16. Maeve
16
MAEVE
T he TV is running, playing some stupid reality show, but I'm not paying attention. I haven't been. Not for the past week since I learned I'm pregnant. I've been a husk of a person, a shell of the creature I once was. I stare at the cold fireplace, stealing glances every so often at the window when I see movement.
Ronan has increased security around the place, and the only thing I can think is that it's because of me. It's because I tried to escape. It's because it rattled him that for a moment I was successful, and had I known where I was going or where to hide, I would have been. I'd have gone home, and then straight to the police. I'd have gotten away.
But this secret I'm carrying would have gone with me. The torture of knowing I am growing the heir to the O'Rourke name in my womb, that I’m eternally linked to this family and their atrocities… That part makes me feel sick to my stomach, and I wish I could vomit out the hateful bile I feel. But I can't. The medicine makes sure of that. But I've already changed. I'm becoming like him every time I think of how much I hate the thought of being tied to him.
It isn't that I don't want children. Being a mother means the world to me. I press my hand against my stomach and think of what it will feel like to sense movement inside my body that isn't my own. What it will be like to hear a heartbeat or give birth. The way I'll feel as I bring my newborn to my breast to suckle and how hard my mother worked to care for me.
The idea of being linked to Ronan's family is what scares me. Even if I escape this place, even if he never learns I'm carrying his child. Even if I can hide away and never breathe his name again, I'll have to answer to my child.
My son or daughter will ask me about their father. I'll need to know medical history and risk factors. They'll want to meet him and develop a relationship, and what do I do then? How do I protect my child and my future from the evil that is the O'Rourke name? Just the thought brings tears to my eyes again, and I sob into my pillow. I'm supposed to have a different life. I was made for more than this.
Voices down the hall hit my ear, and I suck in a breath and stifle my sobs for a second. It's Ronan. He's home after working today. It means he will come check on me. He's been doing that every day now. His routine of leaving me alone all day and coming in after dark and when I'm resting has changed. Since the doctor came, he's been more attentive, taking dinner here in the room with me, helping me shower, or trying to get me to talk.
At times, it's been pleasant. Other times, I've just wanted to be alone, and I sit in silence as he talks about the things he's done throughout the day, though I know he leaves huge things out. He won't talk to me about his crimes. He won't mention what sort of dark activities he takes part in. It's not like I can tell anyone or even would. If I get out of here, my lips are sealed. I don't need them coming after me.
"Maeve," he says when the door clicks open and he walks in. He stopped locking it a while ago. He gave me free reign of the house, though with the added guards, there's no way I could get out, anyway. There's no point in leaving my comfort zone, so I stay in this bed or go to the toilet. My body is getting out of shape because of it.
"Maeve, I brought you a gift," he says, and he comes into view around the foot of the bed, passing between me and the TV, still airing the ridiculous show I hate. I look up at him and see the bouquet of roses in his arm and a small white box in his other hand. "Do you like chocolates?"
This strange man, so rough and edgy around me to begin with, has been so patient and calm with me for days now. It's like I don't know who he is. He hasn't reminded me of my fate—stay here or die—but that sentence feels like a million years away when this version of Ronan O'Rourke appears.
It's a sweet gesture, and I nod at him in acceptance, but I don't sit up. I'm tired and emotional. I'm not interested in small talk. I want comfort, and I don't know what that looks like anymore. The only time I've felt a good emotion since I got here was when Ronan was talking softly to me after sex last time, but what happened immediately after that was almost traumatic. I don't know how to feel. I'm confused.
Am I developing Stockholm syndrome? Bonding with my captor due to brainwashing? But that can't be. Ronan doesn't spend hours a day brainwashing me. He simply won't let me leave. And he isn't abusive or violent with me—though I know he can be and is with others. I've seen the marks on his hands and heard him shouting.
"Can I sit?" he asks as he sets the flowers and chocolates on my nightstand, and my eyes trace up his body to his face.
What a beautiful face he has, so symmetrical and well-defined. Stubble on his jaw, crystal blue eyes. The man is a god, as far as appearances go. He is so handsome, I know women throw themselves at him. Good bone structure, seeming good health too. My child will inherit those amazing features, and I will have to stare into their eyes every day of my life knowing their father is a monster.
"Yes," I tell him. His thoughtful gesture of bringing me a gift is kind, but I'm no fool. I know who he really is when he leaves this house. Brigid tells me he's a good man, but does a good man murder people?
"How are you feeling?" He sits on the edge of the bed and rests his hand on my hip. I want to believe he actually cares, but I'm not sold.
"Tired," I tell him. It's my go-to response now. I'm just tired. Let him think what he wants.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He leans down and offers a concerned look. "There isn't anything I wouldn't do for my family, Maeve."
From any other man at any other time, that would be a touching remark. But I'm feeling lost, tethered to his world and longing for mine. And is that him trying to tell me I'm his family? Do I get a choice? Does he know now that I’m pregnant? Did the doctor tell him? All I can do is lie here and search his expression for clues.
His hand rubs my hip, squeezing and kneading my flesh buried under the blanket and the leggings I'm wearing. It's comforting too. Why am I feeling comforted by him? I'm supposed to hate him.
"My life is over. Even if I want to go back, by now, I can't. By now, they've replaced my position at work. It'll be hell to find someone to hire me…" All thoughts I've had cross my mind in the recent few days. Do I even have a life to return to?
"Is the life I offer you so awful?" He sounds timid, as if he's hesitant to hear the answer. The last thing I want is to rile him up or upset him. He gets so angry, and while he's never laid a hand on me, I know what he's done.
"I saw what you did… to that man." I look away, training my eyes on the wall ahead of me. The image of that man's bloodied face won't leave my fucking head. I dream it. It's there when I close my eyes. I hate it. I wish I never saw it.
Ronan sighs and reaches for my hand, pulling me to a sitting position. I'm close to him now, close enough that he can cup my cheek and brush away the moisture from my earlier crying.
"I was protecting my family, something I have to do." The earnest expression he has is so complex. He's torn over what he did? But how?
"You protect your family by murdering?" I set my jaw and almost flinch when his thumb brushes over my cheekbone again. I know if someone were to touch my mother, I'd consider murdering them in her defense, but what sort of crime did that man commit to deserve that?
"Yes, Maeve. If it's what I have to do. I'm in a war you know nothing of." I try to look away, but he pinches my chin between his finger and thumb and forces me to look at him. "And I do what it takes to keep my family safe."
"Like murdering me if I leave?" The question sneaks out, and he shakes his head slowly.
"I don't want it to come to that. It's not why I brought you here. I want you here. I want you with me, and I want to make you happy here." His eyes search mine and then drop to my lips.
The words, almost whispered, make me wish for a moment that he was telling the truth. That he was some knight in shining armor who could actually do just that—make me his and make me happy. I just can't get over his life and what it means for my future.
He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine. The act is so tender, I allow it and kiss him back. It's a soft kiss, gentle and safe. It's been too long since I felt safe. I'm not sure why this does it for me, but I want more of it. So I kiss him again, and his arm loops around my waist and pulls me closer. I whimper, and he stops.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and just the fact that he is willing to ask me that sets off a cascade of emotions. Tears well up. I'm torn between needing to be realistic about my future and being so drawn to him. Is it his strength? Is it because I’m just trapped here and he's the only one I'm interacting with? Am I just weak? I can't say.
"Kiss me," I whisper, wanting to lose myself if only for a moment, to feel the bliss of something other than misery and depression, to make my heart come alive as my body pulses with pheromones and attraction to him.
Ronan doesn't hesitate. The kiss starts more eager than the previous and quickly grows to an inferno raging between us. It starts low in my belly and flames into my chest, engulfing me. He feels it too, the growing desperation between us, to have and be had.
His hands reach for my ass, and he lifts me up, grinding me against him. I can feel his hardness pressing against my core and the ache between my legs only intensifies. My hands tangle in his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it as he devours my mouth like he's starving for the taste of me. I've never felt this way before. I've never wanted anyone like this. It's a heady feeling, but also terrifying because I know it can be taken away at any moment.
Ronan breaks the kiss, panting. "I want you naked," he growls against my neck, his voice rough with desire. I shiver, pleasure coursing through me at his commanding tone. Slowly, I grip my blouse and pull it over my head, letting it fall to the floor, revealing the lace bra that covers my breasts. He doesn't wait for me to strip off my leggings. His hands reach up to my waistband and tear them and my panties off me before he tears open the front of his shirt and exposes his tattooed, scarred chest.
I moan at the ache between my legs, looking up at him as he takes off his slacks and kicks off his shoes. He’s rock hard instantly. I must do that to him. It’s strangely arousing that I have that power over him at all. He kneels down in front of me, looking up at me with a hunger I’ve never seen before. His eyes are almost completely black now, pupils dilated with lust.
"I'm going to enjoy this," he growls, and then he's moving between my thighs, running his tongue along my core. I moan and grip the sheets for support as a wave of pleasure washes over me. "So fucking wet for me, aren't you?" he asks, looking up at me. His stubble scrapes me, and I rush out a breath, sucking it in just as quickly, only to rock against his face.
I can only nod in response to his words, too consumed by the fire that he’s building within me to form coherent thought. He growls again and plunges two fingers inside me while sucking on my clit at the same time. I scream out in pleasure and arch my back, my hips thrusting toward him. Ronan’s fingers move inside me, curling in ways that make me see stars. I can feel myself building up to climax already, and we’ve barely started.
"Ronan," I whimper. How does he do this to me? How does he bring me to the edge so quickly? Why is my body at his beck and call, the way he commands pleasure and it springs up like a fountain inside me?
He stops, pulling his fingers out of me, and I whine in protest. I want more. I need more. I don’t want him to stop. "Look at me," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument. Reluctantly, I open my eyes and meet his. “I want to hear you beg for it,” he says, his voice low and husky.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. I’ve never begged anyone for anything in my life. But looking into his eyes, I know I’ll do anything he says. The way he makes me feel… It's addictive. “Please,” I whisper, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Please, Ronan, I need you.” I sound pathetic and small. Shame washes over me as he slaps my pussy, making me jolt at first in pain, and then in pleasure.
“I said, beg,” he barks, and his hand comes down on my clit again. It’s intense and painful, but it stirs something in me that feels animalistic and primal. I want more.
"Fuck, Ronan! I need you so bad, please fuck me. I'll do anything you want, just don't stop," I moan, my voice desperate and needy. His smirk is wicked as forces his fingers back inside me, adding a third. It’s tight, and I hiss and arch my hips off the bed again. He looks at me with a hunger that makes my insides liquify. "Begging suits you," he growls before roughly thrusting his fingers. The world goes hazy as I’m consumed by pleasure and need.
I'm so close to climaxing, I can feel it in my toes. They curl up and flex, waiting for the coil inside me to snap and the ecstasy to engulf me. "I'm going to make you beg for every orgasm you get," he growls, picking up the pace, his fingers curling and thrusting, hitting that spot inside me that sends me over the edge.
"Ronan!" I grunt his name as my body convulses around his fingers, my climax ripping through me like a wave crashing against rocks. It’s intense and I feel like I might lose control, but I clench around him. I shudder and convulse, and he purrs against my clit as he sucks it, and when my body begins to calm, he removes his fingers and continues licking me in long, languid strokes.
I jolt and shudder, and he sighs as he lifts my leg and holds it in the air, positioning his cock at my wet entrance. I’m a jiggly mess of hunger and lust and need. I just want him inside me.
"Tell me you want me," he growls, his eyes dark with lust.
"I want you. My God, I fucking want you so bad, " I pant, my body still trembling from my orgasm mere seconds ago. He slides inside me, filling me completely, and I moan at the sheer pleasure of the feeling.
"Fuck," we both moan in unison, and then he starts to move, each thrust into me like a branding mark on my soul. Every time he plunges into me, I whine and he growls, and our bodies find a rhythm we both enjoy.
“I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.” He grunts as he picks up the pace. Every inch of his dick slides in and out of me with such friction and intensity, I’m pleading for him to stop but begging for more at the same time. He’s massive, and I love it.
“I know how that feels,” I pant out, clinging to his shoulders as he rocks into me relentlessly. I can feel my climax building again, and I dig my nails into his back. I feel them break the skin, the moisture of blood under my fingertips, and I moan and whine.
In the back of my mind, a thought occurs that he’s being a little rough. I could lose the baby… But how do I tell him that without telling him that? All I can do is claw his back and enjoy it as much as possible, and the rush of hormones only makes my body edge closer to a second climax.
When his hand smacks my thigh, I yelp and dig my fingernails into his back harder, drawing blood, and he doesn’t stop. If anything, it spurs him on even more, his thrusts becoming even rougher, harder.
“I’m going to fucking fill you up with my cum,” he growls in my ear, and that’s all it takes to send me over the edge again. I grip onto him for dear life as my second orgasm of the night rips through me, just as strong, if not stronger than, the first. “Fuck!” he grunts, and I can feel him pulsing inside me, filling me up with his hot seed.
As we both catch our breath, he collapses onto the bed next to me, panting. “My fucking God,” he starts to say, but I cut him off with a kiss.
“I know,” I manage to pant out between kisses. “Same…” I’m feeling the bliss of that sex as he curls around me and his cum drains out of my body. It’s heavenly, warm and relaxing. I let him hold me and place kisses on the back of my shoulder, and for a moment, we’re okay. For a moment, we’re doing well, and I feel like maybe I’ve been wrong about everything.
Until I close my eyes.
I see that man’s face again, and it makes me shudder.
What am I doing? Ronan O’Rourke isn’t a knight in shining armor. He’s a maniac with an agenda, and I’m on it. Conquering me is his goal, and I'm letting him win. What the fuck is wrong with me?