Chapter Fifteen — Ask Me Again #2
“You’re annoyingly persistent.”
“I know.”
Elliot pulled him closer.
“I want you.”
This time Ronan kissed him. The kiss was slower than the one Elliot had forced, but no less intense.
Ronan’s mouth opened against his, tongue sliding deep, tasting the residual copper from the bite on his own lip.
He walked Elliot backward until the backs of his knees hit the mattress.
One firm shove and Elliot was sitting, then lying back as Ronan followed him down, knees bracketing his hips, weight pressing him into the sheets.
Ronan’s hands went to the hem of Elliot’s shirt and dragged it up and off in one motion.
Cool air touched bare skin. Ronan’s palms mapped the planes of his chest, thumbs brushing over nipples until they tightened, then lower, over the tense ridges of his abdomen.
Elliot’s own hands were already working Ronan’s shirt open, buttons scattered somewhere on the floor, shoving the fabric off broad shoulders so he could dig his fingers into warm muscle.
Ronan sat back just long enough to strip the rest of their clothes.
Jeans, underwear, everything shoved down and kicked away.
When he settled between Elliot’s spread thighs again, they were both naked, cock against cock, the hard lengths sliding together with a slick drag of precome.
Ronan rolled his hips once, deliberate, and Elliot’s breath punched out of him.
“Look at me,” Ronan said.
Elliot did. Ronan’s eyes were dark, pupils blown, but the control in them was absolute.
He reached for the lube in the nightstand without looking away, slicked his fingers, and pressed two against Elliot’s entrance.
The first push burned in the best way—slow, careful, curling inside him until they found the spot that made Elliot’s cock jump against his stomach and a broken sound leave his throat.
Ronan worked him open with patient, twisting strokes.
Three fingers by the time Elliot was rocking down onto them, thighs trembling, precome beading at the tip of his cock and sliding down the shaft in a thin, glistening trail.
Ronan leaned down and licked it away, tongue flat and hot from base to head, then sucked the crown into his mouth just long enough for Elliot’s hips to jerk.
“Ronan—”
“Not yet.” Ronan released him with a wet sound and slicked his own cock—thick, flushed dark, the prominent vein along the underside standing out under the sheen of lube. He lined himself up, the broad head pressing against Elliot’s stretched rim, and waited.
Elliot hooked a leg around Ronan’s waist and pulled.
Ronan sank in on one long, controlled thrust. The stretch was intense—full, relentless, the thick length opening him until Ronan’s hips met the backs of his thighs and they were locked together.
Elliot’s mouth fell open on a silent gasp.
Ronan stayed still, forehead pressed to his, letting the burn melt into heat.
“Breathe,” Ronan murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Elliot’s hands slid up his back, nails digging in.
“Move.” Ronan did. Slow at first—long, deep strokes that dragged over Elliot’s prostate on every pass, the wet sound of their bodies meeting filling the quiet room.
Then harder. He hooked an arm under one of Elliot’s knees and pushed it higher, opening him wider, driving in at an angle that made white sparks burst behind Elliot’s eyes.
Each thrust punched a punched-out sound from Elliot’s throat.
Sweat slicked their skin. The bed creaked.
Elliot’s mouth found the side of Ronan’s throat.
He bit down hard—hard enough to leave a dark, blooming mark—then sucked until Ronan’s rhythm faltered and a low growl vibrated against his teeth.
He moved lower, teeth closing on the curve of Ronan’s shoulder, the meat of his pectoral just above the nipple, leaving a trail of possessive bruises.
“That’s it,” Ronan breathed, voice rough. “Mark me. Good boy.”
The words landed like a live current. Elliot’s cock throbbed between them, leaking steadily onto his own stomach.
Ronan’s hand wrapped around it, stroking in time with his thrusts—tight, twisting, thumb smearing the slick head on every upstroke.
The dual sensation was almost too much: the deep, relentless stretch of Ronan’s cock inside him and the perfect friction of that fist. Elliot’s orgasm hit hard.
His body clenched tight around Ronan as he came in thick, pulsing ropes across his own chest and Ronan’s hand, the force of it tearing a raw sound from his throat.
The rhythmic squeeze pulled Ronan over with him.
Ronan buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, guttural groan, cock throbbing deep inside, flooding Elliot with heat in long, pulsing waves.
They stayed locked together while the aftershocks faded.
Ronan’s forehead rested against Elliot’s, breath shared and uneven.
Elliot’s fingers traced the fresh bite marks he’d left across Ronan’s throat and chest—dark, intimate, impossible to hide.
Afterward, the room was quiet. Elliot lay on his stomach with his face turned toward the windows, breathing slowly while Ronan rested beside him.
The blinds were still closed. Good. For several minutes neither spoke.
Ronan’s fingers moved lazily over Elliot’s shoulder. Then stopped.
“Did I hurt you?”
Elliot smiled into the pillow.
“You're asking now?”
“Answer.”
“No.”
A pause.
“Not more than I wanted.”
Ronan's hand moved again. Elliot closed his eyes.
This was the dangerous part. Not sex. Not violence.
After. The quiet. The softness Ronan pretended not to possess.
The moments when Elliot almost believed he could tell him everything and somehow survive the telling.
Ronan pressed his mouth against Elliot's shoulder.
Right where Elliot had bitten him days earlier.
“You really are fucked in the head.”
Elliot smiled.
“You like me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Love me.”
Silence. Elliot opened his eyes. He hadn't meant to say it. Or maybe he had. Ronan's hand stopped. The room changed. Elliot stared toward the closed blinds. He could feel Ronan looking at him.
“Elliot.”
“Forget it.”
“No.”
“Please forget it.”
Ronan rolled him onto his back. Elliot resisted for half a second before allowing it. Ronan looked down at him.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“I want to hear it again.”
Elliot laughed nervously.
“Absolutely not.”
“Coward.”
“Fuck you.”
“Already handled.”
Elliot shoved his shoulder. Ronan caught his wrist. This time Elliot laughed. Real. Brief. Then Ronan's expression softened.
“I do.”
Elliot stopped.
“What?”
“You said I love you.”
His heartbeat changed. Ronan continued.
“I do.”
No joke. No qualifier. No dramatic speech. Just that. Elliot stared. Something unfamiliar tightened in his throat. He hated it immediately.
“That's embarrassing.”
Ronan laughed.
“Fuck you.”
Elliot smiled. Ronan leaned down and kissed his forehead. Even worse.
“Don't do that.”
“What?”
“That.”
“Affection?”
“Disgusting.”
“Right.”
Ronan settled beside him again. Elliot stared at the ceiling. For approximately three minutes, everything felt normal. Then Ronan's phone vibrated. Neither moved. Again. Elliot's stomach tightened. Ronan reached toward the nightstand.
“Don't.”
He paused.
“What?”
“Leave it.”
“It could be Vance.”
“It could be whoever's fucking with us.”
“Exactly.”
Ronan grabbed it. Unknown number. Elliot sat up. The message contained a video. No text. Ronan looked at him.
“Don't open it.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”