Page 55 of Yours

When I took a step, I could still feel a residual soreness between my thighs that made my cheeks heat.

The coolness of the penthouse contrasted sharply with the heat still lingering on my skin. The place was so meticulously kept, every piece of furniture perfectly arranged, every surface spotless.

I wandered through the living room, my gaze drifting over the shelves lined with leather-bound books, a few framed photographs of the Irish coast, and a sleek decanter of amber liquid on the bar cart. But there was little else that hinted at the man himself. No clutter, no personal touches—nothing to give away the mysteries I was searching for.

Who are you, Ronan O’Malley?

I found myself drawn to his desk, the surface stark and polished save for a neatly stacked pile of papers and a black leather notebook. My fingers hovered over it for a moment before I pulled back, a flicker of guilt surfacing. But the temptation was strong.

Last night, he’d stripped me bare, not just physically, but in a way that left me exposed and raw. Yet here I was, surrounded by his secrets, and he remained a perfectly wrapped enigma.

I was about to reach for the notebook when the shrill ring of my phone shattered the silence.

I jumped, scrambling to find where I’d left it. The screen lit up with Leena’s name, and I hesitated before answering.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound normal, though my voice came out a bit shaky.

“Kiera! Finally. Where the hell are you? I came back to the apartment last night, and you weren’t there. I’ve been calling!” Leena’s voice was more than a little panicked, the worry in her tone undeniable.

I swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “I… uh, I stayed somewhere else. Don’t freak out.”

“Don’t freak out?” she repeated, incredulous. “You don’t answer your phone, you disappear without a word, and I’m supposed to not freak out? Marco could have kidnapped you!”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered.

“You should be. Did you call Ronan?” she pressed.

I bit my lip, my gaze flicking around the penthouse. “Yeah, I called him.”

“And?” she pressed. “Did he help? What happened? The power at the apartment went out last night—like, completely. Then it came back on this morning. Did it have anything to do with Marco? Did Ronan handle it?”

I sank onto the couch, clutching the phone like a lifeline. “Yeah. Ronan’s handling it.”

Leena let out a relieved breath. “Okay, good. But why didn’t you come home? Did Ronan make you stay with him?”

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. How could I explain what had happened between the two of us? My face heated just thinking about all the shameful things he’d done to me last night.

“It’s complicated,” I said finally.

“Complicated how?” Leena asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, though my pulse raced as I said it. “He’s taking care of everything. I promise.”

Leena sighed, frustration evident in her voice. “You’re sure?”

My cheeks flushed as memories of last night surfaced, unbidden. His hands, his voice, the way his palm had burned with every hard swat, the way his cock felt buried deep inside me…

“I’m sure,” I said firmly, though the lie tasted bitter.

There was a pause on her end before she spoke again, softer this time. “Okay. Just—be careful, Kiera. Please. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

“I will,” I promised, my chest tightening.

“Before I forget, a few men came by this morning and cleared out your closet. Just wanted you to know,” she added quickly.

“That’s odd. I wonder if that was Ronan too,” I murmured.

“Oh, one last thing. I’m going to be out of town for a little while this weekend. You have my number in case you need anything.”

---