Irish Bear's Enemy (Boston Bear Brothers 4)

If she’d been unsure about how he was affecting her, she had no doubt now. He had imprinted on her and was experiencing the same need for her that she was feeling for him. There was no changing that. The lack of control was going to hamper her ability to think straight when it came to him, but she’d just have to push him out and revise her plans a bit.

She sat at her kitchen table with a legal pad and a pen, working on a list of things she’d need to address with the other Omegas and how to work her obligations to them in with her own plans. She had no intention to sell them down the river, but she would need to tread carefully in order not to harm them in the process of achieving her own goals.

Instead, she found herself lost in the memory of last night and this morning with Ronan. He was overpowering, capable of reducing her to quivering jelly with his touch, his kiss, his . . . everything.

They’d wasted no time once they’d left the cafe, kissing on the elevator and pouncing on one another as soon as they were behind the closed door of his room.

Pushing her down onto the sofa, he had knelt in front of her, slipping off her shoes and slipping down her panties from beneath her dress. His eyes never left her own as he slipped each of her ankles over his shoulders so that she dangled there like his own personal decoration. Pushing the hem of her dress upward to expose her lower half, he put his head between her legs, the stubble on his face rough against her already tender folds.

Maeve writhed beneath him as his lips and then his tongue began exploring her open center. He reacted by intensifying his assault. She cried out as he touched just the right places. She wasn’t sure if she was jealous or grateful for the women who must have taught him the skills he had learned before he met her. She was hungry for him, hungry for more of him, but he denied her pleas for him to stop tormenting her and to fuck her instead.

“No. Be a good girl,” he said, his voice reverberating across her folds as he lapped up the flood he was creating within. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him into her as he teased her pussy without mercy until she was giving in to him, exploding in a ripple of orgasms that seemed endless until she had nothing left to give. Ronan lapped up every drop of her climax before moving upward to kiss her, the taste of her pussy still on his lips.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” she told him, no doubt looking ridiculous with her legs still over his shoulders, her bottom half fully exposed and ravaged by his mouth.

“Well, I could stand to eat—again,” he said playfully.

He pulled away from her and helped her up, watching with a smile as she smoothed down her dress. They ordered room service and piled up in the bed to eat club sandwiches and chips before falling asleep folding into one another.

They catnapped through the night, waking periodically to paw at one another and fuck like bunnies again. Each time was even more intense than the next until they both finally fell into a deep sleep, sated and exhausted.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ronan

Ronan watched as she slept by his side. It was strange to think that he could feel so much for someone so quickly. The sheer immensity of it all made him think that perhaps it was just fleeting. How could he possibly sustain such emotion over time?

Still, shifters had been imprinting on one another for centuries. It was the way of their kind, and he would have to come to terms with the fact that he was now mated. The problem was that it was with someone he wasn’t sure he could trust and who possibly had no desire to be mated with him.

Sure, the sex was great, and she seemed completely on board with that, but she had her own agenda. People had a way of fighting feelings when it came to having other options to pursue. Normally, it wouldn’t matter to him. Women came and went. He’d never been one to get attached to them. Now, he might find himself understanding what a loss truly felt like, a loss greater than parents or kin.

“Why are you staring at me, weirdo,” she said, not even opening her eyes.

“How do you know I’m staring at you?” he replied.

“I can feel it,” she said, blinking the sleep from her eyes and stretching dramatically.

“I’m not staring. I’m admiring.”

“Right. I don’t suppose you could admire me up some coffee?”

“I’ll do you one better. How about I order you up a coffee and a full fry for breakfast