think. He was dying. I was doing my job. His men were holding me at gunpoint, and even now, I'm his prisoner. The chief's captive… and I'm letting him touch me now, my body preparing to fuck him.
"I…" I push against his chest now, not so certain I want this anymore, but when his hand slides from my face down across my body to my groin and he rubs, it makes me tense with desire. I’m wet. I can feel the moisture there, puddled in my panties, my pussy throbbing for his touch.
"You what, Maeve? You want me too, don't you?" he whispers against my ear, and I shiver, my body betraying me.
"No, I…"
"Liar," he growls before biting my earlobe, his fingers delving inside the waistband of my leggings and finding my wetness, and I moan so loudly. "You were made for me, Maeve. To belong to me."
"Ronan, I…" His name leaves my lips on a moan as he circles my clit with his fingertips before sliding two digits inside me, stretching me. "Fuck." I bite my lip to keep from moaning too loudly. I don't want anyone to hear us, but his touch… it's addictive, and I’m hooked already.
"Mmm," he purrs against my neck, sucking and nibbling on the delicate skin there. "You like that? You're so wet for me, Maeve. So wet and ready." He growls against my ear, his fingers sliding in and out of me.
I grind my hips against his palm and whimper, and it only makes him chuckle darkly in my ear. I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t want this. I should fight him and demand to go home, but I’m a fucking puddle on his bed, prostituting myself out for pleasure, and he’s getting off on this, the power he has over me.
"Ronan, please… oh, fuck," I moan as he hits my G-spot, sending a wave of pleasure coursing through me. My back arches and my toes curl.
“That’s it, sweetheart… See? I’m not all bad.” His growl sends shockwaves through every cell in my body. I grip his forearm and ride his palm, my pussy smearing juices all over his hand. My eyes open, and I see the predator hunting me, stalking my soul with every thrust. I’m on the edge, and he loves it.
“I… Ronan, I’m gonna…” My voice is breathless as he thrusts his fingers deeper, hitting that sweet spot again, and I fall apart in his arms.
“That’s it baby, come for me.” His voice is hoarse in my ear as my orgasm rocks through me. My body convulses around his invading digits and my juices soak his hand. I clench, and he growls. His other arm curls around my waist, and he rolls over, still finger fucking me until I’m straddling him. I’m shuddering, coming undone, and he’s soaking up my weakness like a sponge.
“Fuck… Ronan.” I pant and collapse against him, my chest heaving.
He chuckles darkly before removing his hand, and I whine in protest. “Oh, no, Maeve. That’s just a taste…” His words rumble through my body, and I feel him shoving my leggings down. I don’t get a say. He’s violent, tearing them off, then removing my sweater. I’m giddy, limp from orgasm, and unable to protest. He rolls me again, dumping me on the bed naked, then he stands and strips his clothing off.
I lie on my stomach, letting the weight of relaxation take me, until I feel a firm smack to my ass. It jolts me out of my afterglow, and I yelp in pain. I feel the bed shake as he mounts it, then me. His heat presses against me from hips to shoulders. His teeth sink into my neck from behind, and his weight is crushing.
“I told you you’d be mine, and now I’m going to make it official,” he says. His cock is hard, grinding against the back of my thigh as he slides both hands under me and grips my tits hard. His squeezes are painful, but erotic. I grind my hips upward into his, suddenly wanting more. My body is so turned on by this, by him. I hate myself.
“Ro…” I whimper as he lifts his hips and his dick slides down through my juices. He thrusts a few times, slipping up and down my wet crack, and I push my hand under my body and find his length, guiding him into my hot entrance.
“Shit…” He grunts, and inch by inch, my pussy swallows him. “Fuck…” He grunts again as he bottoms out, and I moan.
“Oh, God…” I moan as his thick cock stretches me. He’s so much bigger than the vibrators I’m used to, but it feels so good.
“I’m going to destroy this pussy,” he growls in my ear as he starts rocking into me. In and out, he pushes and pulls, his hands squeezing my tits harder and harder until I'm moaning in painful pleasure and my pussy is gripping him tighter and tighter.
“Yes!” I scream, my back arching and my pussy clamping down on him.
“You like it rough, don’t you, Maeve?” he growls, his teeth sinking into my neck before he sucks hard enough to leave a hickey. I claw the bed, unable to get a grip on anything, and suddenly, he pulls away. I feel the heat of his skin on mine chill instantly, but his hands slide down my sides and grip my hips. He hoists my ass into the air and continues to fuck me, now with the added leverage of a firm hold on my body.
Ronan pushes deeper and deeper, hitting my cervix at just the right angle. He knows my body better than I do. How? Each thrust pushes me closer and closer to another orgasm, and when I touch my clit even gently, I detonate. The sensations explode from my core outward in waves that drown me and then revive me all at once.
“Oh, God,” I whimper as he fucks me through my orgasm, and then he grunts, his seed filling me up. His cock twitches inside me, and I can feel it pulsing as he grunts over and over again.
Eventually, the earthquakes of pleasure subside, and we're both panting. I collapse on the bed feeling winded and limp, and he pulls out. The sex drains from my pussy, and in the wake of the second orgasm, I begin to feel the wine swirl in my head.
There is no cuddling or talking. He doesn't lie in bed with me. I shiver slightly, but I'm too relaxed to move anything more than my head. I turn and see he's already partially dressed, wearing his button-down and his slacks, though they both hang open. He's staring at me smugly, as if he took something I wasn't willing to give, but maybe I'm reading too much into it.
I remember my protest… about my life. About wanting to return to my life. And even in the wake of those orgasms, the desire remains. Sex is incredible, don't get me wrong. But fucking a bad boy and living with him are two different things. I want to return to my hospital and move into the future I have planned. I want my life back.
He must see the protest in my eyes before I can even utter a word because he opens his mouth to speak, silencing my thoughts.
"I tried to explain this, but I know you didn't understand. My hands are tied. You either stay here or you leave in a body bag. Those are the options." He drapes his tie around his neck, and rage roars to life inside my chest.
"Get out," I grunt, and I sit up and reach for my glass of wine.
Ronan stares at me as if in disbelief. He's probably used to women just fawning over him, giving him everything he wants. But not me. I'm not his fucking whore. He doesn't own me, despite what he just did to me, and I won’t be controlled by him.
The wine goes down smoothly, and I scream at him again. "Get out!" This time, louder and with more hatred, and he scowls at me.
Just as he steps through the door, my anger gets the better of me and I launch the glass, shattering it against the wall. Shame washes over my body, dripping from me like the cum he filled me with, and I reach for the bottle to drown it all when I hear the lock click.
I'm his captive. Nothing more. Just his captive.