Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
As I dig deeper, I find a napkin with my lipstick print on it. Another thing he must have retrieved from the club. One of my tank tops. Photographs of me from my apartment. Even a couple pairs of my lace panties. One pair in particular, I remember well. They are the same panties I was wearing when he killed Blaine and took me for the first time.
I’m still staring at all of it in shock when the door cracks open, followed by a sharp intake of breath. There’s a pause, and then Ronan stalks over and starts shoving everything back into the box with his cheeks flushing a furious shade of pink.
He reaches for the earring, and I snatch it away.
“That’s mine,” I tell him.
He isn’t looking at me. I’ve never seen him so embarrassed. So stiff.
“Ronan,” I call out to him, and finally his eyes snap down to mine. “Why do you have all this stuff?”
He doesn’t answer me. I want to hear him say it. He reaches for the earring again and I close my fingers around it.
“I like this earring,” I protest. “I thought I lost it.”
He stares at me like I just took away his favorite toy. And then with a huff, he takes the box to his closet and shoves it up onto the highest shelf where I can’t reach and into the dark shadows. I’m staring at his back while I choose my next words carefully.
“I’m right here,” I tell him. “Why do you need the earring when you have me?”
He turns around slowly and glances at me from across the room. And then his eyes move to the door. He’s probably thinking about bolting and locking me in again. But I’m not about to let that happen. So I go to him.
One terrifying step at a time. Logic be damned.
When I reach him, I grab the lapels of his suit and smooth my hands over his chest. I wrap my arms around him, and he tenses.
“What are you doing?” he asks suspiciously.
“Hugging you.”
He just stands there, arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. His hair is disheveled for the first time since I’ve known him. He’s flustered. His breathing accelerated. And his eyes are darting over me, trying to anticipate my next move.
“Is this okay?”
He clears his throat. “It feels… okay?”
I drag my hands up and over his broad shoulders to the warm skin of his neck.
“Do you like me touching you, Ronan?” I ask. “Because sometimes I can’t tell.”
“Aye,” he answers, his voice husky. “I like it very much.”
He’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful.
“When you touch me, it feels different,” he adds. “Nice.”
The gravity of that simple statement knocks me off balance.
“Hasn’t anyone ever touched you in a nice way before?”
There are no words in response. But his body and his eyes tell me everything I need to know. Ronan Fitzpatrick is an iceberg. He only shows the world the smallest and safest parts of himself. But inside, underneath, is a wealth of hidden discoveries. I want to know them all.
I cling to him and lay my head against his chest. After a while, he seems to get the simple concept of a hug. His hands wrap around my waist and rest on my back. And even though it’s the most awkward hug I’ve ever had, it’s also the best.
“You don’t have to keep me locked in the room,” I tell him. “I won’t leave until you say it’s okay, Ronan. Because I trust you. I trust that you’ll protect me.”
He makes a small grunt of approval. But I’m honestly not sure he even heard me. Because he’s staring at the place where my breasts are pressed against his chest. He likes that. Judging by the bulge digging into my stomach, he likes it a lot.
Knowing the way that Ronan is, I anticipate it’s only a matter of time before he’s throwing me down and fucking me again. But before things can even get that far, I reach for his hand and pull him back to the bed.
I tell him to sit down. After a moment’s hesitation, he does. And when I drop down on my knees before him, I have his undivided attention. My palms rest on his thighs, massaging the solid muscle beneath before I go any further. His pulse drums against my fingertips, betraying how much he likes this too.
“We don’t have a condom,” I remind him.
My palms are slowly creeping up his legs while I speak, keeping his attention focused on how he feels instead of the words. When I reach the bulge straining against the zipper of his trousers, I palm him through the material and then tug. He makes another sound in his throat, and his eyes flutter shut.
I pull his cock free from his briefs, toying with it while I work up the nerve for my next question. He looks huge in my hands. Pure male perfection. And the thing is, he doesn’t even know it. He just wants me. My touch. My hands on his body.