Stolen Hearts (Hearts 1)

But the reality was, I had no idea what to do with him. How to . . . make him feel good the way he did me. He was a man, a dangerous man, with a past I didn’t understand or know. And I was just this foolish flower, sticking my head out of the snow despite knowing I’d be hurt by what I wanted most.

“Show me,” I whispered, coming to the edge of the bed. Stroking him, squeezing him. “Show me what you like.”

Again, he said something I couldn’t understand, but with one hand he shoved his underwear out of the way revealing his cock, and his other hand cupped me behind the neck and pulled me to him.

“Open your goddamn mouth,” he growled, and I did. His cock slipping past my lips. I had done this once before. Damon in the library. And he’d been so nervous and sweet, and he kept asking me if I was all right.

Ronan wasn’t going to ask me that at all. He didn’t care. He had lost control and was using me. And all I could do was brace my hands against his hips as he fucked into my mouth. Long and slow. Faster.

I loved every fucking second.

And then suddenly, he pulled out, his hands still holding my neck. His head bowed so I couldn’t see his face. Panting, aching, I waited for him to continue or to say something. I leaned forward but he held me still.

I felt all of my inexperience. Every night in that bed with the senator, unmoved and just wanting it to be over. Those fumbling sweet moments with Damon who smelled like books and weed. What did I know, what could I possibly know about pleasing this man?

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“For what?”

“For not . . . being what you want?” That made him look at me, not that it mattered. He looked so angry. “For not knowing how to do this.”

“If I could—” He stopped himself, looked at the ceiling. I looked down, wrapping my robe around my naked body. If he could go back, he’d never have talked to me at that party. Or taken me into the room at the gala. If he could do it all over again, it would never be with me.

“Stop,” he said.

“I think—”

He squeezed my neck, and my eyes flew to his. “Open your mouth for me,” he whispered, and he was smiling. Actually smiling. So, stunned, I did what he asked, and he eased forward, slipping his cock back between my lips. He was salty. Wet. Come, I realized. And so hard. Hard against my lips. The back of my throat. And now, now he was looking right at me, and I was looking at him, and I’d never in my life been so connected to someone. So vulnerable and naked.

“Look at you.” He kept breathing like he’d stumbled onto something beautiful and mystifying, and no one had ever talked to me like that. The head of his cock hitting the back of my throat and it was . . . I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t want him to stop.

He pulled away, and I moaned, licking him as he slipped out of my mouth. He stopped, like he might actually walk away. And there’d been too much of that. I put my arm around his hips, pulling him back to me, sucking him down even as it seemed he hesitated.

“I can’t . . . fuck. Jesus. Poppy,” he groaned, and then I felt him surrender. He cradled my face in his hands and shook, coming in my mouth.

It was oddly quiet. And almost holy. He trembled against me, his head bowed, lips moving as if praying, and I languished in it. Reveled in it. His surrender, and ease. The power and communion of touching him like this. Making him feel like this.

I could not ever love this man. It would be stupid beyond even my capabilities. Signing myself up for a pain not even I could imagine. But this intimacy. His slow withdrawal from my mouth. His taste on my tongue. His fingers twitching in my hair. This pinpoint of pain in my heart.

It was a revelation.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” I said.

“It’s sex,” he said.

“I’d feel this for anyone who touched me the way you do?”

He stepped back, tucking himself away. Jerking his clothes back into place when he finally looked at me, he was the stranger I’d grown used to. Everything hidden. Everything gone.

With the senator, I learned self-preservation so well. I was a master. So good in fact, I was barely living. But with this man, I kept throwing myself against his spikes and his stone-face.

He is only going to hurt me.

Suddenly I was exhausted. Down to my bones.

There was no way to hold up my chin. No way to straighten my shoulders for one more cruel word. One more beautiful touch.