“Who’s your type now?” He gives me an arrogant grin I’m not even able to react to. I’m busy trying to contain the last burst of pleasure swirling through me.
Ronan skilfully unhooks my skirt and drags my wet underwear down my shaking legs then throws them amongst the rest of my clothes on the ground. “You’re my little whore now, aren’t you, belle?”
“I’m not a whore.” I try to argue, but my voice is too breathy, too lust-filled.
“You’re my whore. Only mine.”
He stands up abruptly and I fall down on the sofa, my mind filled with jumbled thoughts. “What—”
My words are cut off when he gets rid of his trousers and boxer briefs in record time and then his shirt follows.
I gawk, like an idiot. I couldn’t stop gawking even if I wanted to.
Ronan is beautiful like a god, an immortal, a legend. I was never one of those girls who stopped and stared at abs. Hell, I saw his abs in his million pictures posted on Instagram, and I never thought of them as beautiful like I do now.
Maybe because now, something other than his physical beauty is visible to me.
I can see his scars, not like the ones on my knees, but the scars hidden underneath that six-pack and that charming smile. The scars no one sees but are known of by him, the scars he hides from by being with people.
After all, the most painful scars are the invisible ones.
I’m still studying him, getting my fill of him, but he doesn’t even allow me that. He yanks me down on the sofa, the leather creaking, and looms over me, kicking my legs apart with his strong knee.
They do part. Of their own volition, they just…part.
I’ve never liked missionary sex, never liked looking at their blurred faces, but now? God, now, if he flips me over and takes me doggy style like I always demand, I might start crying.
I place a palm on his cheek and kiss him. I kiss him so hard I’m almost sure I’m sucking his soul out in the process. Ronan grunts in my mouth as he kisses me back with all his intensity.
He reaches between us and wraps a condom on his cock.
“I won’t take it easy on you, belle. I won’t speak love words in French in your ear or make love to you. I’m going to fuck you and hurt you and you’re going to love every second of it.”
His mouth goes back to mine as he thrusts inside me in one ruthless go.
I grip his back for balance as the air is knocked out of my lungs.
Oh. God.
This force is nothing like I’ve felt before. Ronan picks up his pace and fucks me hard and dirty.
Like he said it would, it hurts. He’s big and he doesn’t finish fast.
No.
He goes on and on. He fucks like he wants to hurt me, like he wants to engrave himself under my skin so he’s the only thing I feel, the only one I smell and taste.
And he is.
My senses are overwhelmed by his spicy scent, by the low growls he emits as he drives his cock deep inside me over and over again.
It’s like he’s punishing me for everything that’s happened over the last couple of days. He’s making me delirious with both pleasure and pain. A sob echoes in the silence, and I soon realise it’s my own.
He’s owning me body and soul, and I have no way to stop it or to put it on pause. All I can do is ride it, let him take me, float with me.
And it’s the most freeing sensation I’ve had in my entire life.
Do I even want to stop this? What if, all those times I’ve been thinking about belonging, I’ve been approaching it the wrong way? What if this — this overwhelming pounding — is all I’ve been waiting for?