Chapter Five — What Happens Behind Closed Doors #2
“Bed,” Ronan muttered against his throat. “Now.”
They made it to Ronan’s room in a tangle of mouths and hands.
The door kicked shut. Ronan dropped Elliot onto the mattress and followed him down, knees bracketing Elliot’s hips.
He stripped the rest of their clothes with impatient efficiency—jeans shoved down, boxers kicked away—until they were bare.
Ronan’s cock sprang free, heavy and flushed dark at the tip, a bead of precome already slick at the slit.
Elliot’s own was just as hard, curving up against his stomach, the head shiny and leaking.
Ronan settled between Elliot’s spread thighs, the blunt heat of his cock sliding against Elliot’s.
He ground down once, slow, letting them feel every ridge and vein. Elliot’s breath stuttered.
“Look at me,” Ronan said.
Elliot did. Ronan’s eyes were steady, intent.
He reached between them, wrapped a hand around both cocks, and stroked—tight, deliberate, thumb spreading the wetness so the slide turned filthy and smooth.
Elliot’s hips jerked. Ronan kept the pace unhurried, watching every flicker across Elliot’s face.
When Elliot tried to surge up and take control again, Ronan pinned his wrists to the mattress above his head with one hand.
The other kept working their cocks. Elliot tested the hold; Ronan’s grip only tightened.
“You want to be mine?” Ronan asked, voice low. “Then you take what I give you.”
Elliot’s answer was a bitten-off moan. Ronan released him only long enough to reach for the lube in the nightstand.
He slicked his fingers generously, then pressed one against Elliot’s entrance.
The first push was slow, careful—knuckle by knuckle—until Elliot’s body opened around him.
A second finger joined, scissoring, stretching.
Elliot’s thighs trembled. Ronan curled his fingers and found the spot that made Elliot’s back arch off the bed, a sharp cry tearing free.
“Fuck—Ronan—”
“That’s it.” Ronan’s free hand stroked Elliot’s cock in the same rhythm, twisting over the head on every upstroke. “Good boy. Open up for me.”
The words landed like a brand. Elliot’s cock throbbed harder in Ronan’s fist, another thick pulse of precome spilling over his knuckles.
Ronan added a third finger, working him open until Elliot was panting, hips rolling down to meet every thrust. When Ronan finally withdrew his fingers, Elliot made a desperate sound.
Ronan slicked his own cock thoroughly, the thick shaft glistening, then lined up.
The blunt head pressed against Elliot’s stretched rim.
He pushed in slow—inch by inch—watching Elliot’s face the entire time.
The stretch burned sweet. Elliot’s walls clenched around him, hot and tight, and Ronan groaned low in his chest as he sank deeper until his hips were flush against Elliot’s ass.
They stayed like that for a long moment, both breathing hard.
Ronan’s cock twitched inside him, fully buried.
Elliot’s hands found Ronan’s shoulders, nails digging in.
Then Ronan started to move. Deep, measured thrusts at first—pulling almost all the way out so Elliot felt every ridge, every vein, before sliding back in to the hilt.
The wet sound of it filled the room. Elliot’s cock leaked steadily between them, smearing against Ronan’s abs.
Ronan shifted the angle, and the next thrust dragged directly over that sensitive spot inside.
Elliot cried out, legs locking tighter around Ronan’s waist.
“Harder,” Elliot demanded, voice wrecked.
Ronan gave it to him. He drove in deeper, faster, the slap of skin on skin turning sharp.
One hand braced beside Elliot’s head; the other gripped Elliot’s hip hard enough to bruise, holding him exactly where he wanted him.
Elliot’s body jolted with every thrust. His cock bounced against his stomach, neglected and aching.
Ronan leaned down, mouth finding the curve of Elliot’s shoulder.
He bit—hard. Teeth sank into muscle, marking.
Elliot’s entire body clenched around him, a raw moan ripped from his throat.
Ronan soothed the mark with his tongue, then bit again lower, on the collarbone, then the side of Elliot’s neck.
Each one left a dark, possessive bruise.
“You’re mine,” Elliot gasped, even as Ronan fucked him harder. “Say it—”
Ronan’s hips snapped forward, burying himself deep.
“You’re mine because you choose it.” Another thrust, brutal and perfect.
“Because you want this.” He wrapped a hand around Elliot’s cock and stroked in time with his thrusts, tight and relentless.
“Because you’re my good boy.” Elliot shattered.
His orgasm hit like a wave— body locking, walls fluttering and squeezing around Ronan’s cock in rhythmic pulses.
Thick ropes of come striped his own stomach and chest, some catching Ronan’s hand.
Ronan kept thrusting through it, chasing his own release, the clench of Elliot’s body dragging him over the edge.
He came with a guttural groan, burying himself to the root as he spilled deep inside—hot pulses flooding Elliot, filling him until it leaked out around the base of his cock with every final grind.
They stayed locked together, trembling, breathing hard.
Ronan’s forehead dropped to Elliot’s. Sweat-slick skin, the sharp scent of sex, the slow drip of come between them.
Elliot’s fingers traced the bite marks he’d left on Ronan’s lip and the ones Ronan had left on him.
His voice was quieter, still edged with the thing that hadn’t fully quieted.
“You’re still mine.”
Ronan kissed him slow, tasting blood and salt.
“I know.” He didn’t pull out right away.
He stayed inside, soft and warm, until the jealousy in Elliot’s eyes eased just enough to let something softer through—reassurance, for now.
Not a cure. Just this: Ronan choosing him, body and all, in the dark of the bedroom after the party.
The bedroom smelled like rain. Elliot noticed it before anything else.
Ronan had left the window cracked before they'd gone out, and the storm earlier in the week had given way to a colder, cleaner night.
Damp earth and fallen leaves drifted through the narrow opening, mixing with the familiar cedar scent of Ronan's sheets.
Elliot lay on his side. Ronan was on his back beside him.
Neither had spoken for several minutes. The silence wasn't awkward. It rarely was between them. Elliot's fingertips moved lazily across Ronan's chest. He found the mark near his shoulder without looking. Ronan caught his hand.
“Leave it alone.”
Elliot smiled.
“Why?”
“Because you've checked it eight times.”
“Maybe I'm concerned.”
“You're admiring it.”
“Can it be both?”
“No.”
Elliot looked. The mark was darker than the one he'd left earlier in the week. Good. Ronan followed his gaze.
“You're a fucking vampire.”
“Wrong genre.”
Ronan laughed. Elliot rested his head against his shoulder. For a while, he listened to Ronan breathe. Slow. Steady. The sound settled something inside him. Then Ronan ruined it.
“You know I'm still going to be friends with Dylan.”
Elliot's fingers stopped.
“Why would you say that right now?”
“Because you need to hear it.”
“No, I don't.”
“Yes.”
Elliot lifted his head. Ronan looked at him.
“You don't get to decide who I'm friends with.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I know.”
“You don't act like it.”
Elliot rolled onto his back. The ceiling beams disappeared into darkness above them.
“I don't like him.”
“Clearly.”
“He wants you.”
“So?”
Elliot turned his head.
“So?”
Ronan looked completely serious. Something ugly stirred.
“You really don't understand why that bothers me?”
“I understand.”
“Doesn't sound like it.”
“Understanding and agreeing aren't the same thing.”
Elliot looked back at the ceiling. Ronan shifted beside him.
“Elliot.”
“What?”
“You trust me?”
“Yes.”
Immediate. That part was easy.
“Then trust me.”
Elliot frowned. Trust Ronan. Of course he trusted Ronan.
That wasn't the problem. The problem was everyone else.
People wanted things. They pushed. They lied.
They waited for weaknesses. Sometimes they took what didn't belong to them simply because nobody stopped them.
Elliot understood people. He'd spent most of his life studying them without ever thinking of it as studying.
The way someone's voice changed when they wanted approval.
The way their eyes moved toward whatever they desired before they admitted desiring it.
Dylan looked at Ronan like he remembered touching him. Elliot hated that.
“I'm trying,” Elliot said.
Ronan was quiet. Then his fingers brushed Elliot's hair away from his forehead.
“I know.”