Page 91 of Lady and the Hitman
His mouth came back harder, deeper. He sucked, licked, devoured—until every thought, every fear, every question dissolved into pure sensation.
My hips rocked against him, shameless and wild. My hands fisted in his hair, anchoring me to him, grounding me in the only reality I wanted right now—this.
“You feel that?” he asked, voice thick, fingers digging into my thighs like he didn’t want me to float away. “That’s what real feels like.”
I whimpered.
“And this—” His tongue curled, slid inside me. “—this is mine.”
“Ronan,” I gasped, dizzy, ruined, aching.
My head dropped forward, chest heaving as the world blurred behind a haze of pleasure. I could feel everything—his breath, the sunset on my skin, the slick slide of his tongue and the promise in his hands.
Every muscle in my body tensed, curled, reached.
I was seconds from falling apart.
And I didn’t want to do it alone.
“I want you,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could edit them. “Inside me. I want—please.”
He stood in one fluid movement, undoing his belt with a look that could end wars.
My God. This man.
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t want to think,” I said, reaching for him. “I want to feel.”
Something flickered behind his eyes. Dark. Dangerous. Tender.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m going to make sure you feel me for days.”
He pulled me off the railing in one sharp movement, hands gripping my waist like he couldn’t stand the distance another second. My feet hit the deck, but only briefly—he turned me with ease, bent me forward, and pressed my palms flat to the smooth wooden rail. The sun was nearly gone now, casting the marsh in molten shadow, cicadas screaming into the night like they knew what was about to happen.
He pushed the skirt of my dress higher, baring me to the breeze, to the world. To him.
“Look at that view,” he murmured behind me. “That’s mine, too.”
I shivered.
He dropped to a crouch again, mouth hot against the curve of my ass, his stubble a scratch of heaven and hell. He kissed the inside of my thigh—bit it, actually—and I moaned, the sound half-wild, half-shamed.
Because anyone could be watching.
Because I wanted them to.
Let them.
I felt the thick slide of his fingers next, testing, teasing, thrusting into me with a rhythm that made my toes curl against the wood.
“Still so fucking wet,” he rasped, voice strained. “I haven’t even started.”
Then the blunt head of him pressed against me, and every muscle in my body tensed in greedy anticipation. He was thick—impossibly so—hot and heavy in his hand as he guided himself to where I needed him most. I could feel the sheer weight of him, the unyielding promise in every inch. Wide enough to stretch. Long enough to bruise. The kind of cock that ruined you for anyone else.
Ruin me.
He leaned forward, one hand braced beside mine on the railing, the other steady at his base as he teased the entrance of my body with maddening control.
