Chapter 14 Simone
FOURTEEN
Simone
“Ronan—” His name falls past my lips as I look up from my book and my heart jumps inside my chest.
The door’s flown open, and he’s stormed through splattered in blood, heaving ragged breaths, pupils dilated and eyes dark.
I don’t know what to think as he starts across the room at a fast stride. He looks like a madman, like the brutal Irish gangster I’ve always thought of him as.
Yet as Ronan closes in on me and grabs my face in his blood-stained hands, a sense of thrill flutters through me.
He doesn’t speak, not bothering to offer any sort of explanation.
Instead, he ducks his head and plants a deep kiss on my mouth. His lips crush against mine as he holds my face in his hands, and I almost jerk back from the shock of it all.
My body goes still. Except for my hands—they come up to his chest, his heart jackhammering under my palm. He’s operating off the same kind of thrill. Some intense adrenaline that’s pushed him to do whatever the hell he’s been up to this afternoon.
But as my lips part and his tongue sweeps into my mouth, I’m pretty sure I know what.
I know just what my husband’s done… and it shatters any fight I’d normally have. I give into him, heat rushing me as his kiss deepens and I’m left reeling.
Ronan’s covered in another man’s blood. He meant what he said.
Somebody messes with me, they’re messing with him. Now they’ve paid the price for it.
The thought only turns me on more.
Ronan’s hand travels down to the side of my throat while my fingers twine in his bloodied shirt and he kisses me like a madman.
His tongue lashes against my own. His lips claim and dominate and earn the moan I give. I melt into him as he consumes me without apology.
He pushes me further back against the pillows, climbing on top as if I’m the prey he’s trapped. I’m his meal to devour.
He pulls back long enough to look down at me. His eyes are wild and intense, burning into mine. My lips are swollen and tender. He’s husking out deep breaths, sounding every bit the predator he is.
I’m breathing hard too, my chest heaving.
For a second that feels like an eternity, we peer into each other’s face, so locked in we might as well be moths drawn to a flame.
His thumb strokes against the small indentation at the base of my throat.
“It’s handled,” he says, his voice rubbed raw.
Two words that confirm what I’ve already figured out. But they’re two words that make my heart race as fast as his and pussy clench between my thighs.
Any normal woman would be horrified; she’d think her husband a monster.
She’d be terrified of what he was capable of.
But as I peer up at Ronan, I’m only drawn to him more. I’m attracted to my husband in a dark, primal way that excites me. That makes my pulse thrum faster.
I reach up and grab the tuft of hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him back down.
This time, I’m the one who kisses him. I drag his lips to mine, and it’s the final confirmation either of us need—the second our lips touch, we’re going at each other.
I’m gripping Ronan’s hair tight. He’s pinning me down and shoving up my nightie. Our bodies slip into position as I part my thighs and he wedges himself in between. Together we work his belt free of his pants and shove them off ’til they’re pushed down and his hard, dripping cock’s jutting out.
I gasp as he slams into me with no further preamble. Just one quick, hard thrust of his hips, and he’s buried himself deep.
I’ve only had him once before, so it’s a lot to process.
Suddenly my pussy’s stretching to accommodate Ronan Callahan’s big fat dick a second time.
My pussy stings in protest, immediately overwhelmed by his girth and length. But there’s no slowing down now—not in such a raw, unfiltered moment of hot passion and lust.
Ronan grips my hips and returns his mouth to mine. He starts pounding away, setting a fast pace that someone as inexperienced as me can’t even grasp. I’m left reeling all over again, his dick filling me up ’til I can’t possibly take any more.
Yet somehow I do. As my nails sink into his chest and arms and then his back, I find a way. My pussy stretches to fit him, tingling and stinging all at once.
Pleasure builds from somewhere deep. Then it grows, multiplying the more Ronan slams his hips and his cock forces its way inside.
I clench around him, thighs splayed far apart, crying out as he fucks me hard and rough. He collars me by the throat and silences me with kisses that are just as impatient and deep as his thrusts.
Our tongues stroke together. Our bodies collide, showing no signs of slowing down. The once sturdy king bed creaks under the sheer force of our movements—Ronan’s brutal, fast thrusts and my body jutting as I take him.
He pulls back and pushes my knees up, folding me into a new position. I’m suddenly spread in a whole new way as he drives into me again.
Knees by my head, I’m forced to peer heavily lidded up at him. I’m almost tilted upside down as he sinks down into me, burying his dick deep. He grunts like the brute he is, still gripping my throat, applying pressure and making me dizzy.
My whole body is buzzing. My mind is lost in a haze. I’m unable to process anything but the intense pleasure Ronan’s giving me.
It’s all too much, yet my pussy acts on her own. As he bashes away at my sweet spot, she flutters around him and sends a streak of sparks through me. I’m crying, face screwed up in an ecstasy that’s almost painful.
I come like this—trapped in the brutal bliss he brings me and the intense waves of pleasure that wash over my body head to toe. My eyes roll to the back of my head as I swear I see stars. I see the universe, quaking and writhing and breathless from everything.
From Ronan and his domination.
He squeezes my throat and slams into my pussy, grunting out how good I feel.
“So fucking perfect,” he pants. “So fucking slick. Keep clenching that fucking pussy on my cock, princess. Be my good little whore and show me how you work that pussy.”
I’m still in the throes of my orgasm when I hazily obey. I’m not even sure if I’m doing it right, but I clamp down on his cock as he fucks into me. He groans in answer, pumping away a few more times ’til he’s no longer able to stand it.
He floods me with his cum, coating me from the inside in his hot release.
We’re both struggling for air as he collapses on top of me, burying his face in my breasts. He’s out of it and I am too, stroking fingers through his slick, dark red hair.
Minutes must go by before either of us moves. He finally finds the fortitude to roll off me, laying at my side, eyes on the ceiling.
“Fuck,” he grunts. “That was…”
“Intense,” I answer for him.
“Yeah… real intense. Simone, I—”
“Thank you. For doing what you did.” I lean over and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You… you didn’t have to.”
Then I’m rolling out of bed and heading to the bathroom, my body still alight with aftereffects from the orgasm I’ve just had. But I figure it’s easier to clean up than it is to face Ronan and what’s happened between us.
Our moment of carnal passion changes nothing. Once it’s over, we revert back to how we’ve always been with each other: avoidant and tense.
Almost as if we’re both trying to avoid acknowledging the moment. Neither of us wants to address the explosive and undeniable passion between us.
Ronan throws himself into his work, disappearing for hours at a time and coming home later than ever. Sometimes he doesn’t come home at all, and I wake up alone in our bed, the sheets cold on his side.
I’m kept busy with my “set” schedule—hair appointments, trainer sessions at the gym, charity luncheons with other mob wives who smile politely while sizing me up like I’m a threat.
But this time, I don’t have much of a problem with the distance.
Mostly because I’m not sure how to process or make sense of what happened between us that day.
The blood. The violence. The way he looked at me—wild, feral, completely out of control.
The way he kissed me. The way I kissed him back, more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.
What does it say about me that I was so turned on by the fact he’d killed the man who hurt and threatened me? What does it mean that I savored how he’d kept his word when he said he’d avenge and protect me?
That when he told me no other man would ever touch me again my pussy clenched?
I don’t know what that says about me as a person, and I’m not sure I ever want to know.
What kind of woman gets aroused by violence? The same kind of woman who melts into the arms of a man covered in another man’s blood? How could she let him fuck her still covered in that blood?
I try not to think about it. But at night, when I’m lying in bed next to him, I can’t help but remember. The memories come on strong, and then I’m left slick all over again.
My hand’s creeping under the hem of my nightie, and I’m pleasuring myself just to the memory…
A couple days before Thanksgiving, Chantal’s permitted to come over to Callahan House.
It’s the first time she’s visited since I moved in, and I’m pathetically grateful for the company.
None of the Callahans are home except Eddie, who came by to pick up some leftovers from Oona’s cooking. He glances at us as he grabs a Tupperware container in the kitchen and heads out of the room.
So the house feels safe to chat unheard.
I lead Chantal outside to the terrace—a small stone patio with wrought-iron furniture and a view of the overgrown garden and cracked water fountain statue. It’s cold, the November wind biting, but at least out here we have privacy.
Chantal wraps her coat tighter around herself and looks around, her nose slightly wrinkling. “Girl, this place is so dark and moody. I’ve never seen so much tartan in my life. It’s like living inside a Scottish castle.”
I laugh despite myself. “Tell me about it. But don’t let them hear you say Scottish. They are Irish after all.”
“Fine. Irish castle? Are those a thing?”
“Did you really just ask that right now?”