“Screw you.” I stare at the wall, at his stupid football uniform peeking out of the closet — basically anywhere but at him.
I try to remind myself that those fantasies weren’t supposed to happen with him. They were meant for my very older and experienced men.
Besides, they were just that — fantasies. Aside from the club, I never thought I would experience them, especially not with someone who doesn’t fit any of my criteria.
How come he was completely off my radar and now he’s the only one on it? How come I see his face when I close my eyes at night and even dream about him?
I never dream about men. I only have nightmares about monsters — or rather one monster in particular.
“Do you realise how beautiful you look right now, belle? You’re all splayed out and ready for the taking.”
My cheeks heat, but it’s not out of embarrassment about my position.
He called me beautiful.
He thinks I’m beautiful.
Why the hell is my heart skipping a beat for that? I don’t want Ronan to think I’m beautiful. I couldn’t care less about it.
…right?
He kneels in front of the bed and parts my legs. I gasp as my skirt rides up to my waist, exposing my cotton underwear.
“Oh, look at that.” He runs his middle finger through my folds over the cloth. I try to clench my thighs, but he slaps them apart, making me yelp.
“You’re wet and soaked and ready for some fucking.”
“Stop saying things like that,” I murmur.
“Like what?” He teases my entrance through the cloth and I arch my back. “Like how hard I’m going to fuck you until everyone hears you beg for more? How loud I’m going to make you scream as you come?”
If my cheeks were red before, they must’ve turned to crimson by now. Never in my life did I think I would be brought to the edge this brutally or that I would be so turned on by dirty talk.
Ronan hooks his fingers in either side of my underwear and slips them down in one go.
“Keep your hands on the sheet.” He speaks so commandingly it causes a tremor to shoot down my spine. “If you don’t, I’ll stop.”
Before I can ask what he’ll stop, his face disappears between my legs and he swipes his tongue from my clit down. My back arches off the bed at the mere contact.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I pant.
“Not him.” He emerges, licking his lips like a lion about to start his meal. “Me.”
And then he’s back to lapping against my folds fast and hard. As if that isn’t enough to drive me insane, his tongue thrusts in and out of my opening suggestively, fucking me, devouring me.
“You’re so delicious, belle. I could eat you all day long.”
A thousand shivers explode on my spine. I reach for his hair, needing the contact, needing to torment him as much as he’s owning me. I’m close, so close to that wave I felt when he was torturing my nipples at the club.
The wave only he can bring.
No orgasm I’ve brought to myself has been as satisfying as that time — not even when I picture him doing it.
The moment I grab a handful of his hair, his tongue leaves my folds.
I whimper at the loss of contact. “W-What? Why…?”
I can’t even speak like a normal human being.