“Goddamn,” I rasp, dragging a finger through her slick folds, watching her fall apart from just a touch. “You’re already soaked for me.”
Her head falls back with a soft whimper. “Stop teasing.”
I don’t stop. I can’t.
I circle her clit, slow at first, just to hear her beg. Her thighs tremble around me, hips grinding against my hand like she can’t stand to be denied.
When I slide one thick finger into her, her breath catches. When I add a second, her nails dig into my shoulders.
“Ronan,” she gasps. “Please.”
I silence her with my mouth, swallowing her cries as I fuck her with my fingers, curling them just right. She falls apart in my hands. Tight and hot and dripping.
I don’t give her time to recover. I undo my pants with one hand, freeing my cock and guiding it to her slick entrance. Her eyes flutter open just as I start to push in.
“You ready, baby?” I ask, every muscle in my body coiled with restraint.
“Yes please,” she breathes, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I want to feel you. Now.”
So I give it to her.
I slide in slow, groaning as her walls stretch around me, hot and tight and perfect. She gasps, her nails clawing into my back.
“Jesus, baby—fuck,” I grit out. “You’re so goddamn tight.”
She clings to me like she never wants to let go, and I start to move. Deep, deliberate strokes that make her cry out with every thrust. The table creaks beneath us, her body rising to meet mine again and again, greedy for more. We move like we’ve done this a thousand times. Like we were built for it. Her moans grow louder, and I cover her mouth with mine, muffling the sound, grinding into her harder, deeper, until she’s trembling all over again.
She falls apart a second time, shattering around me with a cry I feel more than hear.
And I lose it.
I thrust into her harder, my own release barreling through me like a freight train. I bury myself to the hilt, my body shaking as I come, whispering her name over and over again like a prayer against her skin.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. We just breathe.
Then I pull her close, pressing my forehead to hers. “I love you, Eleanor. I fucking love you.”
Chapter Eight
Eleanor
For the next two days, as I go through the motions of my job, unable to steal any more alone time with Ronan, his voice replays over and over in my head. And every night, I’m unable to sleep, remembering his whispered words to me.
I love you, Eleanor.
God.
I should’ve said it back. I should’ve opened my mouth and let it spill out like a damn flood. But I was stunned. Caught off guard. Paralyzed by how real it all felt.
I toss in bed, gripping the blanket tighter. I’ve never been in love before. Not really. What I felt for boys in college wasn’t love. What I felt when I used to daydream about being kissed under the bleachers wasn’t love.
This is different. Ronan is different.
And I love him.
It’s terrifying. It’s reckless. It’s completely insane. But it’s also true. The way I feel will never change. He has put a stamp on my soul. He has possessed me and I don’t mind a bit. I’m his.
So I make a promise to myself as I lace up my shoes and get ready for another long day—I’m going to tell him.
