Chapter Five
I SPLASH COLD WATER on my face before stepping out of the tiny bathroom. My reflection shows a woman I barely recognize—flushed, disheveled, eyes bright with something dangerous. Taking a deep breath, I smooth my hair and straighten my clothes, as if that could somehow restore my composure.
When I return to my seat, I deliberately avoid looking his way. I can feel Ronan's eyes on me like a physical touch, trailing heat across my skin. I stare resolutely out the window at the midnight landscape rushing past, but it's no use. The darkness only serves as a mirror, reflecting his image to me.
The air between us crackles with unspoken tension. Each breath feels heavy in my lungs. My breasts seem to swell beneath my sweater, and to my mortification, my nipples harden into tight peaks. I cross my arms over my chest, hoping he hasn't noticed, but the subtle shift in his breathing tells me he has.
I bite my lip hard, using the pain to ground myself. I will not give in to this... whatever this is. I've made that mistake before, letting physical attraction cloud my judgment.
Closing my eyes, I force myself to think of anything but the man sitting across from me. The gentle hum of the bus engine eventually lulls me into an uneasy sleep.
When I wake again, the world outside is still dark. I check my watch, squinting at the illuminated dial. Four in the morning? I've been asleep for hours.
My neck aches from the awkward position, and I roll my shoulders to ease the stiffness. Almost against my will, my eyes drift to Ronan.
He's asleep, his imposing frame somehow made vulnerable by unconsciousness. With his features relaxed, he looks younger, and the hard lines of his face softened. But even in sleep, there's something undeniably seductive about him—the way his dark lashes fan against his cheeks, the slight part of his lips, the strong column of his throat.
I don't realize how long I've been staring until I see his lips slowly curve into that infuriating smirk, even though his eyes remain closed.
"It's going to be really hard if you keep looking at me like that."
Aaaargh.
Does this man ever run out of innuendos to make a girl turn red as a tomato?
I stand abruptly, not sure where I'm going—the bathroom again, maybe, or just to pace the aisle—anything to put some distance between us.
But before I can take a single step, his hand catches my wrist. The contact sends a jolt of electricity up my arm. I freeze, caught between pulling away and... something else.
"Running again?" he asks softly.
"I'm not running."
"Aren't you?" His thumb traces circles on the sensitive skin of my inner wrist. "You've been running since the moment we met."
"You don't know anything about me."
Something flickers in his eyes at my words, and for a heartbeat, it feels as if I've become invisible in his eyes, and he's seeing - remembering - someone else.
But then another moment passes, and his jaw tightens. Heat floods back in his gaze, and it's enough to make my knees knock against each other...and for me to question my sanity. Did I just imagine the whole thing?
"I know enough," he says finally. "And right now, the most important thing I'm sure of is that you want me, too."
In one fluid motion, he pulls me down onto his lap, and this time there's no pretense of accident. I land with my back against his chest, his strong arms encircling my waist.
"Tell me to stop," he breathes against my ear, "and I will."
I should.
I know I should.
But the words won't come.
Instead, I turn in his arms until we're facing each other, my thighs straddling his. His eyes darken as I settle my weight against him, and I can feel the hard evidence of his desire pressing against me.
"This is insane," I whisper, even as my hands slide up his chest to rest on his shoulders.
"Completely," he agrees, his hands finding my hips.
When our lips finally meet, it's like striking a match in a room filled with gasoline. The chemistry that's been building between us explodes into blinding heat.
His mouth is demanding and hungry, but there's a control to his passion that makes me wild. I press closer, my fingers tangling in his hair as I open to him. His tongue slides against mine, tasting of desire and promise.
His hands move restlessly over my body, his fingers finding the hem of my sweater. They slip beneath to touch bare skin, and I gasp against his mouth.
He explores me with maddening patience, and by the time he finally cups my breasts, I'm about to lose my mind with need.
"So responsive," he growls appreciatively as his thumbs brush over my hardened nipples.
I bite back a moan, suddenly aware of our surroundings. "The driver—"
"Can't see us," he assures me, nodding toward the privacy partition. "Or hear us over the engine."
Still, when he lowers his head to press open-mouthed kisses along my throat, I have to stifle the sounds that threaten to escape. His teeth graze my pulse point, and my hips rock instinctively against him.
He groans, his hands tightening on my waist. "Keep that up, darling, and this will be over before it begins."
The raw desire in his voice emboldens me. I roll my hips again, deliberately this time, watching his eyes darken further.
In response, he lifts me as if I weigh nothing, depositing me on the seat beside him before dropping to his knees in the aisle.
"What are you—"
My question dissolves into a gasp as his hands push my skirt up my thighs. He looks up at me, a silent question in his eyes.
I should stop this. I know I should. But instead, I nod, lifting my hips slightly to help as he slides my underwear down my legs.
The first touch of his mouth against my most intimate place nearly undoes me. I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out as he parts my folds with his tongue, tasting me with deliberate, devastating strokes.
He takes his time, exploring every sensitive inch of me. His tongue circles my clit before flicking against it rhythmically, drawing soft whimpers I can barely contain. When he sucks gently on the sensitive bud, my hips buck involuntarily against his mouth.
His strong hands grip my thighs, spreading them wider, holding me open for his relentless attention. The sight of his dark head between my legs, the feel of his hot breath against my wet flesh, the obscene sounds of his pleasure as he devours me—it's almost too much to bear.
"You taste so sweet," he murmurs against me, the vibration of his voice sending shockwaves of pleasure through my core.
When he slides one finger inside me, curling it to stroke against a spot I didn't even know existed, I nearly come undone. A second finger joins the first, stretching me deliciously as his tongue continues its wicked assault.
The dual sensations—his fingers pumping steadily inside me while his mouth works magic on my clit—quickly build the pressure to an unbearable peak. My thighs begin to tremble, my breathing grows ragged, and just when I think I can't take anymore, he increases his pace.
"Let go for me, Acacia," he commands against my flesh, and something about the authoritative tone in his voice pushes me over the edge.
My orgasm crashes over me, and what he promised came true.
I cry his name out, again and again and again, and still he doesn't stop. He's doing everything still, and my body can't stop convulsing. I'm shuddering and crying, the pleasure tearing me apart.
Ronan only relents when I'm a slumped mess in his arms, and I can't even muster the strength to scowl when I look up and see the satisfaction gleaming from his gaze.
His lips glisten with evidence of my pleasure, and the sight sends another jolt of arousal through me, even as I'm still coming down from my high.
"Your turn," I whisper, surprising myself with my boldness.
His eyebrows rise slightly, but he doesn't argue as we trade places. I sink to my knees between his legs, my hands moving to his belt with only the slightest tremor betraying my nervousness.
He helps me, his fingers guiding mine until he springs free, and my eyes widen involuntarily. He's impressively large, thick and hard, the head already glistening with evidence of his arousal.
I wrap my hand around his shaft, marveling at how my fingers can't completely encircle his girth. His sharp intake of breath at my touch emboldens me, and I begin to stroke him, learning what pressure he likes, what rhythm makes his jaw clench with restraint.
When I lower my head to taste him, his hand comes to rest gently in my hair, not guiding or forcing, just connecting us as I explore. I swirl my tongue around the sensitive head, delighting in the way his thighs tense beneath my hands.
I take him into my mouth, but his size makes it challenging. I can only accommodate the first few inches before I feel the strain in my jaw. He groans deeply as I hollow my cheeks around him, taking him as deep as I can manage.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice strained. "Just like that."
I work him with a combination of mouth and hand, doing what I can to make him fit. His breathing grows ragged, and the sound makes my head bob faster.
When I look up at him through my lashes, I find him watching me with an intensity that makes my core clench anew. To pleasure him this way, and to see its effect on him...
It's addictive.
His body soon starts to tighten, and my head, my fingers - every part of me that's involved in pleasuring him is working double time. The movement of his hips becomes erratic, and I know he's so, so close.
When Ronan finally comes, his fingers tighten involuntarily as he grips my hair, and the thick, creamy heat of his seed rushes down my throat.
It's my first time to swallow.
I never could do it in the past.
But for Ronan, though...
Why was it suddenly so easy?
WE BUY OUR brEAKFAST from the vendo, and we eat in silence that's still charged with sexual tension. We don't look at each other, but it's no use. I can't stop thinking of what just happened, and I know it's the same for him. How can I not, when the bulge behind his pants has yet to go away?
He draws me back to him as soon as we finish eating, and the thought of resisting doesn't even enter my mind.
He cradles me on his lap, my back against his chest, and my heart thumps hard as I feel his hands slide under my sweater.
I bite back a cry as he cups my breasts through my bra, his fingers playing with its taut tips until they're aching unbearably for something... anything!
His hand moves further down, and this time I can no longer hold back making a sound. A gasp escapes me as Ronan's fingers part my folds and find that stiff, sensitive nub of flesh.
Ronan seems to know exactly how to touch me, how much pressure to apply, when to speed up and when to slow down.
P-Please.
R-Ronan.
Please!
I don't care that I'm begging.
I just need this so badly.
"Please what?" Ronan purrs. "Say it, make it clear to me, darling."
P-Please make me come!
And as soon as I say the words, he grants my plea, one hand pinching my nipple hard, another hand pinching my clit, and aaaaaah.
I shatter with another cry, the pleasure making me black out.
Why is he so, so good at this?
As soon as I regain consciousness, I can only think of one thing: I want him to lose control...the way he made me lose mine.
Ronan's head falls back against the seat as I reach for him. I stare at his face, paying close attention to even the slightest change in his expression. It tells me when to tighten or loosen my grip, when to move faster or slower, when to tenderly caress the weight under his length.
My own breath quickens when I feel him growing in the circle of my grip, and my still-wet folds become swollen once again when Ronan growls my name out as he spills over my fingers.
I lose track of time.
Or the number of times we make each other come.
And when I wake up, there's only one thing I'm sure of.
I've absolutely lost my freaking mind!
I can feel myself paling as our bus pulls into Laramie, and my mind plays back everything that happened between Ronan and me with explicit accuracy.
On a bus, Cay!
A bus!
And with a stranger at that!
As soon as the bus comes to a stop, I grab my bag and practically run down the aisle, desperate for fresh air and space to think. Ronan follows at a more measured pace, giving me the distance I clearly need.
The Laramie bus station is small but busy. I scan the departure board, relieved to see there's a bus to Hartland leaving in twenty minutes. Just enough time to compose myself, but not so long that I'll have to make conversation.
I find a seat in the waiting area, staring fixedly at my phone as if it holds the answers to the universe. But I can feel him watching me from a few feet away, his presence impossible to ignore.
Finally, he approaches, settling into the seat beside me with casual grace.
"So we're not really going to talk about it?" His voice is low, meant only for my ears.
I keep my eyes on my phone. "Do I look like I want to talk about it?"
"How honest do you want me to be?"
That makes me look up. "Excuse me?"
"You look like someone who would rather die than admit you felt the same thing I did."
Heat floods my cheeks. Before I can formulate a suitably cutting response, a bus pulls up outside, and the station attendant calls out, "Hartland, now boarding."
Saved by the bell.
I grab my bag and hurry toward the door, relief and disappointment warring in my chest.
"I'll see you around, darling."
I can't help glowering at him over my shoulder. "I am not your darling—"
His smile is slow and confident, like a man who knows something I don't. "Yet."