Chapter 17 #3
Ronan hisses with pleasure, hips jerking in shallow thrusts as he groans, and I can tell he’s close.
He sinks into me again, rolling his hips, his eyes closed as I can see him struggling to hold on.
The thought makes me tighten, makes my hips arch, and he growls a low, primal sound that makes my entire body flood with arousal.
“Fuck, Leila, I—-”
He slides out of me, his thumb still rolling over my clit as he strokes his slick length furiously, aiming it at my stomach.
I see streaks of blood on his shaft, and somehow that turns me on even more, seeing the proof that he was my first, that he took what I offered him originally…
that for this moment, at least, I’m his.
I can feel myself on the verge of another orgasm as I see him shudder, see his cock throb and his tip flare as the first arc of cum spurts from him.
He lets out a ragged groan of pleasure as hot fluid spatters over my breasts, my stomach, marking me with his cum as he strokes himself furiously, and I watch fascinated, my orgasm building to a crescendo as his hand never stops between my legs.
I watch him paint me with his cum, and when the final arc hits my chin, drops sprinkling over my lips, I lick my lower lip without thinking, tasting him as my hips arch into his hand.
“Oh, fuck,” Ronan groans, the sound guttural as he sees me lick his cum off my lip. He swipes his thumb through the pool on my stomach, his touch leaving my clit for only a moment before he resumes, spreading his hot cum across my clit as he pushes me toward the edge.
That does it—the heat, the sensation, the erotic idea that he’s marking my clit as his, spreading his cum over me.
The orgasm shatters through me, his name a cry on my lips as my vision blurs and I arch and writhe, pleasure spiraling through my body as I come for the second time, even more intensely than the first.
My eyes are still closed when I feel the bed shift, feel Ronan get up and start to walk away.
They snap open, a sudden worry flooding me that he’s leaving already now that we’re done, but he’s only walking to the bathroom.
He comes back a moment later with a cloth in his hand—a warm, damp washcloth, I realize as he starts to clean me up.
“I like the sight of you with my cum on your skin,” he growls, and I see his softening cock twitch against his thigh. “But I shouldn’t leave you like this.”
I almost tell him that I don’t mind, that I like how it feels, that I like seeing myself painted with his fluids, marked as his.
It feels good in a way that I couldn’t have anticipated or expected.
But in the afterglow, with the moment passing, I’m reminded that nothing about this marriage is real.
Whatever Ronan and I just shared, however good it was for us both, was from necessity.
If not for all of the things that have forced us together, he’d never have touched me.
The reminder is sobering.
Ronan tosses the washcloth in a hamper, joining me in bed.
I tug down the blankets, suddenly shy as I slide beneath them.
I don’t know what to do or say now. Will he touch me again, if he wants to?
Am I allowed to touch him? Do we go back to how things were before, where he was distant and I didn’t allow myself to think about wanting him?
We’re married now. Are we allowed to enjoy it while that lasts? I don’t know, and I’m afraid to ask.
One question pushes past my lips after a long moment, as Ronan lies next to me. I can’t stop it.
“Why didn’t you come inside me?” I blurt out. “Why did you—”
Ronan frowns, a look of confusion on his face.
“The marriage is temporary,” he says finally.
“Children from it would be a complication. I planned on using a condom with you, but in all the chaos—” He lets out a breath.
“They’re back at the mansion, and I wasn’t able to go and get them.
I should have sent someone for them, but I got caught up in everything, and… well, we needed to do this tonight.”
I swallow hard. “Oh,” I say softly, unsure of how to feel about that.
I like that he was in me with nothing between us; something in me balks at the idea of us using protection, of there being an uncomfortable layer between his skin and mine, even though I know it would be the smarter thing to do.
“Have you done that before?” I ask, thinking of his wife. “Had sex without one?”
I’m hoping the innocent-enough question will make him open up to me. That he’ll tell me about his first wife, what happened to her. But his jaw just tightens, and he nods curtly.
“Yes,” he says, and then before I can say anything else, he gets up, walking to the duffel bag by the dresser.
I stare at him, unsure what to say as he pulls out a pair of loose black sleep pants and tugs them on.
I watch his muscles flex, the curve of his ass tightening, his softened cock swinging between his thighs as he dresses.
All that is mine now, for a little while…
but is it? Can I enjoy him, or is he going to go cold again?
The answer comes almost immediately, as Ronan comes back to bed. His face is shuttered, and he doesn’t look at me as he crawls beneath the blankets, rolling to face away from me as he turns out the light.
The passion from a few minutes before has vanished, the room chilly with the absence of emotion. I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, feeling cold.
Whatever this marriage is going to be while it lasts, I don’t think it’s going to be anything that I could have hoped for.