Saturday, January 22nd
Cat
It’s been a while since an early morning phone call pulled me out of my sleep, especially on a weekend, and I’m wide awake the moment I become aware of my ringtone, not least because of the rules Adam has made very, very clear. Ignore him, and he will expose me on the internet; defy his demands, and he will hurt me or someone close to me.
Adam got his money bright and early Wednesday morning—the full one thousand dollars sent to his payment app. So far so good, at least on that front. But the guilt is eating me alive. All of it—the pictures, my betrayal of Ronan in more ways than just one, the fact that I stole and not just from strangers, but from one of my best friends.
Turns out that the table I snatched the first twenty-dollar tip from was Shane’s. He had already been working all damn day. They were short waiters at Murphy’s and Shane had been busting his behind since he opened the place at eleven that morning. He wasn’t just managing that day, he was waiting tables, had been on his feet for six hours already by the time I got there. And I stole from him. I plan to make it up to him tenfold, but in the meantime I’m anointed with shame.
I reach for my phone—aware of the momentary adrenaline spike making my fingers tremble in anticipation of the “unknown” on my screen. But it’s not Adam terrorizing me first thing this morning. Shane’s calling, and although that should cause me to sigh with relief, it doesn’t. I have no idea why he’d be calling me this early, and the first and only thought I have is that he found out I stole from him. Did Jack tell him?
I don’t dare ignore Shane’s call. If he did in fact find out, I owe him an apology and some semblance of a made-up explanation.
I sit up in bed and answer the phone with a tentative, “Hey.”
“Morning,” he says, wide awake, way too energetic. I have no clue how he and Ronan always manage to be up and at ’em at the crack of dawn, but I’m beginning to understand that those two seem to require only minimal sleep to function properly. But what’s more, I don’t detect any anger or accusation in his tone. I think I’m in the clear.
“How can I help you, sir?” I ask and yawn.
Shane chuckles. “Well, I’m just on my way to the gym, and—”
“No,” I say simply, falling back against my pillow.
“No, what?”
“No, I’m not going to the gym with you at eight on a Saturday.”
He chuckles. “Okay, well, you may think you’re proficient at reading my mind, but you’re actually not. I wanted to check if you feel like going to the ice rink with Steve and me later today.”
“Oh,” I say and promptly blush. Shane has been really attentive since Ronan left, and especially these past few weeks. He showed up at my house unannounced a couple of weeks ago when I was sick in bed, telling me that Ronan had called him and given Shane very clear instructions to stop by and check on me. Despite feeling like complete crap that day, I couldn’t help but smile at Shane’s visit and the fact that Ronan had made sure that his best friend would check in on me before Shane had to head in to work. It was especially sweet because my phone call with Ronan that day had left me feeling on edge rather than calm and satiated. I knew that Drew just randomly showing up at my house probably left Ronan feeling uneasy, just like I had felt after finding out about Ronan spending time with his ex-girlfriend. Shane’s efforts to ensure I’m alright make me feel even worse about the fact that I stole. I seem to have a knack for hurting only the people who least deserve it.
“Sorry about that. Yeah, I’d love to,” I say, even though now I’ll also need to come up with a reason why my skates are gone. And the web of lies grows. Ugh.
“Okay. I’ll come and get you around eleven. You can go back to sleep now,” he says, sounding amused.
“Maybe next time call a little bit later so I don’t assume you’re trying to talk me into working out with you this early,” I say with a giggle.
“Firstly, I called you this early because I just got off the phone with Steve who suggested the skating idea and I didn’t want to forget about asking you. And secondly, you never minded working out this early when Ran was here.”
My heart squeezes uncomfortably because of how much I miss Ronan. I shouldn’t have ignored his call last Sunday; I need to hear his voice like I need air in my lungs, and I’ve gone too long without talking to him.
“Yeah, but Ran is hot, and perfect, and I’m in love with him.”
“I’m hot and perfect, too,” Shane purrs.
I laugh. “Okay, sure, but I’m not in love with you.”
“So that’s the deciding factor then, huh?”
“Apparently so,” I chirp, still giggling. “When Ran is back, I’ll gladly go to the gym at whatever time he wishes.”
He chuckles. “My boy’s got you whipped, I see.”
“Call it what you will.”
“Whipped sounds accurate to me. Alright, I’ll let you go then. You can resume your peaceful slumber and I’ll head to the gym, ever in pursuit of getting fucking jacked.”
***
It’s just before eleven when Shane collects me from my house, then drives the few blocks to Steve’s. My eyes move to the matte-black Mustang still parked on the curb in front of the house—exactly where Ronan left it the night after my birthday, the last time he exited his car before he got hurt.
I note the buildup of dirt on the windshield and windows—a clear indicator that Ronan’s car hasn’t been driven, or even sat in, in months now. It’s just been sitting there like a shrine, a memento, a memorial of Ronan, and part of me wonders if Frank and Steve purposely haven’t moved Ronan’s car or if it just hasn’t been a priority given everything their family is going through.
“Hey Stevie,” I say after Shane honks his horn a couple of times and Steve finally emerges from the house and climbs into the backseat of the roomy Jeep.
“Hey guys.”
“You alright, man?” Shane asks, studying Steve through the rearview mirror. Steve looks pale and downtrodden, which I assume has everything to do with his breakup. “You look like your dog died.”
Steve seemingly deflates but lifts his eyes and nods. “That’s exactly what happened,” he groans. “We had to put Onyx down yesterday.”
I gasp, my eyes wide. Oh no!
“Are you for real?” Shane asks, equally as bewildered by this news.
Steve nods, his lips forming a tight, thin line, his jaw rigid. “Yeah. She hadn’t been eating. At first we thought it was because she missed Ran, but she declined really quickly. She could barely move. My dad took her to the vet yesterday. Turns out she was pretty sick and probably in a lot of pain. So, they made the call to just put her out of her misery.”
“God, fuck, the universe really knows how to shit on someone when they’re already down,” Shane grunts. “Does Ran know yet?”
This is the very last thing Ran needs.
“Nope. My dad’s planning on telling him tomorrow.”
“Fuck, that’s going to ruin him,” Shane groans, grasping his steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.
“Yeah, I know,” Steve says with the heaviest sigh. “I don’t know, guys. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help him… By the way, Cat, did you end up telling Ran about Vada and me? Because he knew. When my dad talked to him on Tuesday, Ran already knew.”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t even talk to him last weekend…” I trail off, feeling terrible.
“I told him,” Shane says.
“Man, I was really hoping not to pile on right now.”
“I wasn’t planning to tell him, but Ran called me when he couldn’t get ahold of Cat. He was worried. I wasn’t about to lie to him, so I told him she was probably with Vada because of what happened,” Shane says unapologetically.
“Oh,” I breathe. I was so thrown by Adam’s call, his demands and threats, while also trying to comfort Vada that I didn’t even consider that Ronan might worry, might reach out to Shane to reassure himself. Ugh, I’m failing miserably all around.
Shane turns to face me. “You can’t ignore his call tomorrow,” he says, his voice warm but firm, and even though I don’t have the benefit of looking into a mirror, the burning sensation on my neck and cheeks tells me my face is crimson with shame. “I know you were comforting Vada last weekend, but don’t leave Ran’s call unanswered tomorrow, okay? At least let him know if you can’t talk because, man, I’m not sure he’s healed enough to have his routine fucked with, you know?”
I nod, willing the temperature in my face to lower. I want to crawl into a hole.
“God, I’m sorry, Cat,” Steve says. “I didn’t mean to put you in a bad spot.”
I immediately try to reassure him. “You didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did. I asked you to look in on Vada and you obviously didn’t get to talk to Ran. I’m really sorry about that. It’s not your responsibility to clean up my mess.”
“I didn’t clean up your mess. Vada’s my friend; I wanted to be there for her and…” I clamp my mouth shut because I’m most certainly not going to tell them that I purposely ignored Ronan’s call. That the real reason I didn’t talk to him last Sunday is because I’m a backstabbing, unfaithful, lying girlfriend.
“I appreciate you so much,” Steve says, his left hand on my shoulder, squeezing me sweetly, but it only layers on to the guilt pressing on my heart.
***
We arrive at the rink fifteen minutes later and I awkwardly stop at the rental window.
“What are you doing?” Steve asks, a wrinkle on his brow before his eyes settle on my empty hands. “Where are your skates?”
I sold them because I’m a horrible person who got herself into some things she can’t find a way out of. “I think I accidentally left them at the rink the last time I came here with Shane,” I say, unable to look at Steve. “I can’t find them anywhere.”
“Aww, shit, that sucks,” Steve says. “Those were some top-of-the-line skates, too. Man, some person made out like a fucking bandit. Pretty sure Ran dropped a few hundred bucks on those last year.”
Is it possible for a still-beating heart to suddenly shrivel up and die right in someone’s chest? Because it feels like mine just might.
“Now I feel even shittier,” I say truthfully.
Steve pulls me against him comfortingly while I wait for the guy behind the counter to grab my size skates. He returns moments later with a beat-up pair of old hockey skates.
It’s crowded in here today, with people of all ages gliding along the smooth surface of the ice rink, and I spot several players from my school’s hockey team—including Drew—when Shane, Steve, and I finally make it onto the ice.
It takes mere seconds before Drew notices us and makes his way over. “Hey!” Drew says loudly, his hand raised in a greeting, and his skates scrape to a halt.
“What’s up?” Steve says with a nod to Drew.
“Not much, just getting in some ice time.”
“Trying to polish your skills to get the team’s stats up a little?” Shane asks with a smirk.
“No, just breaking in my new skates.” Drew motions toward his feet. He’s obviously not picking up on Shane’s little jab. “How about you guys?”
“Just hanging out,” Steve says.
Drew nods before turning his attention to me. “So, you know, the winter dance is in a few weeks,” he says, his fingers fidgety. I sense both Shane and Steve shifting next to me. “If you don’t have plans, maybe we could, like, go together? You know, just friends hanging out. Cheyenne might come, too.”
“Oh, I—” I’m unsure what to say. I don’t want to go to any dance with Drew. It wouldn’t feel right, and he and I aren’t close enough to even go as friends. But he’s been so nice to me, I don’t want to be rude.
“Dude, we’ve never gone to these bullshit dances,” Shane says. “Not the homecoming dance, not formal, not prom. I always throw a thing at the beach house.”
“Yeah, I know,” Drew says, “but you and Steve have graduated, and you didn’t throw a party at homecoming this year, so I thought—”
Shane shakes his head. “I’m throwing a party,” he says matter-of-factly, narrowing his eyes at Drew. I get the impression Shane only just decided to have this party.
“Okay, well…” Drew looks at me, apparently still expecting an answer.
“I’ll be hanging out at Shane’s that night,” I say.
Drew nods. “Yeah, okay. Cool,” he says awkwardly just as two guys approach, both of whom I know to be on the hockey team.
“Drew!” the taller of the two says. “Come on, dude. Stop talking and let’s go. We don’t need to lose our goalie, too,” he says with a derisive look at me, obviously referring to the rumors about me being responsible for Ronan’s disappearance. He notices Steve and Shane and comes to a stop in front of us. “Oh, shit, hey guys.”
“What’s up, Noah?” Shane says with a nod.
“Not much, just getting some ice time in with Drew and Ricky,” Noah says.
“You playing varsity now?” Steve asks him, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. It’s freezing in here.
“Yep, finally got moved up after the team lost Ran,” Noah says, giving me another look. “I’m surprised you guys are hanging out with her,” he says with a nod in my direction, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
Shane’s features harden. “The fuck you talking about?”
“I thought you and Ran were like best buds. Or wait, are you two…” Noah smirks, making a suggestive gesture with his hips.
Steve doesn’t miss a beat. “Hey Noah, have you lost any teeth yet?” he asks with a growl, his fists clenched by his sides.
“Woah, man, calm down,” Noah says. “Didn’t mean to piss you off. I’m just saying I find it weird that Shane would choose to hang out with her. I thought she was, like, the reason Ran is gone.”
“Why don’t you concentrate on your hockey skills instead of the bullshit people say,” Shane sneers. “From what I’m hearing, the team could benefit from you guys stepping up your game.”
“Seriously, Noah, shut the fuck up,” Drew finally says. “Let’s just get back to it.” He turns back to Steve, Shane, and me. “I’ll see you guys later.”
“Yeah, sure,” Shane says.
“Jesus fuck,” Steve huffs, watching Drew, Noah, and Ricky skate off.
“Tori told me about rumors going around school. How often does this happen?” Shane asks, his eyes softening as he studies me.
I just shrug. “I don’t know. A lot, I guess. But I try to ignore it,” I say with a heavy heart.
“Such fucking bullshit,” Steve huffs.
“It is,” I say. “But Tori, Vada, Zack, Summer, and I don’t really do anything to explain the situation. I don’t really care what people say. Let them talk. The people I care about know the truth,” I say, and hook my arm under Shane’s.
“Okay, well, if you need us to come on campus and kick some ass, just let us know,” Steve says, and I smile at him. He and Shane have been acting like such big brothers. It’s annoying as hell sometimes, but I can’t help but appreciate them both for caring so much about my well-being.
“You got it,” I laugh. “But for now, could you guys maybe show me how to skate backwards?”
They oblige, spending the next hour and a half helping me get down the basic technique for transitioning between forward and backward movement.
***
I ask Shane to drop me off at Vada’s after we grab a quick bite to eat. I wave to him and Steve, thanking them for the nice morning and lunch when I hop out of the car.
“How’s she doing today?” I ask Zack when he opens the front door for me.
Zack steps back to offer me entrance into the spacious foyer of their home. “Unpredictably weepy,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “The most random things will bring her to tears. Like, this morning, my dad made French toast and when Vada saw him put some maple syrup on his toast, she started bawling because apparently the syrup we have in our house is also the syrup Steve has at his house, and I don’t even know,” Zack shrugs exasperatedly.
“Oh no.” I sigh and shrug off my coat.
“Yeah. Anyway, my dad told her she had to go back to school on Monday.”
“That’s probably not a bad idea. Being alone in the house all day probably isn’t beneficial to her mental health. It’ll be good for her to be at school and around people.”
“Yeah, except it may not be good for people to have her around them. She’s… she’s a mess, Cat,” Zack huffs.
I follow him down the hallway to the stairs. “Are you still doing okay with this… development?” I ask cautiously.
“With my best friend breaking up with my sister?”
I nod.
Zack shrugs. “I obviously wish it wasn’t so awkward, but I’m not gonna, like, be pissed at Steve for doing what he thinks is best for him. I’m not blind, Cat. I know how down in the dumps he’s been about Ran; I’m aware of how much Steve and my sister have been fighting. And I also know Steve didn’t break it off to be an ass or hurt her or because he cheated on her. It’s just… things are just really hard right now, and I think everyone is dealing the best way they know how.”
I nod at his awareness and, honestly, his maturity.
Zack was spot on in describing Vada as a mess. Her hair is unkempt, wild-looking, and I’m not convinced she’s changed clothes at all since last week; her sweats and that hoodie look oddly like the ones she wore last weekend. She looks pitiful. It’s heart-wrenching.
I spend the afternoon with Vada, then ask Zack if he’ll walk me home around seven that evening.
A momentary look of consternation flashes in his face when I ask if he’d mind pausing whatever show he’s watching to make the ten-minute walk to my house with me. But Zack hesitates only for a second before he jumps up from the couch.
“Oh, yeah, of course!” he says, and leads the way into the foyer.
I’ve never had a problem going anywhere by myself, and I’ve certainly never asked Zack to walk me home. I’ve never felt the need to because I’ve always lived in a bubble of safety. But that sense of safety has eroded quickly with the news of Adam’s “alleged” assault of his girlfriend, the outstanding arrest warrant, and his reappearance in my life.
I hate having to constantly look over my shoulder, despise having to be vigilant, to be aware of my surroundings wherever I go. It sucks the joy out of even the little things in life and puts me seriously on guard.
It’s exactly that sense of dread that causes my blood pressure to spike when my phone buzzes on the nightstand just as I’m getting comfortable in bed this evening. I hate that Adam’s burly face is the first to appear in my mind now, rather than Ronan’s. Adam is encroaching on my psyche, his terror taking root, spreading with venomous tentacles hooking their toxic spikes into my insides.
But it’s neither Adam’s “unknown” nor Ronan’s Montana number that lights up my screen.
“Drew?” I answer, surprised. I’ve only ever communicated with Drew through a group chat. We’ve never texted one-on-one, and he’s never just flat-out called me—especially at this time of day.
“Yeah, hi Cat. Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No, not yet. I’m about to go to bed though,” I say. “Is everything okay?” I sit up in bed, fully expecting bad news. Why else would Drew call this late?
That’s another thing I’ve noticed: I immediately think worst-case scenario now. God, how does Adam hold such power? It’s just not right!
“Oh, everything’s fine. I just wanted to apologize for Noah earlier today. He was being a total twat.”
Drew is obviously referring to Noah’s comments from this morning—his surprise at Shane’s decision to spend time with me, and his suggestion that the only reason Shane would spend time with me is because we’re having sex. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be surprised if this is what the rumors morph into. Perhaps people will blame Shane for Ronan’s disappearance, too. How juicy and sinister of a tale would it be if Shane made his best friend disappear so he could get at his best friend’s girl? This story practically writes itself. I almost giggle at the thought. It’s all so absurd.
I fall back against my pillow, relieved that Drew is calling about this irrelevant nonsense rather than to share discomforting news. “Don’t even worry about it,” I say and yawn. I’m wiped.
“But I do worry about it, Cat. It was a total dick move by Noah. The last thing I want is your feelings to get hurt. You don’t deserve that.”
“Thank you, Drew. That’s really sweet.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the truth. I told Noah that you obviously aren’t sleeping with Shane…” He trails off, then adds, “Right?”
I frown. “Of course I’m not sleeping with Shane! Drew, you can’t believe any of the rumors going around. Trust me when I tell you none of it is true, okay?” I say, shaking my head. I’m tired of the gossip, too. I’m just so ready for things to stop being so chaotic.
“Right. Of course,” he says quickly, then dithers for a moment. “You sure I can’t convince you to go to the winter dance with me… uh, us? We don’t have to stay long. Could be fun.”
A light laugh escapes my lips at the childlike hopefulness in his drawling tone. “I’m sure it could be, but don’t you think you and me showing up at some dance together would only force-feed the rumor mill?”
“Maybe, yeah, but—”
“I honestly just want to keep my head down, Drew. I want people to stop talking.” I hear my own exhaustion in my words.
He exhales. “Yeah. You know, I wasn’t that eager to go anyways. I’ll probably just be at Shane’s, too.”
Another yawn distorts my words. “’Kay. I hope you have a good night, Drew. Tell your sisters I said hi,” I mumble, then drift off to sleep seconds after hanging up the phone.
***
“Come dance with me,” Drew says, holding his hand out for me to take as a spotlight illuminates only us, our surroundings black like we’re floating in space.
“Uhh, I really don’t want to,” I say, and turn to walk down the narrow walkway to the sidewalk. I turn left in the direction of Julie’s house. Perfect beach weather, although it’s a bit warm for my coat. Why in the world did I decide to even wear it?
The interior of the car smells clean. He obviously just got it detailed. Adam gets his car detailed a lot. His parents have someone come to their house and detail all the cars. Makes total sense that the Mallards take pride in their vehicles since Mr. Mallard owns a Mercedes dealership in town. The crimson smudge on the passenger window matches the red leather interior of the car. I bet he regrets shoving my head against the glass now. My bloody lip stained his perfectly pristine car. Serves him well. Oh shoot, I have to go. I have to go see Ronan. Right now.
My heart flutters in my chest, want coursing hotly, swirling in my core, pooling between my thighs.
“Ran,” I whimper with the feeling of his fingers as they softly graze against my skin, slowly dragging their way down my neck and shoulder to my breast. My nipples are already taut, tingling in anticipation of Ronan’s touch. It’s not his hand that meets my craving for his caress, but his warm mouth as he moves his lips over the stiff peak of my breast, then carefully takes it between his teeth, nipping before he draws it deep into his mouth, sucking hard.
I’m high, intoxicated, aching for him as my hands roam his body, feeling his warm, smooth skin—bare and masculine and flexed with his lean muscles. My eyes must be closed because I can’t see anything; I can’t see Ronan. He’s a feeling, an emotion, wholly consuming my mind and body.
I grind my hips against him, so aroused, so desperate to feel his touch, to hear his voice. I wish he’d say something, would tell me how much he loves me. But he doesn’t speak, can’t speak as he continues to devour me, his tongue circling, swirling, laving my nipples with his warm, soft lips.
I rise quickly, that ache between my thighs growing at a frustrating pace. I need release. I need him to touch me, to stroke that tiny but mighty bundle of nerves until I come apart, then fill me with himself so I can finally feel whole, can finally be complete again.
God, I’m already so close. I can feel it—the need, the want, the climax building. I know it won’t take much for Ronan to make me lose myself to him. A few soft sweeps of his fingers over my slick, swollen flesh and I’m sure I’ll dissolve into a mess of whimpers and moans and hot, wet arousal. And I’ll be simultaneously appeased yet desperate for more of him, because that’s how it’s been each of the three times I got to feel all of him. I’d reach climax with Ronan’s hands and mouth skillfully edging me on, getting me to the highest of highs, only for me to realize that it wasn’t the orgasm I needed. It was him. Only ever him. All of him. Every piece. As much and as close as possible.
God, why doesn’t he understand that? Why doesn’t he make short work of things? I’m ready, sweet boy. Can’t you tell? My body is screaming, aching, throbbing for you.
“Please!” I beg out loud. The sound of my voice breaks through the quiet of the night, rousing me from sleep. I blink my eyes open, still unable to see Ronan, and a deep sadness crashes into me at the realization that Ronan—his hands on my skin, his mouth on my body—was nothing more than a dream. But that feeling of him—that emotion—remains, my body electrified from my wet dream.
I shift in bed, tuning in to myself, noting how stimulated my body feels. I realize that even though Ronan’s physical presence was a dream, the sensations my dream caused, and my body’s response, were very, very real.
I recall Ronan’s words from a few weeks ago: “Touch yourself how you’d want me to touch you.”
I hesitate for only a moment, then let my eyes fall shut and slowly move my right hand underneath my blanket. I wasn’t lying to Ronan when I told him I only slept in his t-shirt and nothing else, and I smile to myself when I glide my hand up underneath his t-shirt and to my breast. I do what I imagine Ronan would do, how I recall him touching me, and softly graze my index finger over my pebbled nipple, circling it, sweeping over it, flicking it. My self-caress causes an electric current to grow deep in my stomach and between my thighs. It’s not as strong or as urgent as it feels when Ronan touches me, but it feels good nonetheless. I think I just might be able to reach that release my body is yearning for, that intoxicating high I’ve only ever felt with Ronan.
I’ve obviously touched myself before, have explored my body and what sensations I could elicit by caressing myself a certain way, but I never managed to reach orgasm. It was Ronan who finally got me there only a few months ago. It was like he knew exactly how to touch me, how to tease my skin, how to talk to me, and I allowed myself to fall for and into him, to trust him like I didn’t even trust myself.
I withdraw my hand momentarily only to wet my index and middle fingers with my tongue, then resume touching my breasts—first the left, then the right. My breathing picks up again, that hunger within me reawakening as I work myself up, edge myself on.
“You just have to try yourself out,” Ronan said.
I picture him, visualize his gorgeous face, his incredible body, his erection when he stands in front of me naked and hard and so unspeakably arousing, and I move my left hand to my breast while my right ventures south. I feel my own body, trace my curves—the little dip down from my ribs to my abdomen, over my belly button and to the sensitive, ticklish skin just below it. I pause when I reach my Venus mound, just like Ronan does whenever he explores my body, like he’s teasing me and maybe himself, building the anticipation in both of us before he finally begins to caress my most sensitive flesh.
I gently glide my hand over the soft rise, edging myself, not yet allowing myself to touch my clit, which I know to be swollen, slick with wetness, even though I haven’t yet felt it with my fingers. But I can feel how turned on I am. That achy pressure between my thighs is a dead giveaway, and I know that if I dipped my fingers lower, they would be met with warm wetness.
“God, Ran,” I moan quietly into my room. I wish so badly it was his hands on my body rather than my own. “I miss you.”
I barely make contact with my sensitive flesh when I slowly slide my hand lower, the length of my middle finger gliding over that tiny little nub. My hips come up, pressing into the palm of my hand, seeking more—more pressure, more speed, more touch. So I give in to myself, focusing on that sensation of aching need as I stroke my middle finger up and down, back and forth over my clit. I circle my hips in rhythm, feeling myself climb, want building deep in my core. I dip my finger lower, circling my entrance before I slip a finger inside myself. I note how tight I feel, squeezing around myself, and I briefly wonder how Ronan manages to fit. He’s long and thick, and I recall the wave of ecstasy that washes over me whenever he first enters me. The way he stretches and fills me is so intoxicating, and the want grows as heat gathers in my stomach. I pull back only to resume stroking myself.
The wetness coating my fingers intensifies the sensation, my skin slick and slippery against my throbbing flesh as I rub myself, my pace and pressure increasing the tiniest bit, and only seconds later I reach the peak. I hold my breath and plunge into the void of pleasure. I let it wash over and through me, existing for a moment in only that feeling as my orgasm pulses through me, my stomach clenching and releasing with each shockwave.
Breathy moans burst from my lips, impossible to contain as my hips buck and tiny golden specks of light glimmer before my mind’s eye. “Ran,” I moan again quietly. Maybe the vulnerable intimacy of my thoughts of him will carry the sound of his name through the night and into his ear, sweetening his dreams, cutting through the darkness that has been blanketing his world.
I don’t open my eyes even once the pleasure subsides, reveling in the feeling of contentment, my body relaxed, temporarily satisfied, even though my heart continues to ache for him. I picture Ronan again, imagine him smiling at me, his bright-green eyes half-lidded, glossy with his own need, but filled with pride at his ability to make me come apart like that, to get me to give myself to him so readily—without question or hesitation—because he has earned my trust, my love. And it’s to the vision of him in my head that I allow myself to drift off to sleep, hoping to meet Ronan again in that place that exists between dusk and dawn, between light and dark, on the edge of consciousness. If I can’t have him with me in person, maybe I can have him again in my dreams.