Chapter 25
RONAN
Iwake to the sensation of Leila's hair tickling my chest, her body warm and pliant against mine in the early morning light. For a moment, I let myself pretend this is normal—waking up next to my wife, her head pillowed on my shoulder, her arm thrown over my chest.
For the first time in my life, I’m waking with a woman in my arms. With my wife in my arms. I never held Siobhan like this; we never even shared the same bed for an entire night. And I’ve never held Leila like this before.
I pulled away from her last night, again, after what happened in the garden.
I fixed our clothes and made excuses about needing to talk to Colin, and told her we’d talk about the baby later.
I could tell she was hurt. I stayed in my office until after dinner and didn’t see her again until we both came to bed.
And I could see that she wanted to talk—wanted to know what it was that I wanted to do about all of this, what our plans were for this complication that I tried so hard to avoid.
But we didn’t talk. I pulled her into my arms, and we fell asleep.
I’d expected her to argue, to pull away, to demand we talk, but she didn’t.
She let me hold her, as if she knew that for the first time in my life, I needed to feel the woman who wears my ring and carries my name and my child in my arms. I didn’t know what to say, yet, but I knew that.
And she let me. In the morning light, feeling her against me, it makes me wonder if I’m going to be able to let her go. If, when the time comes, I won’t want to keep her here with me, despite my promises and all of our plans.
Yesterday feels like a fever dream. And I still don’t know how we move forward from here.
She’s pregnant. With my child. The thing I swore to myself I'd never let happen.
There are other considerations to this, too, when it comes to who I am. What it means for my wife to be carrying my heir. But if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t give a damn about any of that.
I don’t care about mafia politics or what that child in her belly is meant to inherit. I care about what it means that Leila is pregnant with my baby.
The danger that puts her in. And the possibility that once again, I could lose my wife and my child all at once, if Rocco has his way.
She stirs against me, and my body instantly reacts, hungry for hers all over again.
My cock is painfully hard, more so than any other morning, from dreams of what it felt like to finally fucking be inside of her again.
I’ve craved it every fucking moment since I had her on our wedding night, and the feeling of sliding into her wet heat, feeling her enveloping me—
It’s enough to make me want to fuck her awake right now. The temptation is maddening.
She makes me feel things I never have before. Primal, possessive things that make it hard to think clearly. And when she opens her eyes slowly, blinking awake, the need to take her again nearly overwhelms me.
"Good morning," she murmurs, her voice husky. She glances down at herself pressed against me, as if she’s surprised to find us still tangled together.
“Morning.” I turn toward her, and my cock brushes against her thigh, straining from behind the thin barrier of fabric holding it back. I see her eyes widen, her nostrils flare as she draws in a breath, and my control snaps.
I roll her onto her back, my knee spreading her thighs as I lean down to kiss her. She arches into me instantly, hands rising to grasp at my shoulders before she breaks the kiss, looking up at me breathlessly.
“Are we doing this?” she whispers. “Are we going to—”
I stare at her, unsure of what she’s asking. Does she mean our marriage? Keeping the child? Does she want me to ask her to stay, to say that I want to make this real? The thought makes my pulse throb in my throat, but I know I can’t say the words aloud.
If I ask her to stay, to be my wife in any meaningful way besides the pretense that’s keeping her safe, and Rocco gets to her. If I’m unable to protect her, if she’s hurt, if she dies—
The way that thought tears at my chest is enough to tell me that this can’t happen. I can’t set myself up to feel that kind of pain. And I can’t be responsible for her choosing to stay and then meeting her end.
If she’s my wife, there will always be people who want to hurt her. Rocco won’t be the last. If she leaves, she’ll be safe once he’s gone.
“This,” she murmurs, her hand sliding between us, and I feel her fingers close around my length through the thin fabric of my sleep pants. “After yesterday…”’
I groan at her touch, torn between the insatiable urge to fuck her again and the knowledge that there are other complications to it besides the obvious ones. Sex with her feels different. More intimate. And the two of us getting closer can’t be anything but another way to break her heart later.
“You can’t get me pregnant twice,” she murmurs. “We’re already in it, Ronan.”
Her hand dips beneath my waistband, her fingers skimming my hot, swollen head, the tip dripping precum. I feel her fingertips drag through the sticky fluid, and she tugs her hand free, raising her fingers to her lips.
When her tongue flicks out to taste me, her eyes locked on mine, I feel as if I’m going to lose my mind.
She’s wearing a tank top and flimsy shorts, and I grab the waist of the shorts with both hands, yanking them down her hips. When she’s bare from the waist down, I fling the covers back, the desire to taste her suddenly overwhelming.
“Ronan!” She squeaks my name as I yank one of her legs over my shoulder, pushing her other leg to one side. “What are you—”
“Having my breakfast.” I look up at her from between her thighs, the scent of her arousal maddening.
I can already taste her on my tongue. “I’m going to eat you until you come, milséan, and then I’m going to fuck you until you’re full of my cum again.
” I dip my head down, dragging my tongue between her folds, savoring how wet she already is for me.
“Since, as you said, I can’t get you pregnant twice. ”
A shuddering moan falls from her lips as I lick her again, taking my time getting to her clit. With the decision made to give in, I have every intention of enjoying this and making certain that she enjoys it just as much, if not more.
When I roll my tongue over her swollen clit, her hips jerk upward, her mouth falling open on a moan as I find the spot that she seems to like the most. I tease her with flicks of my tongue and changes of pace for as long as we both can stand it, until her hand on the back of my head is tangling in my hair and her hips are rolling pleadingly against my mouth.
And then I flatten my tongue against her clit, licking her in quick, firm strokes as I feel her start to shudder against me.
My cock is hard as iron, throbbing, leaking pre-cum as I push her to the edge, desperate to get inside of her. I reach down with one hand, giving myself a firm stroke, and groan as I feel her arch upward. Her muscles tighten, and she cries out my name as she starts to come.
I should force myself to let go of my cock before I come just from the taste of her flooding my mouth, but I can’t stop.
I stroke myself roughly as I lick her through her orgasm, waiting until I can feel the last aftershocks before I rise up onto my knees, grab her hip with one hand and my cock still in the other, and drag her onto my throbbing length.
The pleasure of sinking into her wet, clenching depths is indescribable.
She’s still coming as I thrust into her, moaning aloud at the feeling of her hot, tight flesh enveloping my bare cock, her nails scratching at my thighs as I thrust. I reach down, pressing my thumb against her clit in an effort to make her come again as I sink into her again and again, unable to stop for even a second.
After so long of feeling unwanted in my marriage, after pretending for nearly two years that I was fine with a cold bed and a cold wife, after denying myself the pleasure I wanted so badly with Leila from the moment I met her, the feeling of being wanted is intoxicating.
The look of pleasure on her face, the frantic movements of her hips, the arch of her back, and the way her full lips fall open as she moans for me with every thrust of my cock—it feels like it could kill me, like I’d rather die than stop.
I forgot what this was like. How good it could feel. And Leila is better than anything I’ve ever experienced before.
I never want this to end.
But it will, much sooner than I’d like it to.
With every thrust, I fight to keep myself from coming before I’m ready, but she feels too good.
I feel her clench around me again as I slide out to the tip and slam myself back into her, and her cry of pleasure as I fuck her harder sends me too close to the edge.
I can feel my balls tightening, heat coiling at the base of my spine, and I lean forward, dragging a hand through her sleep-mussed hair as I press my mouth to hers.
My thumb is still working her clit, and I move my hand faster, in time with my thrusts, as I tangle my tongue with hers.
“Come on my cock, Leila,” I murmur against her lips. “I want to feel you squeeze the cum out of me. I want you to make me fucking come for you.”
She lets out a ragged moan, her hips colliding with mine as she arches and writhes beneath me, and I feel the moment that she tips over the edge.
I feel her squeeze me, her pussy clenching rhythmically, and her breasts press against my chest as she moans helplessly, her orgasm pushing me over the edge with her.
I press her back into the bed, my mouth crushed against hers as my cock hardens and throbs, spurting into her as I keep thrusting, keep fucking her through every pulse of my orgasm. It feels so fucking good, and I swear every time I come with her is better than the one before.