Page 51 of Yours

His smirk deepened, his gaze piercingly dark, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

The silence was thick, charged with a tension that left me reeling.

“Say it again,” he said finally, his tone low.

“Ronan, please,” I breathed, the words barely audible.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.

“Again,” he repeated with an edge I couldn’t ignore.

“Please,” I said, the word shaking with the effort of forcing it out. “Please let me come.”

I could barely believe the words were coming from my mouth, but I couldn’t deny the need pulsing through me, the ache in my core that wouldn’t go away.

“You have no idea how tempting it is to keep teasing you,” he said softly, his voice sending a shiver down my spine. “To draw this out, to make you beg, to make you desperate for release. But the truth is I want to watch you fall apart.”

“Oh, please,” I begged.

Ronan’s hand slid between my legs, his fingers finding my swollen clit, and the pleasure was instant, the pressure mounting faster than before. He circled the sensitive bud with deliberate strokes, and I couldn’t stop the moan that spilled from my lips, my hips bucking against his touch.

It felt too good, the pressure coiling inside my core, and I couldn’t hold back the need building inside me.

“Come for me, love,” he growled, his fingers moving faster.

I came hard. My legs shook, my back arching as the orgasm slammed into me. I gripped the table, the sharpness of the wood biting into my palms, the sensation grounding me even as the waves of pleasure crashed over me.

White-hot ecstasy burned through my every limb, making my toes curl and my asshole tighten around his thick digit. Pain and pleasure twisted together until I could no longer tell left fromright or up from down. My head spun, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the last tremors of the orgasm subsided. I leaned heavily against the table, the cool surface soothing against my flushed skin.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, and he pulled his fingers free from me.

I heaved a shaky sigh of relief. My asshole was sore, and even though Ronan had used my own arousal as lubricant, it was still incredibly sensitive.

He didn’t move from his position behind me.

“You may pull your dress back down, love,” he directed, and I reached back and did as he bade me, knowing he was watching every moment of my shame. “Now let’s go finish your dessert.”

CHAPTER 18

Ronan

The early morning sun barely cut through the dense New York fog that clung to the city as I stepped into the back room of O’Malley’s. The bar was ours—had been for decades—but this room, soundproofed and locked tighter than a politician’s vault of secrets, was where business got done.

For the time being, I had to put my feelings for Kiera aside. It was time to talk shop.

And to take care of a problem I’d been meaning to take care of for a very long time.

Kiera hadn’t known this when she’d asked for my help, but Marco Benedetti had always been a thorn in my side, the kind of spoiled bastard who thought his father’s name gave him free rein to do as he pleased.

It was enraging.

For years, he’d been testing boundaries with me—not just in business, but in the subtle ways that grated at a man’s pride. He’d cozied up to my business contacts, slipping just enough cash under the table to lure away a few low-level operators. He’d shown up uninvited to our clubs, making a scene like he owned the place, and worse, he’d used our spaces as his playground. I’d seen how he treated women. I didn’t need to hear it from Kiera. He was an asshole that deserved a swift kick in the nuts.

And while I could let a lot of things slide for the sake of peace between families, Marco’s ambition had started to reek of arrogance, and if there’s one thing I couldn’t stomach, it was a man who didn’t know when he was out of his depth.

It was time I finally took care of him.

Around the long mahogany table, my men waited, drinks in hand. Finn, one of my underbosses, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his usual cocky smirk gone. He was young, green in some ways, but loyal and more intelligent than most gave him credit for. Seamus, my most trusted underboss, had his hands clasped on the table, his expression unreadable. Declan, our tech genius, was already typing on his tablet, and Bradan, my enforcer, stood off to the side, his arms folded like he was ready to punch a hole in the wall.

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