20. Maeve
20
MAEVE
I 'm lying on the sofa reading a book when I hear a car pull up outside. Ronan left in such a hurry, he never got a chance to answer my question about my taking a pledge to work for him. I don't know what he'll say, but the shouting before and the hurried way he left makes me think tonight isn't a good night to talk about it. He's probably dealing with some deranged emergency and if I push him at the wrong time, he'll snap again. It would destroy any progress we've made.
I sit up when I hear the front door open, and I set the book on the antique table near the end of the sofa. Immediately, I hear grunting, and I know it's Ronan. I recognize his voice anywhere now, even the hushed sounds he makes. Especially his grunts, though these don't sound like grunts of pleasure, but pain.
When he rounds the corner of the room and walks in, I stand to my feet. The sight of his shirt soaked in blood sends me into an instant panic. I rush to his side ready to let my medical training kick in, but this time, my mind feels clouded by a different sort of fear.
"Oh, my God," I whimper as he lowers the wad of fabric he has in his hand. "What happened?" I ask, ushering him to the couch. Finn is right behind him, hand stained in blood, scowling at his older brother.
"I got shot, obviously," Ronan growls, and I feel guilty for upsetting him and desperate to see what's going on so I can fix it.
"Get a wash rag and medical supplies. I need some sort of alcohol, and something for a bandage." I'm barking orders as if Finn will listen, and he does. It's like he understands I'm here to help and doesn’t treat me like a threat anymore.
Ronan walks past me, and I see the blood down his back too. It's a through-and-through, which is good. I don't have to open him up again, at least. But the blood loss could be bad, especially so soon after the last wounds he suffered, and it could cost him his arm if I can't stop it. I guide him to the couch where he sits and lets me remove his shirt gently.
"It's gone through, so hopefully, no bullet fragments are in there." I use the already bloody scrap of fabric to try wiping the fresh blood away. It looks like most of the heavy bleeding has stopped already, so that's good.
Ronan grunts as I press my finger into the wound, not even caring that I haven't washed my hands. He fought through sepsis. He can get over this too. He winces and grits his teeth as I pull the shirt off and lean him forward to see the exit wound, larger than the entrance, but only by a small amount. It'll hurt like hell to use his left arm for a few days, but he'll be fine, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
"Is it bad?" he asks, and tears well up in my eyes.
I feel lost for a second as the realization hits me that this time, I'm not feeling angry that I'm in this position. I'm not feeling scared of his men, or of his job or family. I'm feeling gratitude to whatever God exists out there for keeping him alive. I'm feeling relieved that he isn't worse, that he didn't die. I cup his cheeks with both my bloody hands and kiss him hard, and he kisses me back.
"My God," I breathe when I pull away.
"Hey, I'm okay. I just need my expert surgeon to stitch me up, alright?" His right hand reaches up and pinches my chin, and I know I love this man. I don't know how love like this could form under such ridiculous circumstances, but I'm not even thinking about how I hate being associated with his organization and reputation. All I can think of is how if I lost him, I'd feel hollow and empty.
I didn't realize how much interacting with him and having him near me meant to me. I'd have no one to hold, no one to protect me, and in a split second, I know his brothers would end me and move on to the next surgeon. Ronan is my fierce defender, and I need him as much as I need the air I breathe.
"I’m scared," I tell him, and I rest my forehead against his.
"Shh, I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here to protect you and take care of you." His soothing words touch a place in my heart, and I believe him.
Finn walks in and sees Ronan and me bonding, and he clears his throat. "I have the supplies you need. Found Butcher's old med kit. Everything should be here." He sets a stack of items on the table, and I set to work cleaning the wound and preparing a needle to stitch Ronan up. This time, he has no whiskey in his blood. It will hurt worse, but it will be better for him—less blood loss.
"Get out there and find that sick fuck and bring him to me. NO one harms a hair on his head. He's mine."
I struggle to concentrate as Ronan utters threats of violence against whomever it is they're hunting. I assume it's the man who did this, and for a second, I allow myself to be okay with that. If that person is capable of doing this to him, maybe they do need to be stopped.
The needle slides through his skin, drawing the suture thread behind it, and Ronan barely flinches. He's giving orders to Finn while I doctor him up, and I'm seeing a very strong side of him. I don't know what incident has brought this on, but he seems like a man with a mission to protect his family, and suddenly, instead of being terrified by that, I'm attracted to it.
Ronan's protective nature is something I've always craved. My mother raised me alone. There was never a man in our lives to save us or help us, and at times I prayed to God, weeping and pouring out my heart, begging him to send us someone to rescue us. I can't help but wonder if somehow, this is the answer to those prayers, years later, if Ronan O'Rourke has come to be the one to save me and protect me in ways my mother never had.
Finn leaves, and I finish stitching the front wound. When Ronan turns to allow me to stitch up his back, I see the scars from the first time I did this for him and remember how he forced me here. How his men beat me over the head and threatened my life. It seems like decades ago, but it was months. Now I'm not sure how to feel. I want this man and I want his love and protection, but I don't know if I'm ready to give up my freedom and be that controlled.
A relationship like this should be a partnership, not this. Not master and slave, not boss and employee. He should trust me as I should respect him, and it should be a mutual affection. But something tells me if I stay here, I will never have that. There will always be a fear that if it doesn't work out, I'll be murdered. Or worse, be forced to do something horrible to prove my loyalty.
"Are you okay?" he asks me in a soft tone when I finish and tears are streaming down my face. There are so many emotions boiling over, and I don't know what to think or say.
"Yeah, I'm alright," I tell him, and he takes my hand. He guides me first to the liquor cabinet where he pours me a glass, then takes the bottle into his hand. I down my glass in one gulp, and he holds the bottle up as if offering more, but I wave him away. Drinking while pregnant is a horrible idea. I just need something to take the edge off.
He nods as I set the glass down, then he tips the bottle to his lips and drinks. He drinks long and hard. This is a man who has just been shot and doctored, seventeen stitches in all without so much as a whimper of pain, and this is how he soothes that beast inside. The bottle is a third of the way gone when he sets it down and sighs.
"Let's clean up…"
Ronan leads me to his bathroom where he kisses me softly. His hands linger on my face, and he uses his thumbs to brush away my tears. Then he undresses me slowly, removing all my clothing one piece at a time. I didn’t realize how much blood I got on myself, but it's bad. I need a wash for sure.
Then he starts the shower and directs me into it. When I stand under the flow watching the water at my feet become red, he undresses. I think of the child in my womb and what I should say to him. He came close to dying again tonight, and what would he think if he knew he had an heir? Would it make him be more careful so he could raise his child to take his place? Would it mean he stayed out of harm's way?
Ronan steps into the shower with me, and I look up at him. His body is still caked in blood, so I let him stand under the water and suds the bar of soap on his belly before sliding it over his chest to remove the stains. It washes away the crimson from my skin too, and he admires my curves with his eyes, but he doesn’t touch me.
"Tell me what you're thinking…" His hand catches my wrist, and he removes the soap from my grasp.
I look into his eyes and feel sadness swell in my chest at the thought of him dying. As much as I want to hate everything that he is and stands for, I can't. My child needs a father. I need a man to stand by my side. And for whatever ungodly reason, I want this man.
"I'm scared that you almost died. That I almost lost you." Tears well up, and he smiles sadly.
"Because you know what I've been saying is true. I want you in my life, Maeve, and I want to show you how good life can be with me." He guides my hand up over his shoulder, and I let him set the soap to the side.
"I'm scared… of what it means." Giving in and loving him is the last thing I should do, but my God, I'm so sick of fighting what I feel. I want to feel comfort now.
"I'll protect you." He pulls my body against his, and the water warms me as it washes away the soap. His lips crash into mine, his tongue dancing over my teeth and into my mouth. I give myself to him freely now, not ashamed to admit I want him.
"I want you," I breathe against his lips, my nipples hardening with each passing second. And what I can’t say is that it isn’t just for sex. I really want him. All of him.
His hands run down my back, fingertips dancing over my spine before he squeezes my ass. “It’s about time,” he growls, and I know he understands what I mean. I feel him swelling against my thigh as his fingers creep around my ass cheek. He grips me hard and bites my lip. I try my hardest not to touch his fresh wound as I paw at his body and pull him against me. The ache to have him inside me is so painful all at once that I’m whimpering.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, teasingly nibbling his way down my neck. “I can stop.”
His hand slowly pulls away, and I grip him tighter. “No. Don’t you dare.”
He chuckles, the vibration of it sending shivers down my spine. His cock is now pressed against my sensitive folds, and I whimper in anticipation.
"Tell me what you want, Maeve," he growls softly in my ear, his accent thicker as his arousal increases.
"I want you," I moan. His fingers dance over my entrance, and I arch my back into his touch. "All of you."
"You're going to have me, every inch of me," he growls before he slides inside me. I lift my leg and wrap it around his, and he hooks his hand around my thigh and lifts it higher. His left hand steadies me in the small of my back as he starts thrusting.
“Oh, God,” I moan, returning my lips to kiss his again. His thrusts are slow and purposeful, each one going deeper than the last. He groans against my lips as he sucks on my bottom lip. Every inch of his length makes such pleasurable friction, I whimper and sigh and beg for more.
A moan escapes his lips before he buries them in my neck. I want him to smack me, just like he does, but I know his shoulder hurts. I’m so close, so ready to explode around his cock, but I need that push, that tinge of pain on my skin, the way he makes me feel.
“Fuck, Ro.” I’m choked up, wanting to beg him, stuck in pleasure. I feel frantic for more, desperate to feel his hand on my ass, when he slows and guides my hips backward.
We break the kiss, and his lust gaze makes my body alight again. He lowers my leg to the shower floor and kisses my collar bone, then bites it. His hand grips my tit and kneads it roughly, pinching and twisting my nipple. Then his other hand is on my hip, forcing me to turn around.
“Bend over,” he orders, and this is new.
I splay both palms on the shower wall and bend, offering him entrance from the back side. He grips my hips and bends at the knee slightly to push his dick into my pussy. It’s good, but not as good as it was. Maybe this is better for him? I’m wanting more, but he’s hurt. I try to clench around him, even reach for my clit to rub, but his movements aren’t going to get it for me.
“Fuck me, goddammit,” I whine, and he chuckles again. The close quarters makes his laughter seem maniacal and loud. His grip on my right hip intensifies while he lets go of me with his left.
He backs up, pulling out of me, and then I feel his dick at my ass. In one thrust, he forces himself into my tight hole, and I gasp. Pain and pleasure shoot through my body all at once. He’s huge, stretching me and maybe tearing my ass open, but it’s incredible, especially when he starts thrusting hard. And then he smacks my ass, and I’m on the edge, shuddering.
“You like that? You like it when I fuck your ass and spank you?” he growls, hand smacking me again. “You’re so fucking tight.”
“Oh, God, yes,” I moan, my voice breaking as he fucks me harder and harder.
“You like it when I’m rough with you?” he growls, and I can tell he’s close too by the way his hips jerk.
“Yes… Fuck, yes,” I moan, clenching my muscles as tight as I can around his dick. His grip on my hip tightens, and he slams into me over and over. I come apart, spasming and gasping for air. The water splashes down over both of our bodies, and all I can do is keep my knees locked so I don’t collapse. The sensations are incredible, and when he explodes his hot cum inside me, I twitch and lean on the wall for support.
We both pant for air, his body pressed against my backside and my head lolling forward onto my arms. He’s still hard inside me, and it feels so good I don’t want him to pull out. He smacks my ass one more time, but this time, it's gentler than before. His hand smooths over my wet, tender skin, and he slides in and out of me several more times. I love the feeling of him inside me. I love the friction and the tension. And I love knowing even if only for this moment, all he’s thinking of is me.
My mind goes to my baby again, growing in my womb. His baby. Our future. I should tell him, but how? And will he let me be my own person or will he take all the control I have left and possess me? Which version of Ronan O'Rourke will I get if I do tell him?
He pulls out, making me whimper, and I straighten. When I turn around, he kisses me again, possessively. Then he says, "I'm going to lie down and wait for you." He turns and rinses his body one last time, then steps out of the shower.
I watch him wrap a towel around himself after drying off, then I'm alone. I wash my hair and rinse out the shower. When I'm drying off, I stare at my obscured reflection in the steamed mirror and know what I have to do. I'm in love with him, and I want him to know about his baby, even if it means a terrifying future with him. I still want my life, surgery, my practice, helping people, but not if it means not having him.
I twist my hair up in a towel and wrap another around my body with a mental note to ask Brigid to bring more. Then I step into the bedroom, prepared to lie down next to Ronan and tell him I'm pregnant, but when I fold the covers back, I hear snoring. He's passed out and exhausted, and I've lost my chance.
My eyes turn to the door. We're alone here. I've been alone here since he rushed out to do whatever it was that got him shot. I don't know if there are guards outside, but I could probably run.
Except I don't want to. I want to stay. I want this.