Page 6 of Dearest Ronan

Two years hasn’t been long enough.

Inside his bedroom, I notice the steam billowing from his ensuite. Then, the walls begin to move, and fake laminate hardwood press against my bare feet as if I’m walking. My knees flex, and. . . Oh my god! I am! I’m walking!

I urge my legs to stop, beg them even, but they don’t listen. Why would they? Dearest Ronan is only several feet away. He’s so close.

I’m feeling too much, just as mom said.

Except it gets worse, or better, depending on which part of my body is winning. Ronan is completely naked. Of course he is. He’s in the shower.

His brawny arm braces near the shower head, while his right hand tugs on his growing thick cock. I can see it so well because he has a clean glass shower door.

Well, I guess that answers my question. His room is impeccable. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be able to see him stroking himself so well. In fact, I can see every heave of his chest, and more intoxicatingly, every single stretch of his muscles.

He’s single. I’m spying on a single man.

It’s so hypnotizingly erotic that I’m cemented to the floor.

Oh, no.

This is worse than when I couldn’t stop moving. Now, I’m begging my legs to carry me away before he catches me. But it’s more than just cement. I’m hypnotized and my pleas for movement aren’t enough to break the spell.

I press my thighs tightly together. Watching Ronan like this brings a forbidden type of lust that shoots directly to my core.

His long fingers stroke his cock so meticulously. At first, it’s slow, from base to tip. It’s easy to imagine those same calloused fingers brushing against my skin oh so deliciously. With one hand, he’d grip my arm, ensuring that I don’t wiggle from hishold. Meanwhile, his other hand would bring me to my knees with his gentle, yet possessive touch.

My head lulls against the wall behind me as I gaze at Ronan in the shower. At first the door is clear, but now moisture drips down the clear glass, obscuring him just enough to block his detailed muscles on his back and forearms, but not enough to blur the massive outline of his growing cock.

Phantom strokes of intimacy snake down my arms, around my stomach, and settle between my legs while I watch. Following what I need, I slip my hand into my pants, and past the edge of my panties.

Briefly, I close my eyes, but then reopen them. Ronan aggressively tugs on his cock now, eliciting a soft moan from my lips. He licks his bottom lip. What I wouldn’t give for him to lick mine.

Feeling behind, I slip a single finger past my pussy lips and go straight to my clit. For a few seconds, I slowly circle, immediately soaking my finger in my own juices. My legs want to give out from pleasure. Only by sheer force do I remain standing on quivering legs.

Ronan’s nose scrunches in deep concentration. Judging by how his eyes hood and the sound of the water drowns out his mumbling, I know he’s close. Matching his motions, I circle my clit faster, even slipping my finger into my pussy knuckle deep. A slight burn jolts from my core through my spine, but it’s not comparable to how Ronan’s thick throbbing cock would feel inside of me.

Whimpering, I circle faster, matching his thrusts into his hand as best I can against my own. I want us to release together.

Oddly, I don’t feel dirty. A sense of peace washes over me, like this moment is as it should be. On second thought, that may be my pending orgasm talking.

I imagine us together. I imagine the moment as it should be with Ronan pounding into me while I lick the sweat off his chest. Right now, he’s not even looking at me.

My knees wobble as I writhe against my touch, all because I’m imagining it’s him that’s doing it to me. In a way, he is. Without his consent, it’s his knuckles I feel, and his touch I long for. Even the thought of him is too much. I’m unable to stop myself. Although it’s nothing compared to what Ronan could do to me, it still feels good.

I orgasm, watching Ronan’s veiny hands tug mercilessly on his hardened cock. In a sharp gasp, I knock the back of my head fully on the wall but feel no pain. It’s only ever bliss with him.

Coming off my high, I realize in those blissful seconds that brought me wave after wave of pleasure, I’m in Ronan’s bedroom like some kind of voyeur.

I quickly close my eyes, hand still in my panties, and finger still tucked into that oh so special place that belongs to him. Maybe he didn’t hear me. The shower’s loud, and I’m a quiet girl. I’ve learned to be.

Carefully—as if I’ll make less sound the slower I am, like that Taylor Swift lyric—I reopen my eyes.

Familiar light brown eyes stare back at me, only slightly obscured by steam and streaks of water from the glass shower door. Our connection strengths.

His mouth is agape an inch or two, but it’s his eyes I’m drawn back to. Lust and hunger are mixed together, threatening another orgasm to wash over me from his sight alone.

Never leaving my eyes, he continues to masturbate. Except this time, he’s fully facing me, giving me a wet view of his strong thighs that clench with each stroke. He doesn’t seem to mind my blatant peruse of his exposed and dripping body. Actually, his gaze never even falters.

Muscles in his jaw feathers and I don’t need to be in the shower with him to hear his grunts. I’d do anything to swallow them, or better yet, experience him force feeding me with their oxygen.

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