30. Ronan #2
“You see things other people miss,” I continue.
“Not because of your last name or because of who your family is, but because you understand this world instinctively.” My gaze drifts over the files in her arms before returning to her face.
“The way you broke down those prospects? The way you reorganized the charity weekend after the sponsors nearly pulled out? You’re good at this. ”
She stares at me like she doesn’t know what to do with the words. Like no one’s ever handed her praise without strings attached before.
“And the really scary part?” I add with a faint smile. “I don’t even think you realize how good you are at it all.”
Something in her expression cracks.
Before I can even process what’s happening, she drops the files onto the table beside her and grabs fistfuls of my shirt, yanking me toward her.
Then she kisses me. Hard, desperate, and completely out of nowhere.
My brain short-circuits instantly.
One second I’m staring down at her in shock, the next my hands are on her waist as she fists the front of my shirt and kisses me like she’s pouring every ounce of emotion she doesn’t know how to voice into the kiss—Gratitude. Relief. Need.
And fuck.
The tiny sound she makes against my mouth ruins me.
Every time I kiss her is like the first time all over again. No matter how often I do it, I’m never prepared for what her soft moans do to me. For the way she melts against my chest while kissing me like she’s furious about it.
Grabbing the back of her thighs, I lift so her ass is resting on the edge of the conference table. Her pencil skirt bunches around her waist as her legs hitch over my hips, my hand moving up to cradle her jaw as I deepen the kiss.
She tastes like peppermint and stubbornness.
When we finally break apart, both of us are breathing hard. Her eyes are wide behind those damn indigo glasses.
“You do crazy things to me, Ronan Sterling.”
Before I can respond, she yanks on my shirt again, bringing my lips back to hers.
I kiss her like I mean it. Like I’m done pretending I don’t think about her constantly.
Done pretending I don’t notice every little thing she does.
How she plays with her hands when she is nervous.
Or gets this stubborn crease between her brows when someone underestimates her.
The fact that she comes alive when she talks hockey, even if she doesn’t realize it.
I’ve spent weeks holding myself back. Trying not to crowd her. Trying not to push too hard when she’s still healing from things that would’ve broken most people.
But right now?
Right now she’s kissing me like she’s starving for it.
And I’m fucking done being careful.
My hands tighten on her thighs as I press between them, dragging her flush against me. Her breath catches when my mouth moves against hers harder, deeper, and the sound goes straight to my head like a shot of hard liquor.
“Jesus, Wren,” I rasp against her lips. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Her fingers curl tighter into my shirt as she tilts her head back to smirk up at me. “So show me.”
That smart fucking mouth of hers nearly kills me.
Not needing to be told twice, I kiss her again. Harder. One hand slides into her hair, careful not to ruin it—too much—even while I maneuver her head for better access to her mouth. She melts instantly, soft, warm, and pliable beneath me, but there’s urgency there too.
The kiss turns messy fast. Every strained glance. Every lingering touch. Weeks of restraint finally spilling over. Her legs tighten around my hips as though she’s afraid I’ll pull away. The thought has something possessive unfurling low in my chest.
Not fucking happening.
I drag my mouth down the curve of her jaw, feeling her shiver beneath my hands. “You know what the worst part is?” I murmur against her skin.
Her breathing stutters. “What?”
“I’ve been trying so damn hard to be good around you.”
A breathless laugh escapes her. “And?”
“And I’m starting to think that was a mistake.”
She kisses me again before I can finish the thought, all heat and emotion and sharp little exhales that make my restraint fray even further.
God.
I could stay right here for hours. Could kiss her until neither of us remembered where we were.
Yet underneath the heat, underneath the want clawing through me, there’s something heavier settling into place too. Something steady. Certain.
Because this isn’t just attraction anymore. It isn’t about saving her.
It hasn’t been for a while.
I pull back just enough to look at her properly, my thumb brushing over her flushed cheek. Her lipstick is ruined. Her glasses slightly crooked. Her chest rising and falling hard beneath the silk blouse stretched across it.
Beautiful.
Completely fucking beautiful.
Her fingers knot tighter in my shirt as I kiss her again, slower this time. Deeper. Savoring something I’ve wanted for far too long.
And fuck, I have wanted this.
Wanted her.
For weeks, I’ve watched the tension build between all of us. Watched her blush under Lucian’s attention. Watched Silas silently unravel her with a single look. Watched her come apart beneath their hands while I sat there gripping the edge of my own self-control hard enough to bruise.
But this? This is mine.
The realization hits hard and possessively.
Wren breaks the kiss with a shaky breath, her forehead falling against mine. “Ronan…”
The sound of my name on her lips destroys what little restraint I have left.
My hands slide up her thighs slowly, deliberately, giving her every opportunity to put a stop to this. Instead, her legs tighten around me, pulling me closer like she physically can’t stand the distance between us.
A low groan slips out of me before I can stop it.
“You have any idea,” I murmur against her mouth, “how hard it’s been not touching you?”
Color floods her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. “You seemed pretty in control to me.”
I laugh softly at that, brushing my nose against hers. “Sweetheart, I’ve been hanging on by a thread.”
Resting my forehead against hers, our breaths are loud in the otherwise silent room.
“Tell me what you need, Little Serpent.”
My demand is a deep rasp, practically a growl, as I picture all the things I want to do to her. Now really isn’t the time or place, but fucking hell, the thought of bending her over this table and fucking her raw has me close to coming in my pants like a prepubescent teen.
“I want you,” she responds softly, almost hesitantly, and yet the fire in her eyes blazes with a life I’ve only seen in her a handful of times—once at the hands of my two best friends and teammates. “I want you everywhere. Making me feel good. Making me feel alive.”
“That I can do.”
Drawing her to me, I nip at her lips until they part to grant me entry. Her fingers slide into my hair as she melts against me with a soft sigh, and I swear I could spend the rest of my life chasing that sound.
I inch my hands beneath her skirt until I can loop them in the waistband of her panties.
“There’s one thing I’ve been dying to do ever since I watched you come on Lucian’s fingers,” I murmur as I tug her panties down her legs.
There’s a wildness in her eyes, and a quirk to her lips as she challenges, “What’s that?
” It’s the most unrestrained I’ve seen her, and I vow to make her feel this way as often as possible.
Wren was born to command rooms like this one.
To challenge men twice her age and make them rethink everything they thought they knew.
And underneath all that careful composure?
There’s still something wild inside her. Something aching to be unleashed.
Pushing her legs as far apart as the constraints of her skirt will allow, I lower to my knees. “Taste you on my tongue while you fall apart for me.”
Unable to wait a moment longer, I dive between her thighs. Parting her labia, my tongue circles her clit, eliciting delectable little moans of pleasure. Her hands sink into my hair, pulling on the ends as I follow through on my promise to make her feel good.
She tastes exactly how I imagined, of musk and vanilla shower gel, but there’s a hint of something more, a sharp bite that speaks uniquely of Wren.
Of the part of herself she keeps so buried that I’m not sure she’s even aware it exists—at least not anymore.
Wren knows darkness better than anyone. But there’s light in her too.
Wildness. Joy. And I want to spend the rest of my life coaxing it back to the surface.
Thighs quivering, Wren moans my name. The sound goes straight to my dick, and I groan against her flesh.
I’d love nothing more than to free it from the confines of my pants and sink into her wet heat, but anyone could walk through the door at any moment, and I want to savor every second of being inside her for the first time.
“I’m right there,” she pants, pulling on my hair to the point of pain. All it does is encourage me on, desperate to feel her clench around me as she comes on my tongue.
Determined to give her the hardest orgasm of her life, I lavish her clit with attention. Adding my fingers to the mix, I sink them inside of her, curling them so I hit the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Oh, God,” she moans. Her hips buck, and I can feel her wetness dripping down my chin.
Glancing up, her head is thrown back in ecstasy as she holds on to my hair for dear life.
I take a mental snapshot of how she looks in this moment.
So carefree. It’s one I’m going to pull out later, when I’m alone in bed and thinking of her. “Yes, Ronan. Yes!”
She shudders, every muscle locking up and threatening to suffocate me as she comes. I lick her through her release, drawing out every moment of pleasure. Every moment of her feeling alive.
Because this has never been about just sex for me.
It’s about this look on her face right here.
This lightness.
This freedom.
So yeah, I plan to make her feel like this every fucking day for the rest of our lives.