Chapter Forty-Nine #4
He stills for half a heartbeat at that. Then continues. And this time, she doesn’t fight it.
He pulls her to sit, tugging at the hem of her tunic. She raises her arms, deep-brown eyes locking on his. He slips it over her head, revealing her naked torso. His eyes rake over her, taking in every inch of flesh in a way that makes her feel exposed beyond just skin.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she snaps.
He shakes his head, letting out a breath. “Jax, you are naked. I am looking at you like this because you are beautiful. And, as we’ve already established, naked.”
She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Fuck,” she curses. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this unless I’m—”
“Bossing me around?” Ronyn supplies.
She tips her head back, dragging a hand through the lengths of her hair. “Yes,” she laughs. “Unless I’m in fucking control.”
Ronyn lets out a laugh at that, relaxed and easy.
“I have a proposition for you,” he offers.
She doesn’t reply, but he takes the silence as agreement.
“How about… you get on your hands and knees, don’t look at me, and I take care of the rest?”
She stills, but her head snaps back, eyes connecting with his.
“Don’t you need to… warm up or something?” she asks, pointing awkwardly at his crotch.
Ronyn pushes from sitting to his knees, and the hard outline of his cock strains against his leather pants. “Remember how you’re naked? Yeah, well, I’m warm.”
She snorts.
“Then I suppose I agree to your proposition,” she laughs, surprising herself with the levity in her voice.
Ronyn doesn’t wait, he unties and removes his pants in less than ten heartbeats, and the last thing to be tossed unceremoniously to the floor is his tunic, and he’s standing buck naked with his hands on his hips.
Gods, he is beautiful. Broad shoulders and lean muscle and scarred skin lit gold beneath the lanternlight.
“Message received,” he states, wagging his eyebrows.
Jax smiles, wide and real. “I can see that,” she says, eyes flicking between his face and his hard cock.
“Then allow me to remove your pants,” he offers, bowing low like he’s presenting to a monarch.
He tugs on the bottoms of her pants, and slips them easily over her hips, her legs, and finally, throws them against the cavern wall, and nods like he’s accomplished a job.
But his face stills when he finally takes her in. Bare before him.
“You are truly mesmerizing, Jaxxy,” he breathes.
Her breaths become shallow under his reverence.
“Please don’t ruin this,” she begs, and she’s not entirely sure what she means.
He nods, somehow hearing the words she didn’t say.
“Then get on your hands and knees,” he instructs.
Thank the fucking Stars.
She does as he bids, knees pressing into the furs, fingers finding purchase there too.
Ronyn drops to his knees behind her, spreading her legs further apart, and smoothing his hands over the curve of her hips.
He leans forward, and she takes some of the weight of him in her arms.
He sweeps her hair over her shoulder, brushing it from her neck with tenderness and patience that the tossed clothes contradict.
His lips find the nape of her neck. Her spine. And they blaze a trail of kisses down the length of it. His breath is warm against her skin, roughened slightly by brask and laughter and something unmistakably Ronyn.
His hands worship her like she’s prayer made flesh. His palms are rough from bows and battle and survival, and the scrape of them against her skin sends heat racing through her body.
He opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it shut, rethinking whatever he was about to say.
She prepares to take him into her, pressing her hips back, when the soft, languid strokes of his tongue find her pussy from behind.
Shock flares in her veins, her muscles going rigid.
“I said I was warmed up, Jaxxy. This is your warm up,” he clarifies, and his mouth finds the entrance to her pussy again.
He devours her like a man starved. Like a man who’s been trying to make love to her like this for months. A man who is finally able to pleasure her in the way he promised he would.
The scrape of stubble against the sensitive flesh of her thighs sends another pulse of heat through her body.
His hands find her ass, his grip firm as he spreads her wide.
Her muscles relax, and she sinks into him.
A deep, low moan rumbles from his throat. “I love seeing you relax,” he breathes.
His tongue glides from clit to entrance, and a breathy pant slips past her lips. He does it again like her response spurs him on. The sound of him—low groans and wet breaths and restrained hunger—vibrates straight through her.
She pushes back against his mouth, desperate for friction. For more. For him.
He glides his tongue through her center again and keeps going. He nips the swell of her ass, and she sucks in a sharp inhale, but she pushes back.
His tongue sweeps between her cheeks, and nerves fire in a surge of pleasure. A moan drags from her lips, and he does it again. Again. Again.
Her knees spread further, her back arches like the movement will give her more of him. And gods, there is something intoxicating in being allowed to unravel while someone else keeps holding everything together.
His hand collides with her ass, and he grips it. “Are you ready now?”
She nods her agreement, words escaping her.
His cock nudges against her entrance.
“I love how wet you get for me, Jaxxy,” he says, rough and gravelly.
She doesn’t say anything, only pushes her ass back into him. A small groan escapes him at the movement. He grips his cock, guiding it into her.
Gods.
Her breath hitches as he slides inside her, slow, steady. Inch by glorious inch.
“You feel so good,” he groans.
Her hips roll back again, taking in the last of him. A gasp slips past her lips.
“I love it when you make sounds like that,” Ronyn encourages, and the praise only makes her push back harder, letting another moan out.
She usually tells him she hates it—the praise, the adoration.
To shut up and just lie there. But here, under his touch, his praise, his spell… she knows she was wrong.
Ronyn’s hand slides up the length of her spine, and his hips roll as pleasure blooms from her core.
She closes her eyes, focusing entirely on the pleasure, his cock filling her completely, the way his powerful thighs force her legs wide, and she pushes her ass higher. Sweat slicks along the planes of his stomach and chest, the scent of sex and salt thickening the air between them.
Her breasts find the floor, arms outstretched, so he can enter her with greater ease. The furs scratch softly beneath her skin every time he thrusts into her, anchoring her in the overwhelming reality of the moment.
She resists the urge to correct him. No, control him.
Gods, she hasn’t realized how exhausting control has become until this moment—until the relief of laying it down floods through her body like warmth returning to frozen limbs.
She squeezes her eyes closed.
She doesn’t have to see him. See anything.
She has spent so long gripping every moment with white-knuckled control that the act of letting go feels almost holy.
Just feel.
Just feel.
Just feel.
No decisions. No performance. No sharp edges to weaponize before someone else can use them first. Just sensation. Just trust. Just him carrying the weight for a while.
“Gods, woman,” he grits out, his hands smoothing over the round of her ass.
He drives into her harder, and she cries out in pleasure.
“Oh you like that?” he purrs.
“Yes,” she pants.
She wants it harder. Wants it to take her over entirely. No place for thought, only pleasure.