Untamed (Hearts 3)

There was something I wanted. Something he’d been keeping from me all this time and his reasons were noble and very nearly kind. But we were past nobility and kindness. If I was his, then he was mine.

“Only if you fuck me. Husband.” The word was an endearment and a curse. I wanted him and I was scared of him.

I could love him if he’d let me and he would undoubtedly destroy me. “You’re my husband.” Whatever control he’d been clinging to snapped in his hands and he fell onto my body, his mouth finding my breast, pulling a nipple into his mouth as he undid his pants, cupped his cock, stroking the length, holding the tip as come oozed out. I wanted to lean down, put him in my mouth. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to be covered in him and by him. I wanted to soak him into my skin and hide him behind my heart.

“I’ve got no fucking condom,” he said in his thick accent, his old code standing strong even under this onslaught.

“I’m your wife,” I said. The word mapped the unknown and treacherous space between us. Wife. It was my key into all the places he kept dark and secret. If he would only let me in. I met his eyes and for a second it was as if Eden and the plane and the danger that waited for us was gone. And it was just us. Ronan and Poppy so deeply mad for each other, so painfully entwined that whatever happened after this didn’t matter. Couldn’t possibly matter.

If I got pregnant, then it was meant to be.

That’s how it felt right now. Like the stars had aligned and I saw the same leap of faith in his eyes. Or maybe it was just the sight of me, wet and pink and his.

“You can’t go back, a chuisle.” The words were practically lost in his thick accent. And then he took my bound hands in his and braced them over my head, and with his other he guided his cock to the entrance of my body. And I was wet and I was ready but he was so big. Between my legs I stretched and burned and I pushed my head back against the mattress. Tears trickled out of my eyes.

“Shhh,” he whispered, stroking my neck, my breasts. “You can take it. You can take it all. Look.” He touched my chin and I looked down, the sight of Ronan’s thick cock splitting me open. “Look at how hot you are. How fucking perfect you are. Such a good girl. Taking my cock. Such a good fucking girl.”

His words became gibberish in my ear as the pain became pleasure and then back again.

“I can’t—” I whimpered. Ronan’s eyes met mine, wild and dark, and I saw in the killer the boy he’d been. Unsure and scared and he would pull out and leave me, that’s how badly he didn’t want me to be hurt. But then he’d be gone for good. I would never get him back.

“Don’t stop,” I breathed. He shook his head. Sweat dripped from his hair and down his face and I reached for him with my bound hands, but he held me immobile, so I lifted my face to his, holding myself close so I could kiss him. Taste him. Breathe him in. He turned his face aside. Like he didn’t want to kiss me. But then he was inside of me and it was all I could do to keep breathing.

“You’re my wife,” he said. “Mine.”

I arched against him, fucking myself on his cock, trying to somehow get closer. How ridiculous was that? He was as close as he’d ever been to me and it felt like he was miles away somehow. Was it Eden?

Was it because I’d forced this issue?

Was it, in the end, that none of this was anything he wanted? “Ronan,” I breathed, wanting to tell him I was sorry. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t sorry at all. I would do it all again to be right here. He put his thumb against my clit and that was all it took. The pain was gone, the orgasm was back, and he was fucking me. Hard thrusts that pushed me back against the bed. We were sweat and skin and moans and gasps and I was coming. I was coming again. And Ronan kept fucking me like he had no intention of stopping, like he could do it forever.

“Ronan,” I breathed. “Ronan. Come. Please. Come.”

I could not come again. I could only slip my bound hands over his head and try as hard as I could not to count my mistakes while they were still happening. I could only try to hold on to my heart, forcing it to stay inside me and not go winging off to settle itself on him. I opened up my body and I opened up my soul and I prayed with everything in me that there would be something of me at the end of this. Some part of myself I hadn’t given him.