Stolen Hearts (Hearts 1)

“We could change that,” I whispered. “Right now. You could put your cock—”

“Shut up,” he said.

“Inside of me.”

He was rigid. His eyes someplace over my head, and I felt every ounce of control he was using to keep himself from doing what he wanted. I stepped back, away. Pulling the tie of my robe as I went. It slid open, revealing my body. My skin soft and pink from the shower. “It’s never felt good before. But it would with you, wouldn’t it? With us?”

“You think I won’t hurt you?”

“You will. But you’ll make it feel so good, too. That’s what you do to me.”

His eyes on me burned. Like the hottest part of the flame, and it hurt. Everything about him hurt. But god, I loved this pain.

“You could fuck me,” I said, lying back on the bed. My heels on the edge of the mattress. I parted my legs, slipped my hand down over my pussy. “Right here.” I jumped at the brush of my finger over my clitoris. How, I wondered, could I be so tired? So scared? And still want him so much? The world could be coming down around me, and I would still want him. “I could make you feel good, too. The way it’s supposed to be.”

He came to stand at the foot of the bed between my legs. I held my breath waiting for his touch. And when it came, his hand on my knee, I flinched with the pleasure.

“When did you get so bold?” he asked.

“You made me this way.” I dipped a finger deeper inside myself, and he made a sound from his throat, a groan that made me catch my breath. This was some kind of magic between us. We were combustible, and the other held the match.

“You . . . make me want things I can’t have, Poppy.” His voice sounded final. Cold. Like he was halfway out the door. “I won’t fuck you. But I’ll make you feel good.”

“No.” I pushed myself up to sitting. “I don’t want that. I don’t want—”

He kissed me. So sweet, his lips against mine. I opened my mouth to gasp, to breathe, to have more of him. As much of him as he’d let me, and one hand came up to hold my jaw, the other cupped my breast, squeezing my nipple between his hand and his thumb. I groaned into his mouth.

His mouth was a seduction. Long slow kisses. They never stopped. They rolled one into the other. His tongue against mine. He caught my lower lip with his teeth and pulled until I whimpered. It was too much and not enough all at the same time.

“Ronan,” I whimpered, and he pulled away. The kissing over, but he still held my jaw. His eyes on mine.

“You’re fucking killing me, Poppy.”

“Then we’re dying together. I’ve never . . . I’ve never felt this way.”

He said something, his accent so thick and guttural I couldn’t understand it. He pushed me back on the bed. His hand slipped between my legs, and his mouth captured my nipple. I saw stars behind my eyelids, and my hands memorized the feel of his shoulders under his shirt. They were wide and strong, and I clutched them as if I could claim him. As if wanting him so badly I was crazed with it, would grant me the right to call him mine. The way I wanted to call him mine.

And the way I wanted to be his.

“Fuck me,” I breathed. “Please.”

“No, Poppy. I won’t. You’re not for me. You’ll regret even letting me touch you this much.” He shifted like he was going to pull away. Like he was going to stop.

“Ronan.”

He groaned and pressed the top of his head to my chest and shifted his body so my legs were pressed out wide. “You’ll only get fucking hurt if you keep on like this, Poppy,” he said, but his words barely made any sense. His fingers were inside me, and my body was made out of sugar and light and I was losing my grip on everything except him. Everything except how he made me feel.

I grabbed his wrist, keeping him close, and I exploded into a thousand ecstatic pieces. And when I came back together, I was different. Different each time he touched me. He was standing up, moving away. His eyes already shuttered. His thoughts and feelings behind glass.

I grabbed him by the belt, felt the hard press of his cock against the heel of my hand and pressed against it until he groaned. His head thrown back. I was so quick he didn’t have a chance to stop me. To pull against me or push me away. His belt was undone, and I slipped my hand into his pants, catching the hard length of him through his underwear.