Page 11 of Dearest Ronan

Rather than get upset over his assumed hatred towards whatever is going through his mind while we’re fused together, I channel my own frustrations into my body—to use against him.

He’s too old for me. I dig my fingernails into his back, feeling small droplets of blood pool under my nails once I reach his outer hips.

He’s upset about his divorce. I thrust my pelvis against him so hard, our bones clack together. This time he grunts in response, only faltering for a moment.

Lastly, and most importantly, I saved myself for a perfect man while he belonged to someone else. I press my heels into the backs of his legs, using the leverage to clash us every time he’s pushing back in.

“Fuck, Anika,” he finally groans out. “I’m gonna paint your pretty pussy so well with my cum.”

My channels squeeze, and I swear to God, I’m about to orgasm from his words alone. Sensing how close I am, he bares all his weight on the left side of his body, while his right hand slips between my pussy lips. Finding my clit within seconds, he starts vigorously swirling it with his thick finger. I never thought I’d be loud during sex, but I am. Voice straining, I cry out.

“That’s it, baby,” Ronan says through clenched teeth. “Let my cock stretch your cunt so good.”

Falling into never-ending bliss, I release all over his magnificent cock and fingers. I’ve never orgasmed so hard. Granted, the only time was by my own hand, but still.

Taking some of my juices with him, he boxes me in with the brunt of his arms as he finishes roughly inside of me.

Head floating, I’m not sure I’ll ever be this happy again. With Ronan hovering above me, his softening dick exactly where I want it inside of me, and his light brown eyes peering down at me, Ronan Steeleisheaven.

But then I realize that I’ve only gotten a glimpse of it, because he’s pulling out of me too soon for my liking.

Soft or not, he’s still too big. I try to withhold the wince, but as he drags his cock out, irritation ignites in the path of his movement. Biting my lower lip, I briefly close my eyes.

When I reopen them, I spot Ronan sitting on his knees, staring down at my poor battered pussy. He sharply inhales a deep breath before raising to my face, his eyes wide in what I interpret as horror. Braving a peek ‘down there’ blood coats his flaccid dick and my inner thighs.

“Shit.” Jumping from the bed like it’s on fire, Ronan rakes a hand through his wavy hair. “I’m sorry, Anika. I’m so fucking sorry.” Torment drips from his words as pure anguish bleeds from his eyes. It’s all wrong. He has nothing to be sorry about.

I scoot to the edge of the bed, pushing through the pain radiating from my core all the way to my toes. Doesn’t he know by now how much he means to me?

Once I’m close enough to touch him, I pull myself up to my knees. He’s too tall, making my eye-line at his upper stomach. I tilt my neck. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

He tilts his chin down, drilling his tortured expression straight into me. “I hurt you.”

“It’s a good kind of pain!” I exclaim, even as a sharp stabbing sensation hurts my poor pussy.

A deep V forms between his thick brows. He doesn’t believe me. “Good, huh?”

“Yes!” I want to tell him everything. That I’m in love with him and have been for almost six years. That he’s better than Carolyn and their stupid overpriced house. And that giving him my virginity had felt like a pipe dream until he made it come true. Ronan plucked my biggest fantasy from an imaginary land and presented it into an elaborate gift.

The pain between my legs reminds me that even if we’re not end-game, for a short time he chose me.

But I can’t tell him all that. No matter how badly I want to, he’s not ready. After all, he’s still technically married. Going through a divorce or not, it hasn’t been finalized. Add in my fear that he still only sees me as his ward, and it’s a disaster.

So instead, I say, “You need to get over Carolyn, and I need. . .” I venture off, trying to mull ideas in my stalled-out brain.

“Need what?”

“Need to live.” I’m still building my career with an associate’s in interior design. Plus, I took a few extra courses in interior architecture and art history. Being the good girl that I am, I’ve paid my bills, graduated on time, and kept my head to the ground and imagination in the clouds.

Now, I stand on a vast edge of opportunity. There’s no school, and no expectations left, except earning money and to enjoy the ride.

He understands—of course he does, because Ronan always understands, but then something else flashes through his face. “I distinctly remember you living plenty when you snuck out of the house in high school.”

“That was different. I felt. . .” Rather than interrupt again, his brows furrow. “Trapped.”Trapped while I heard you and Carolyn having sex.

“You snuck out because you felt trapped?”

I nod. “Yeah, but it wasn’t your fault.”

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