Chapter 11
“You’re looking well, sweetheart,” he purred close to my ear before pulling back and looking down at me from his towering height.
“Thanks,” I shrugged casually, following him down the corridor toward the most tantalizing smell coming from the kitchen.
“Wow - what is that?” I asked through another big sniff, and he smiled over his shoulder as he walked toward the stove top.
He gave something a stir and then tasted a tomato-looking sauce before grabbing some salt.
“Spaghetti alla vongole,” he answered with a flawless and over-exaggerated Italian accent.
“And what’s that when it’s at home?” I asked, hopping up on the stool at the kitchen island, watching him move comfortably around the kitchen.
The sight of him looking so at ease in the kitchen, and the pop of each muscle in his back, and stretch of his bicep as he went about cooking, made me squeeze my thighs together in anticipation.
Not knowing how this was going to play out made me anxious to just ride him already and have it over with.
I didn’t do good with anticipation and the unknown.
“It’s a southern Italian seafood pasta. My dad’s specialty, so it’s one of the first things I learned how to cook,” he said, still whirling around in the kitchen looking like Irelands answer to Gordon Ramsey.
“I didn’t know your dad’s Italian,” I replied in surprise.
Now that I thought about it, there was a lot I didn’t know about Ronan.
He was originally from Mayo but had lived in Limerick for eight years and regularly went home for weekends to see his family.
Like every other Mayo person, he was an avid football fan and lamented the Mayo curse every year another All Ireland slipped through their fingers.
He had one brother who ran nightclubs and promotions, and he was in the final year of his PhD.
But that was about it - just basic stuff you might put as a bio on your Tinder profile.
He finished what he was doing and turned to face me, with his hips leaning against the counter.
“He’s not, but he lived there for a few years in his twenties. He met my mam while she was inter-railing through Europe, and they had some whirlwind romance - which involved a lot of cooking for her,” he smirked at my face.
It just sounded so romantic - and that was with his unemotional, boring retelling of it.
“Well, sounds like you’re from a pedigree of charmers then, Ronan. Guess I’d better watch out,” I cocked a brow sardonically.
He pushed off the counter and leaned his forearms on the kitchen island in front of me, so he was looking up at me (for once).
“Some of us can’t help it if we’re charming. Take you for example,” he leaned in closer.
“What about me?” I answered stupidly, totally caught in his dark green gaze as he looked up at me through his lashes.
“Well, I don’t think you have any idea how charming your clumsiness is.”
Cheeky bastard. I opened my mouth to retort when he cut me off.
“Tripping over your little legs everywhere you go is cute, Róisin. It doesn’t happen all that much since you’re always putting on that suave show for me. But when your guard drops, you’re the most charming of all.”
I froze a little at how much he seemed to see, not sure I liked it at all. Ronan was supposed to be the fun, carefree option - the one who took what I presented at face value, and didn’t waste either of our time by trying to dig deeper than I wanted to show.
“That’s astute of you, not exactly accurate, but astute all the same,” I replied shortly, not sure what game we were playing here. He moved away from his side of the island and circled it until he crowded my space.
“Your sharp tongue is even more charming,” his voice was gravelly as he inserted himself in the sliver of space between my stool and the island, making his strong thighs press against my knees until they fell open.
He stepped straight between them and my breath caught.
I hadn’t even reacted to the backhanded comment on my mouth; I was too distracted by what his body was doing.
Was this it? Was I getting my dinner in a doggy bag for takeaway after a quickie on the kitchen island?
My mind went into overdrive with every possible scenario.
“Watching your eyes glaze as a thousand thoughts flick through your mind is charming too,” he smirked as he eased closer, my legs moving apart further to accommodate his large body.
“W-what about the pasta?” I stammered, completely wrong-footed by his closeness and things happening a lot quicker than I’d expected.
“It needs to simmer, and I’m not sure I can keep my hands off you while we wait,” he leaned down and cupped my cheek in his big hand. “You’re beautiful, Róisín.”
Then he leaned in and grazed my lips as if testing me, to see if I’d fall into this physical temptation or pull back, grab my fork to wait for my pasta vongysomething.
As soon as his lips caught mine, I was a goner though.
They were so soft yet firm, I sighed into his mouth as his other hand came up to gently grasp my throat.
He groaned softly as I opened my mouth and swept my tongue against his, and the sound made me strain further against him.
My arms circling up to lock around his neck.
The sparking through my body was no longer soft and gentle, but like fireworks about to set kindling ablaze.
He sensed the shift, and pulled me harder against his mouth, with his body pushed against every part of mine that he could reach.
As our mouths moved and our breaths quickened, he let out a huff of frustration before sliding his arms to the backs of my legs, eliciting a squeak from me, as he picked me up from the stool and laid me on the island counter.
Where he had better access. He didn’t break the kiss, but I felt his lips curl slightly at my squeak, before he refocused his attention on my body.
His hand now skimming across my shoulder and gently pulling my vest strap down my arm, while his other hand scorched up the inside of my thigh.
Feeling like a fiery trail, even with this thick fucking denim in the way.
I was desperate to feel his hands everywhere, and my own knotted into his hair - pulling his mouth even closer as we continued to eat each other's faces off.
I gasped as his hand reached the top of my inner thigh and arched myself closer to his chest. His other hand slipped inside my vest top and bra and flicked my already hard nipple, as he pulled back slightly to look me in the eye.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked hoarsely.
“No! No, don’t stop,” I gasped unashamedly, as he tweaked my nipple and pressed the thumb of his other hand right against my clit through my jeans.
I moaned into his mouth as he captured it for another kiss, gently biting my lower lip this time.
He started to trail kisses down my jaw and throat while I panted heavily, my head tipped back to the ceiling.
He moved tantalisingly slowly as he reached my collarbone, and moved to my other breast with his mouth, while his thumb still circled against my clit through my jeans.
He pulled the rest of my top and bra back with his teeth, so I was completely bare on top, as he swirled his tongue around my nipple. Pinching the other one simultaneously.
“Fuck, Ronan,” I whimpered, feeling tingles race from the back of my head, zinging through my centre and hitting my toes.
“Tell me what you want, Róisín,” he rasped, as he continued to torture my nipples. I tried to grind against the hand pressing on my clit, desperate for any friction, but he wasn’t giving it to me. I moaned in frustration as I felt the high teasing me, so fucking close but still out of reach.
“You,” I half shouted, as he sucked my whole nipple into his mouth and gently bit down, while my hips bucked against him.
He pushed me down slowly, so my back was across the island as he leaned formidably over me, still torturing my nipple.
He raised his head and suddenly grabbed me around the backs of my thighs again, this time pulling me to the end of the island.
My arse was right at the edge with my back sprawled across it.
“Maybe later, Róisín, if you earn it,” a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, looking completely in control while I spun out of it. Except for his eyes, they were gleaming with a desperate edge that told me he wasn’t as composed as he pretended to be.
“And how do I do that exactly?” I tried to sound sultry through my panting breaths.
“You scream my name nice and loud like a good girl,” he said seriously, as he popped the button on my jeans and lifted my arse while he tugged them off me.
Never breaking eye contact or that serious expression on his face.
This was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced, but the urge to laugh bubbled up my throat at how surreal this was.
I’d never had a man be so confident and forthright, and I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to respond without sounding like a bad audition for a porno.
That urge instantly disappeared as he ripped my jeans down to my ankles, and slowly dragged his hands up past my shins, then inner thighs, and squeezed them in a tight grip as he paused above me again.