Sunday, April 2nd #6
I can’t take another second without him inside me. Not with the way he’s looking at me. Not with the way my body is buzzing with need.
I shift my weight, lift up just enough to hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, then somehow manage to wriggle them down my thighs. They’re soaked. And not from the lake.
Ronan’s jaw flexes, eyes locked on me like he’s barely holding himself together. “Fuck,” he says under his breath, then shoves his boxers down just enough to free his erection. The sight of it makes my mouth water. He’s thick, and long, and so hard.
We don’t speak. We don’t need to.
I rise up on my knees and grip his shoulders for balance while his hands find my hips, anchoring me. I line myself up, his body heat seeping into my skin.
And then I sink down slowly.
The second he begins to slip into me, relief rips through me like lightning. I gasp as he fills me, stretches me, every rock-hard inch of him sliding home with perfect, aching pressure. My head drops forward, forehead pressed to his, our breaths ragged and trembling.
“Fuck,” he groans again, like it’s the only word remaining in his vocabulary, the only word powerful enough for this moment.
We move in tandem. It’s not soft. It’s not slow. We’re not here to take our time. We’re wild and frantic and grasping. My hips rise and fall in a desperate rhythm, and he meets every thrust with one of his own, each one deeper, harder. His hands dig into my hips while mine tangle in his wet hair.
Our mouths find each other again, messy and uncoordinated, more teeth than lips, more panting than kissing.
I arch my back and brace one hand on his chest, then drag my nails down his pecs, leaving angry red trails in their wake.
Ronan sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth. I freeze, worried I hurt him. But then he thrusts into me harder, his jaw clenched tight, eyes blown wide and locked on mine like I’ve just lit him on fire.
Oh. I didn’t hurt him. I drove him wild.
He slams his hips up and into me again, harder than before, and I gasp, letting my head fall back as my body tightens, barreling toward the edge.
I do it again. I drag my nails down his shoulders this time, and he groans, deep and guttural, his grip bruising my hips as he pounds into me like he’s chasing something primal.
Every rock of his hips drives me closer to release. I claw at his biceps, somehow trying to ground myself in his skin. “Don’t stop,” I mewl. “Please, don’t stop!”
“I couldn’t if I tried,” he groans, his voice raw and raspy. “You feel so fucking good.”
Every inch of me is on fire with pleasure. He’s everywhere. Under me. Around me. Inside me. My thighs start to shake, my body clinging to his with each thrust.
And then I shatter. “Ran,” I cry out as my orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, relentless, all-consuming. I seize around him, tightening, pulsing with ecstasy.
He buries his face against my neck, groaning as he thrusts twice, three more times before his breath stutters to a halt and he, too, comes, hips jerking, body shuddering under mine.
We don’t move. Not for a long moment. Just panting, shaking, skin to skin, Ronan still inside me, his lips pressed to my collarbone.
Somewhere in the haze, I realize the heater must’ve kicked in. I’m distantly aware of warm air blowing against my back, and for the first time since last night, I’m not cold.
Ronan shifts just enough to meet my eyes. There’s a slow, sated smile on his lips. “Well,” he murmurs, “I think we’ve officially beat the hypothermia.”
I giggle, breathless. “Yeah. I think we’re safe.
” But my face falls. “From the hypothermia, at least. What are we gonna do when we get back to the ranch?” I fret.
Our clothes are drenched. As it stands, I’ll have to sneak into the house dressed in a blanket while Ronan sports only his wet boxers. Not exactly subtle.
He raises a brow. “Think we can pass this off as another near-death experience?”
Ronan
We drive back to the ranch, Cat wrapped in the blanket like a delicious burrito, curled in the passenger seat with her legs tucked beneath her, hair still damp, cheeks flushed.
And me? I’m driving barefoot, half-naked, wearing nothing but a pair of wet boxers and a damn grin that probably screams I’m fucking floating on cloud nine.
Cat and I have found our way back to each other, and we just had frantic, chaotic, mind-blowing sex. What more could I want?
I keep having to blast the damn heat. First the windows fogged up with our damn panting, and now it keeps misting over with damp body heat.
“Oh my gosh, Ran, I’m so sorry,” Cat says with a gasp.
I glance over at her, not sure what she’s apologizing for. The foggy windows?
She grazes a finger over my chest. It’s only then I register the sting, the rawness. I glance down and yep. Four angry red scratches rake across my chest, breaking the skin.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I fucking loved it,” I say, somewhat dismayed. “Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me that I enjoy pain like this.”
It’s still something I’m figuring out about myself—that a little pain mixed in with pleasure actually does it for me.
Not too much. Just enough to heighten everything.
Still, it feels… off. Like I should be the last person on earth to get off on pain.
But I punish my body in the gym almost daily, chase soreness like a badge of honor, run on empty like it’s a competition.
So maybe it tracks that getting absolutely fucking feral when Cat scratches the shit out of me feels… right.
She moves her hand to my cheek, brushing a thumb over my bottom lip. My eyes threaten to close with the tenderness of her touch. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she says. “I think a lot of people enjoy a little pain during sex, right?”
She lifts her eyebrows in a way that makes me think her question isn’t purely rhetorical.
“Yeah, but a lot of people didn’t get the life beaten out of them by their mother growing up,” I say.
“You’d think I’d forever avoid anything even remotely painful.
Turns out it’s a huge fucking turn-on for me.
” I make a face. Maybe I need to unpack this with my therapist. Hey Doc, guess what, turns out my mommy issues go way deeper than we originally thought.
“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re overthinking this.
Just allow yourself to enjoy what you enjoy.
” She leans over the center console and presses a kiss to my cheek.
The soft warmth of her lips makes my chest ache.
I missed this. I missed her. Touching her without having to second-guess it.
Not being allowed to hold her felt like having one hand cut off.
“What happened between us a few minutes ago, that wasn’t anything like what your mom did to you.
I didn’t do it to hurt you.” She pauses, eyes flicking to my chest, cheeks going pink.
“It just felt necessary in the moment. I was so, so turned on.” Her voice drops into something breathy, dangerous.
If she keeps talking like that, I might have to pull the truck over again.
“And… it turned you on, too, right?” she asks, her voice laced with vulnerability.
I chuckle. “Obviously. You couldn’t tell?” Jesus, it flipped a damn switch. When her nails dug in, all the rational parts of my brain just… poof. I wasn’t thinking. I was feeling. Moving. Needing.
Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink and I swear her whole face follows suit. Her nose, her ears, her forehead. I know she hates it, but I happen to enjoy the crap out of it.
“I could,” she says, nodding. Then, more quietly, “I think… I think I like it a little bit rougher, too.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She blinks at me in surprise. “Really? How?”
I shrug. “Because of the way your body reacts when I go hard. Like, hard. I thought I was hurting you earlier. I almost pulled back, but then I realized you were about to come, so I doubled down. And, fuck,” I groan, shifting slightly behind the steering wheel.
“Nothing gets me there faster than watching you lose yourself to me. You’re so fucking hot. ”
She sinks back into her seat, smiling with a quiet satisfaction.
“But baby?” I say, drawing her eyes back to me. “You have to promise me something, okay?”
She nods, her lips plump, pink, slightly parted. I want to stare at them, want them wrapped around… Jesus. Focus, Ran!
“If I ever hurt you in a way you don’t want… I mean, like, if I ever lash out at you—if there’s even a hint that I might snap—you walk. You walk away and you don’t look back. You don’t give me another chance. You don’t forgive me. You don’t take me back, okay?”
She searches my eyes for a long moment. I know she understands what I’m asking, what I’m getting at. I’m not talking about rough sex. I’m talking about abuse, the kind of shit my grandfather did to his family, what Adam did to Cat, what my mother did to me.
She nods, slow and serious. “I promise,” she breathes.
I nod once, exhaling deeply. Enough heavy shit for now.
We turn the last bend before the main house comes into view.
I can’t help but laugh. We’re half-naked.
Soaked. Disheveled. Cat’s hair looks like it’s been through a hurricane and back, and I’ve got claw marks down my chest like a wild animal attacked me.
Which, technically, checks out. Immediately, my stupid brain comes up with at least ten different wildcat jokes. But now’s not the time.
I don’t have much hope that we’ll be able to sneak into the house unseen, not with my grandmother’s weird-ass ESP and the fact that it’s just about time for dinner.
My grandma is nothing if not punctual. I bet everyone’s already gathering at the dining table.
Cat and I better use the next thirty seconds to come up with a solid alibi before we walk into the lion’s den.
Or, more accurately… the wildcat den. See what I mean?