Chapter 16 Wesley #2
I quietly laughed, shrugging out of my coat and hanging it up, then doing the same for Ro’s.
Warm light soon flickered across the room, chasing away the last of the chill we’d brought in with us.
“God,” Ronan muttered, flopping down dramatically on the couch. “I’m not moving for the rest of the night.”
“You’ll move,” I said, already heading for the bedroom. “You’re not sleeping in jeans.”
“Watch me.”
“You won’t win that fight, nor do I think you actually want to.”
I didn’t wait for his response, already pulling a drawer open and grabbing out a pair of flannel pajamas. When I came back out, I tossed the clothes at him.
“Change.”
He caught them with a quiet oof, peeking out from behind the fabric with a faint smirk. “Bossy.”
“Always.”
He didn’t argue, just rolled off the couch with a stretch, disappearing briefly to change and use the restroom. I took my time doing the same, trading out my own clothes for something softer.
When I reemerged, Ronan was already back on the couch, this time tucked into the corner, a blanket dragged over his legs.
I crossed the room and settled down next to him.
He snuggled up to me right away, his head settling against my shoulder, legs brushing mine under the blanket.
I let my arm come up around him without thinking, my hand resting warm against his side.
For a while, neither of us said anything. We just sat there, content to watch the fire crackle and listen to the wind brushing against the windows.
“I like this,” I said after a while, voice quieter than before.
“Mm?” he hummed.
“This,” I repeated, my hand moving idly along his side, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “Getting away. No work. No messes to clean up.”
He was quiet for a second, then, lightly, he asked, “No killing?”
I snorted. “No killing.”
“A little killing..?” he tried.
I tightened my arm around him just slightly. “No.”
He tipped his head back just enough to look up at me, eyes glinting with that familiar mischief. “You’re no fun.”
“I’m plenty of fun,” I said, glancing down at him.
“I guess I could be convinced…” he trailed off, shifting just a little closer, his hand coming up to rest against my chest.
I exhaled softly through my nose.
“Ronan,” I warned, though there wasn’t much weight behind it.
He smiled seductively, already leaning in. “Wesley,” he echoed.
The fire’s glow danced across Ronan’s face, highlighting the sharp, defined edge of his jaw and the way his lashes batted against his cheeks, luring me in. His body was warm against mine, the flannel pajamas doing little to hide the lean lines of him.
My hand, still resting on his side, began to trace idle patterns over the fabric, fingers dipping just under the hem to brush bare skin. A small moan escaped his lips, and he pressed in tighter, his thigh sliding over mine under the blanket.
“What, doll? Need something?” I murmured, my voice low, lips close to his ear. My free hand came up to tilt his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. His eyes were full of desire, pupils blown wide in the dim light.
“You,” he crooned, licking his lips.
I felt the pull in my gut, the heat starting to build.
I chuckled, deep and rough, tightening my grip on his chin just enough to make him still. “You know what to say if you want me to give you anything.”
He grinned and twisted in my hold, trying to nip at my thumb.
“Seems it’s slipped my mind.”
Brat.
Always testing, always needing me to rein him in. My cock twitched at the challenge, hardening against the soft pants I wore.
“Why don’t you make me remember?” he purred, voice dropping to a whisper.
That was all the invitation I needed. I surged forward, capturing his mouth in a hard kiss, my tongue pushing past his lips to claim him.
He moaned into it, hands fisting in my shirt as he kissed back fiercely, all teeth and heat.
I swallowed the sound, one hand sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat.
He gasped when I broke the kiss, my teeth grazing his pulse point. “Wes…”
“Quiet,” I ordered, biting down, then sucking a mark into the pale skin. My other hand worked lower, palming the growing bulge in his pajamas. He bucked into my touch, a pathetic little whine slipping out, but I pressed down firmly, controlling the pace.
“Please,” he breathed, already squirming, his hands clutching at my shoulders.
I pulled back just enough to look at him, flushed and needy, lips swollen from my kiss. “Please, what? Use your words, boy.”
His eyes narrowed in that defiant way, but his body betrayed him, hips grinding up for more friction. “Fuck, Wes, just—”
I cut him off with my hand around his throat, not squeezing yet, just holding him there, feeling his swallow under my palm. His breath hitched, eyes widening with that delicious mix of fear and want. He loved this—loved when I took control, when I made him feel the edge.
“That’s better,” I said, thumb stroking his jaw as I leaned in again, kissing him slower this time, deeper.
My fingers tightened gradually, cutting off his air just a bit, watching his face as he melted into it.
His cock throbbed under my hand, fully hard now, and I stroked him through the fabric, rough and teasing. “Remember yet?”
“I—”
He whimpered when I released the pressure, gulping in air, only for me to squeeze again, harder. His hands scrambled down my back, nails digging in, but he didn’t fight it. No, he arched into me, legs spreading wider under the blanket as I shoved it aside.
I yanked his pajama pants down in one swift motion, freeing his cock. It slapped against his stomach, leaking precum, flushed and eager. Mine was straining against my own clothes, but this was about him first.
“Look at you,” I growled, wrapping my hand around his length, pumping slow and firm while my other kept its hold on his throat. I alternated the pressure, light then tight, making his breaths come in ragged bursts. His hips jerked, chasing my strokes, and squirming against me.
“Wes—fuck—more,” he rasped when I let him breathe, voice hoarse and desperate.
I obliged, thumb circling the head of his cock, smearing the slickness down the shaft.
Then I choked him again, feeling his pulse race under my fingers, his body trembling as oxygen deprivation heightened every sensation.
He was a mess already, moans turning to choked gasps, thighs quivering around me.
Shifting us, I pushed him flat on the couch, settling between his legs. My mouth found his neck, biting down as I jerked him faster, twisting at the base. He cried out, the sound muffled when I covered it with another squeeze, his vision probably spotty by now.
When I eased off, he panted, “Don’t stop—please, I’ll say it, just don’t stop.”
“Spit it out, babydoll.”
“Please, sir, please ruin your—your m-masochistic cockslut,” he whimpered, the words causing his ears to redden.
“Good boy,” I cooed in response.
I stripped off my pants quickly, my cock springing free, throbbing and ready. I spit on my cock and my fingers, then worked two of them into him without warning.
He yelped, clenching around me, but pushed back greedily. “Yes—fuck, yes.”
My other hand had landed on the couch by his midsection, and he quickly made me aware of how much that displeased him.
He wrapped his fingers around my wrist, tugging and digging into my skin with his nails. “Please, my neck, please…”
I scissored him open roughly, curling to hit that spot that he loved, all while my hand returned to his throat. Choke, release, choke—each cycle had him moaning louder, his cock dripping onto his stomach.
“Ready?” I asked, but didn’t wait, lining up and thrusting in deep with one stroke. He was tight and burning hot, gripping me like a vice as I bottomed out.
“Ahhh,” he groaned, head falling back, exposing more of his neck for me. “H-hurts! More, more—”
I set a brutal pace right away, hips snapping forward, balls slapping against him, watching his face contort in ecstasy. He was mine like this, completely. There was no room for brattiness when I was buried in his ass, controlling his very breath.
“Come for me,” I commanded after a few minutes, squeezing his throat even harder as I fucked him relentlessly, angling to pound his prostate.
He shattered with a strangled cry, cum shooting across his chest in thick ropes, his body convulsing around me. The sight pushed me over, and I buried deep, spilling inside him with a low groan, hand finally releasing his throat.
We stayed like that for a moment, panting, my forehead against his as he caught his breath. He smiled weakly, sated. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” I whispered, kissing him gently before pulling out, already planning to clean him up and carry him to bed.