Broken Hearts (Hearts 2)

I could hear that ripple of laughter under his words. “Yes.” I sounded prim to my own ears.

“You’re thinking the woman I called to find the box was my missus?”

“Or something like that.”

“Princess.” He set down the pill bottle and braced his hands on the headboard over my head. I could smell the freshly washed scent of him. The bow of his arm muscle and the dip where it turned into his shoulder were close enough, should I choose to, I could turn my head and bite him. Looking at the black patch of hair in his armpit made me feel like he’d been kissing me for hours.

“Niamh is my landlady.”

My eyes flew to his only to find him laughing at me. “You don’t live at Caroline’s?”

“She keeps her pets in her house. Not her monsters.”

“You’re not—”

Ronan talked over me. “Niamh had to leave the United Kingdom in 1982 or be tried for treason. Made her way to New York City and rents out part of her place to good Northern Irish lads like me.”

“Ronan!”

“I’m serious.” He was smiling again, almost laughing, and in all this time with him, I’d never seen him so relaxed. “She’s seventy-two years old and can handle herself if anyone gives her trouble.” He tilted his head; he was so beautiful when he smiled. It was hard not to smile back. It was hard, actually, not to put my arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss me.

God, I wanted him to kiss me.

“Were ya jealous, macushla?”

His accent was so thick I couldn’t understand what he was saying. “What—?”

“Were you jealous, princess?” he asked, clearly this time, dropping some of what he’d said. “Thinking I was putting my tongue in another woman’s cunt?”

I started to shake my head, not wanting to give him that much knowledge. That much power over me.

“I thought we weren’t lying to each other anymore.” He cupped my face, his thumb at my lips, forcing me to meet his eyes. “So?”

“Yes,” I whispered. Caught. Immobile. “I was jealous.”

“It was only you,” he said. He brushed his thumb over my lips and then stood. I grabbed his hand before he could step away. This was ridiculous. I was . . . ridiculous. It was like standing in line to get knocked down and then, after getting knocked down, getting back in line to do it again.

Why did I want this pain so much? Why was I begging for him to hurt me?

“Poppy,” he breathed. I saw his dick twitch beneath the towel, push against the white flowers. I put my hand over him, my fingers curling under the edge of the frayed fabric. He hissed in a breath like I burned him, and I liked it. I wanted that same fire to burn me.

With my fingers around his wrist, I pulled him closer, putting his hand under the blankets over the beat of my heart. His fingers were cold against my warm skin.

And he didn’t stop me. Not even a little.

“All this talk,” I said, “of cunts and tongues . . .”

His laughter was a solid bark of delight and I smiled in reaction. What a pleasure it was to please this man, and I wanted more. I pulled the towel out of the way, and his gorgeous cock was getting thick and hard right in front of my eyes.

I pushed his hand further down my body, over my breasts, down the smooth soft skin of my belly, while I reached for his cock.

“No,” he said, shifting away from my touch.

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why.”

I tried to wiggle away, push his hand off my body, but he was steadfast.

“I don’t want you touching me,” he said. “But I still want to touch you. You want me to stop?” His hand curled over my thigh and down between my legs. “You’re wet, Poppy, but the words matter.”

“They didn’t before,” I whispered, remembering the way I’d asked him to stop, and he’d pushed aside those words like they’d been made of paper and feathers.

He was silent, offering no other explanation. But if I said no, he’d walk away.

My whole body hurt with hunger for him. For the sweet violence of his touch. For the way he swept my mind clean.

And Ronan walking away was the last thing I wanted.

“Yes,” I moaned, and the word was barely out of my mouth before his fingers slid down through the slick flesh of my pussy into the heart of my body. I bowed up off the bed, invaded and overrun by his touch. By the enormity of him. By the enormity of what I wanted.

Everything. I wanted every-fucking-thing.

He pulled the blankets off my body with his free hand before claiming my breast with his rough touch. I put my hands against the headboard and pushed myself down onto his fingers between my legs.