14. Ronan
FOURTEEN
RONAN
Ronan guided Sloane through the door of his private suite, his hand resting at the small of her back.
But the moment the heavy door clicked shut behind them, the air shifted, thickening with an anticipation that felt as potent as the scent of their mingled sweat.
His sanctuary—a space of dark wood, leather, and floor-to-ceiling windows framing the mountains—suddenly felt charged, intimate in a way it never had before as his bold invitation still echoed in his ears.
Too forward, his disciplined mind whispered.
But after watching her move in the gym with that fierce, focused grace, after feeling her hands on him as she demonstrated techniques with a confidence that had his wolf growling in admiration, his restraint had snapped.
The easy camaraderie of last night's bonfire, the unspoken understanding passing between the three of them, had eroded the last of his caution.
Four days of holding back his wolf's demands, of watching her, wanting her, denying himself what fate had delivered…
it all culminated in that single, raw question.
And she'd said yes.
Now, standing in the center of his living area, her arousal perfumed the space, richer and more intoxicating than it had been downstairs.
It was a heady blend of lavender, vanilla, and pure want that made his cock throb painfully against the confinement of his shorts.
His wolf pressed against his skin, a relentless, demanding presence.
She turned to face him, her hazel eyes wide and searching. "How exactly is this supposed to work?"
He closed the distance between them in two deliberate strides, invading her space until the heat of their bodies mingled. He watched her pupils dilate, and saw the pulse jump in her throat. "How do you want this to work?"
Her lips parted. "I'm not sure exactly. But I know I want to kiss you right now."
A low growl rumbled in his chest as he leaned in until his mouth was a breath from hers, his voice a rough whisper against her lips. "So, what are you waiting for then?"
Her hands came up to frame his jaw, and she closed the final distance, her mouth meeting his in a kiss that was pure, hungry possession.
It wasn't tentative or exploratory—it was a claiming, fierce and desperate, pouring all the suppressed tension of the past days into the slide of lips and the urgent clash of tongues.
Ronan groaned into her mouth, one hand tangling in her sweat-damp ponytail, the other pulling her hard against him.
He could feel every curve of her through their damp clothes, the hard press of her breasts against his chest and the sweet cradle of her hips against his aching erection.
Mine, his wolf roared. Claim. Mark.
The kiss deepened, turning consuming, a frantic exchange where she tasted of mint and determination. He devoured her, and she gave as good as she got, her nails scoring lightly down his back through his shirt.
Then a thought pierced the haze of lust like shrapnel: Kozue.
The memory of his own sharp words to his Beta—his calm anger that Kozue had claimed her without discussion—flashed with brutal clarity.
He was doing the exact same thing. He was about to take what he wanted without consulting him, without honoring the complex bond they were all tangled in.
He should stop. He should pull back, be the responsible Alpha, the considerate best friend…
My turn, his wolf snarled, the impulse primal and selfish.
Kozue had his night. The mate bond pulsed, not diminished but waiting, and Ronan's wolf was done waiting. The denial of the last twelve years, of putting every want and need after duty, crystallized into this single, driving need.
She broke the kiss, panting, and her hands went to the hem of his sweaty black t-shirt.
He helped her, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.
Her gaze raked over his chest, his abdomen, a visual touch that left a trail of fire.
Then her fingers went to the waistband of his shorts, pushing them and his boxers down in one impatient motion.
He stood before her, gloriously bare and fully aroused. Her eyes dropped, widened, and a slow, appreciative smile touched her kiss-swollen lips.
"Oh, wow," she breathed, her voice husky. "Impressive."
His wolf preened, and Ronan felt a surge of masculine satisfaction so profound it momentarily eclipsed the guilt.
Then he reached for her, his large hands making quick work of her sports bra.
The fabric gave way, revealing her full, beautiful breasts, their peaks already tight and pebbled.
He groaned, dipping his head to taste one, but she pushed at his shoulders.
"Not yet," she demanded, her fingers hooking in the waistband of her leggings.
He helped her peel the damp fabric down, taking her plain cotton panties with them until she stood naked before him in the afternoon light streaming through his windows.
Her body was a masterpiece of feminine strength—lean muscle sculpting her shoulders and arms, the tempting curve of her waist flaring to generous hips, the powerful line of her thighs earned through years of combat.
Small, silvery scars decorated her skin like a map of survival.
She was breathtaking.
"You are so beautiful," he said, the words leaving him with a reverence.
A faint blush painted her cheekbones, but her gaze remained steady and hungry. "Well," she said softly. "Are we going to take a shower or not?"
He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and led her across the polished wooden floor to the ensuite bathroom.
It was spacious and clean-lined, dominated by a massive walk-in shower of slate and glass.
He reached in, turned the dial, and a cascade of water erupted from the wide rainfall showerhead, steam beginning to fog the air.
He guided her inside first, the hot spray immediately plastering her long brown hair to her shoulders and back.
Then he stepped in behind her, shutting the glass door and enclosing them in a warm, private world of sound and steam.
The water sluiced over them, washing away the sweat and the salt of their workout, but doing nothing to cool the heat coiling between them.
His cock, hard and heavy, pressed against the swell of her backside as he reached for the bar of cedar-scented soap.
Then he lathered his hands and began to wash her, starting with the elegant slope of her shoulders.
His movements were slow, deliberate, a tactile exploration he'd denied himself for too long.
He mapped the ridges of her spine, the dip of her waist, the glorious swell of her hips, his large hands learning the terrain of her body with a focus that was almost worshipful.
But when his soap-slicked hands slid around to cup her breasts, his patience frayed. He filled his palms with her, his thumbs circling her nipples until she gasped, her head falling back against his shoulder. The scent of her arousal, mingled with steam and cedar, became his whole world.
He turned her around and he bent his head, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of her neck, then trailing lower until he captured one taut peak into his mouth and sucked on it gently.
"Ronan…" His name was a plea on her lips.
He lavished attention on her one breast, then the other, his tongue and teeth wringing soft cries from her that were barely audible over the drumming water. Her hands came up, not pushing him away but gripping his biceps, her fingers digging into his muscle.
When he finally lifted his head, her eyes were glazed. "Ronan," she breathed again. "I need you."
Ronan's patience, so carefully cultivated over twelve years of leadership, shattered.
The heat of the water, the slick perfection of her skin beneath his hands, the heady scent of her arousal amplified by the steam—it was a sensory overload that demolished his discipline.
His wolf surged forward with a single, primal command.
Now.
His hands slid from her breasts to her hips, and in one fluid motion, he lifted her up. A startled gasp escaped her lips, but her instincts were flawless as her legs wrapped around his waist, her heat pressing directly against the rigid length of his cock. His wolf roared its approval.
Finally.
The nascent mate bond, humming gently since her arrival, blazed like a live wire tossed into dry tinder. He could feel the echo of his own desperate need reflected back at him, amplified by her desire until it thrummed between them, a tangible force in the steam-filled space.
But he didn't hesitate. He guided himself to her slick entrance, his gaze locked on her hazy eyes, and he drove into her with one powerful, claiming thrust. She cried out, a sharp, breathless sound that was part shock, part profound relief as he filled her completely.
Her nails dug into the hard muscles of his shoulders, anchoring herself. "Ronan."
He didn't move for a heartbeat, savoring the sensation of being sheathed inside her, of the bond singing with a rightness that vibrated in his very bones. Then he began to move, a slow, deep withdrawal followed by an even deeper, more powerful thrust.
Mine. The thought was primitive and all-consuming.
Her pleasure built quickly, a bright, rising tide he could feel through the bond, tangling with his own.
It was intoxicating, and his own control frayed with each rhythmic plunge.
He'd waited so long—not just days, but decades—for this.
For a moment that belonged purely to him, not to his duty, not to his pack, but to his own soul-deep hunger. And it was everything.
She was everything.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the curve where his shoulder met his neck.
He followed suit, pressing his lips to her damp skin, inhaling her scent.
The urge to claim her permanently, to sink his canines into her flesh and bind her to him for eternity, surged with terrifying force.
His canines suddenly elongated, a sharp, aching pressure against his gums.
No.
The image of Kozue's face, the hurt in his eyes when Ronan had chastised him, flashed with brutal clarity.
This bond wasn't a singular claim. It was a triad.
To mark her now, without Kozue, would be a betrayal of that bond, a theft of a shared future.
It would be the ultimate selfish act from an Alpha who had sworn to protect his own.
With a force of will that felt like tearing his own skin, he pulled the primal impulse back and his canines retracted, the ache a reminder of his restraint.
"Faster, Ronan," she breathed into his ear, her voice a ragged plea that shattered his remaining control.
He obeyed willingly. His rhythm altered, abandoning the measured pace for something raw and primal.
His thrusts became harder, deeper, a relentless pursuit of mutual pleasure.
He angled his hips, searching, and found the spot that made her cry out, a broken moan that sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through him.
"There," she gasped. "Oh, god, right there."
He growled, the sound rumbling from his chest as he hammered into that sweet spot, each impact driving them both higher.
The world narrowed to the slap of wet skin, the ragged symphony of their breathing, and the brilliant cord of the mate bond, vibrating with a frequency of pure ecstasy.
Minutes blurred into a sea of sensation.
"I'm so close, Ronan," she panted, her inner muscles beginning to flutter around him.
He drove into her with renewed ferocity, his own climax a coiled spring at the base of his spine. He wanted to give her this. He needed to see her shatter because of him.
"Come for me, Sloane."
It was the permission she needed. Her orgasm detonated, a cataclysm he felt through the bond before he saw it wrack her body.
A raw, unfiltered cry tore from her throat as she convulsed against him, and her inner walls clenched around his cock in a fierce, milking rhythm that shattered his last thread of control.
His own release exploded, a violent, outward rush of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
He drove into her one final, deep time, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled himself inside her.
His body shuddered against hers, his arms tightening like bands of steel to keep them upright as the aftershocks rippled through them both.
They stayed joined like that, pressed against the cool tile of the shower wall, as the hot water cascaded over them and their ragged breaths slowly evened out. Their heartbeats, frantic and wild, gradually slowed into a single, synchronized rhythm as the mate bond hummed a contented vibration.
Ronan pulled back just enough to see her face. A smile of deep, unguarded satisfaction curved her kiss-swollen lips, and her eyes were heavy-lidded, hazy with pleasure and a dazed wonder that made his chest tight.
He leaned in and kissed her again. This kiss held none of the earlier desperation.
It was slow and deep. He poured into it every silent promise he'd made to himself: his devotion, his unwavering protection, and the vision of a future they could build together—a future that, for the first time, included his own happiness as a fundamental part of the foundation.
She kissed him back with equal intensity, her hands loosening from around his neck to cradle his face.
In the press of her lips and the gentle sweep of her tongue, he felt it—her longing, her fragile hope, her mind tentatively starting to believe that this was real.
That this was right. That this impossible, complicated, beautiful thing could actually be hers.