Her hands slid under his Henley, skin to skin, discovering lean muscle and heat. He hissed when her nails dragged lightly down his chest. “You’re going to kill me, woman.”
She smiled against his mouth. “Not if you’re lucky.”
He chuckled low in his throat, then stood, pulling her with him. “Bedroom. Now.”
She nodded, breathless, and led him toward the bedroom she currently occupied. They kissed every other step—his mouth on her neck, her hand gripping his arm like she might float away otherwise. By the time they reached her room, they were both a little wild-eyed.
Ronan kicked the door shut behind them.
The moonlight slanted through the lace curtains, painting his face in silver and shadows. His chest rose and fell as he looked at her like she was both the answer and the question.
“Still want this?” he asked, voice hoarse.
The liquor blurred the edges of her thoughts, but not enough to dull the sight of him, standing there like sin in human form, all heat and heartbreak wrapped in one dangerous package. Her breath snagged, sharp and sudden, as if her lungs had forgotten how to work in his presence.
“More than anything,” she whispered, her fingers already undoing the buttons of her blouse. “But fair warning… I’m not gentle.”
He grinned like the devil. “Neither am I.”
Clothes hit the floor in a trail behind them: her jeans, his shirt, her bra, his belt. He watched her like every inch of her was a revelation. And when she stood there bare before him, his expression sobered.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”
She stepped forward and placed his hand over her heart. “Say it again.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Then his mouth was on her collarbone, his hands mapping her like he had all night. She reached for the waistband of his boxers, and he let her strip them off. The moment he stood fully exposed, she drew in a breath.
He was all heat and strength and intensity. Every inch of him was temptation. Her gaze met his, and something unspoken passed between them, consent, connection, something deeper than either one could name.
Her fingers curled around him, hard and pulsing, his heat searing into her skin like a promise. It was power; it was hunger; it was everything she hadn't let herself want until now.
He groaned low, catching her wrist gently, eyes dark with restraint.
"Not yet, love," he murmured, his voice rough with need. "You’ve got me burning, and I’m not about to let this fire go out in a flash. I want to make it last."
He lifted and carried her to the bed.
When he laid her down, he followed, his body pressing into hers with a deliberate slowness that had her arching. His mouth teased her throat, her breasts, her belly—everywhere but where she needed him most.
“Ronan,” she gasped, her breath catching as his fingers found her, slipping between her thighs with maddening precision. He stroked her slowly at first, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves that made her hips jerk and her pulse thunder. Each pass of his touch sent sparks through her spine, unraveling thought, logic, everything except the need building deep inside her.
He watched her, eyes locked on her face, reading every reaction like a map.
“There you are,” he murmured, voice low and wicked. “So damn soft… and already so wet for me.”
“Please,” she moaned.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against her skin, voice low and thick with desire. “And I’ll give it to you. The moon, the stars, my damn soul if you ask for it. Just say you’re mine… and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I’m yours.”
“You, inside me. Now.”
His mouth curved into a sinful smile, and finally, finally, he settled between her thighs.
The first thrust was deep and perfect and made her cry out.
He held her face as he moved, watching her as though memorizing each reaction. “You feel like heaven,” he said, his voice breaking on the words.
