The Darkest Temptation (Made 3)

“I have no idea, but I can tell you how many I’ve gone down on.”

“And?”

“Four.”

Oh. That number was a lot smaller than I assumed. Still three more than I’d prefer to think about though. I pulled my lip between my teeth, wondering why he didn’t do it often.

“You don’t like it?”

A smile touched his lips as he kissed the hollow behind my ear. “I like it just fine.”

I shivered. “Then why only four?”

“Because it reminds me of shit I’d rather not think about.”

My chest suddenly filled with unease. His posture was relaxed and unmoving as he trailed his lips down my neck, sucking a spot hard enough to leave another hickey behind, but my imagination spun with a cold reality I found hard to stomach.

“You don’t have to tell me anything . . . but my mind’s thinking up the worst right now.”

He chuckled against my throat. “It’s probably right.”

My muscles tensed. “Ronan . . .”

“Relax. I wasn’t abused. Not that way at least.”

I exhaled, my body slackening, but I was still too disturbed to enjoy the press of his mouth. By the slight pause in his posture, he noticed my discomfort and sighed.

“My mother was a drug addict, kotyonok. Wouldn’t doubt if I was born one too.” He skimmed his lips across my frantic pulse point as if he was trying to reassure me. “She fucked to support her habit and was usually so high she had no idea what she was subjecting her sons to. My brother had it the worst. I just became very familiar with spots that can decently hide a five-year-old.”

My entire body was cold besides the burning in my eyes.

“Your brother was . . .” I couldn’t say the rest, but I didn’t need to.

“Da.”

“And you had to . . .” Watch?

“Da.”

Oh, God. I was going to be sick. How could a mother do that to her own child? The idea of how unloved and scared Ronan and his brother must have felt tore at my heart.

After a moment of silence, Ronan pulled back to see the tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Fuck,” he cursed softly. “I told you, nothing happened to me.”

I shook my head because the fact he could see it that way and be so indifferent to it told me he’d been through things nobody should ever have to go through.

A tear ran

over my lips. He licked it away and then kissed me, slow and steady, until I found the will to return it. The stress faded beneath the press of his mouth, a kernel of warmth growing.

He ended the kiss. “Your turn.”

What?

Oh, right. His questions.

“Um . . . two,” I said unsteadily. “Two have touched me . . . that way.”