Page 24 of Yours

I hated him. God, Iloathedhim. But that didn’t stop my mind from wandering to the way his voice had dropped when he’d told me to ‘stay still,’ or the way his eyes had lingered on me when I’d finally sat up, red-faced and absolutely wrecked.

Or the way his cock had twitched in my hand.

Or how hard his cock had been…for me…

No. Absolutely not.

I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away. I wasn’t going to let him get under my skin like this. I wasn’t going to let him win. He might have been in charge tonight, but I wasn’t about to roll over and let him think he’d broken me.

Still, as I stole a glance at him—calm, composed, his hands resting lightly on the wheel—I couldn’t help but feel the tension crackling between us. It was electric, suffocating, and no matter how much I wanted to ignore it, it was impossible to deny.

What scared me most wasn’t the thought of him making a move. It was the thought that, if he did, I might not put up a fight.

The car rolled to a smooth stop, the soft hum of the engine cutting out as Ronan shifted into park. I glanced around, realizing we were in a private garage—dimly lit, with polishedconcrete floors and a row of sleek, expensive cars lined up like some billionaire’s personal collection.

“Out,” Ronan said, his voice as calm and commanding as ever.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I wasn’t dressed and the thought of stepping out into the open like this made my cheeks burn hotter than ever.

“Ronan,” I started, my voice shaky with a mix of anger and nerves.

His dark eyes flicked to mine, full of darkness and unwanted promise. “You don’t want to keep me waiting, Kiera. Trust me.”

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting, but there was no point in arguing. He’d made it clear I wasn’t in charge here, no matter how much I hated it. With a shaky breath, I opened the door and stepped out, the cool air of the garage prickling against my heated skin.

Ronan was already waiting for me, his broad frame silhouetted against the faint glowing light as he walked toward a sleek black elevator tucked into the far corner. He didn’t bother glancing back to see if I was following—he didn’t need to.

My bare feet padded against the smooth concrete as I trailed after him, my arms wrapped tightly around myself in a pathetic attempt at modesty. With every step I took, my legs brushed against each other, my arousal seeping down my thighs.

I was only getting wetter.

The garage was quiet, the faint hum of fluorescent lights the only sound as we reached the elevator.

Ronan swiped a keycard across the sleek panel, and the doors slid open with a soft chime. He gestured for me to step inside, his expression unreadable, and I hesitated for only a moment before ducking past him.

The elevator was luxurious, the walls lined with dark polished wood that gleamed under soft recessed lighting. A small control panel displayed a single button that read PH.

Penthouse. Of course.

Ronan stepped in beside me, the scent of his cologne—warm and woodsy—wrapping around me as he pressed the button. The doors slid shut with a quiet whisper, and the elevator began its ascent, smooth and silent.

I pressed my back against the wall, my arms still crossed over my chest hiding my hard nipples as I glared at the floor, determined not to meet his gaze. But I could feel him watching me, his presence as steady and unrelenting as ever.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment, his tone light, but edged with something I couldn’t quite place.

I shot him a quick glare, my cheeks still burning. “What do you expect me to say? That I’m thrilled to be paraded around like this, completely naked?”

I didn’t mention that my ass was probably bright red too. If anyone saw me, they’d know in an instant that I’d just gotten spanked like a naughty little girl over Ronan’s knee.

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile curving at the corners. “You’re not being paraded around, Kiera. No one else is here.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine, and I hated the way they made my pulse quicken. I bit my lip, looking away as the elevator slowed to a stop.

The doors slid open to reveal the penthouse, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

The space was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, the lights glittering like a sea of stars. The open concept living room was anchored by a plush, oversized sectional in a deep shade of charcoal gray, piled high with soft throws and cushions. A fireplace—modern and sleek—flickered with a warm, inviting glow toward the back of the room.

Despite the obvious wealth, the penthouse felt unexpectedly homey. Dark wooden beams stretched across the high ceilings, their rich grain stunning. A handwoven rug, its intricate Celtic patterns subtle and elegant, covered the polished hardwood floors. On the far wall, a collection of framed photographs and paintings hinted at Ronan’s Irish heritage—rolling green hills, a small stone cottage, a rugged coastline battered by waves.

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