Page 11 of Her Outlaw Prisoner
I smirk, wrapping my hand around her waist to tug her closer. “I bet you enjoy treating me, though.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, but she doesn’t pull away. Her eyes meet mine, her hands lingering on my skin. “What exactly do you want from me, Ronan?”
Her question lingers between us, her gaze shy but steady. She’s testing me again. Pushing. Seeing if I’ll…snap? It’s almost like she wants me to snap.
I slide my hand up her waist, slowly, deliberately…the fabric of her scrubs soft beneath my palm.
“What do I want?” I murmur. Her breath hitches as I lean in, just enough for her to feel my warmth, for my breath to graze her skin. “I think you already know.”
Her fingers press into my ribs, not to check for bruising this time, but to hold me there. It’s subtle, the way her hands tighten against me, but I notice.
She wants this. Even if she’s fighting it.
She tilts her chin up, just a fraction, but it’s enough. Enough for me to see the war waging in her hazel eyes. Enough for me to decide that I’m done waiting…
I move slowly, giving her time to stop me. But she doesn’t. My lips brush against hers, softly at first. Just a whisper of a kiss. Just enough to taste her. She exhales sharply, like she’s been holding her breath this whole time.
Again, she doesn’t move away. She doesn’t tell me to stop. Instead, her fingers tighten in my shirt, pulling me closer. I let her. I want her to.
She’s been testing boundaries since the moment we met…pushing, teasing, seeing how much I’ll allow. And the truth is, when it comes to her, I’ll allow a lot more than I should, more than I ever would with anyone else…
I cup her jaw, tilting her face up. Her skin is warm, her pulse racing under my fingertips. “Last chance to stop me, baby,” I murmur.
Her lips part, her breath shaky. But there’s no hesitation in her eyes anymore. “Don’t stop,” she whispers.
I don’t.
I kiss her deeply, like I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for this moment. She gasps into my mouth, her fingers curling into my shirt, holding on like she needs me to keep her grounded. I slide my hand down her back, pulling her flush against me, and fuck…she feels perfect.
Soft, warm, mine.
I let her take control at first, let her have me the way she needs to. She moves against me, lips searching, hands greedy, hungry.
But then something shifts.
Her nails dig into my chest, her tongue teasing against mine, and I lose the last shred of patience I have left. I grip her hips and switch places with her, lifting her onto the exam table in one swift motion. She gasps against my mouth, her thighs spreading to make room for me to stand between them.
I step in, pressing against her, swallowing the soft moan that escapes her lips. She likes this. Likes when I take charge, when I make her feel small and overwhelmed in the best fucking way. But she also likes the control—likes knowing she can push me, pull me, drive me crazy.
I let her pull my shirt, let her tug me closer, let her take what she needs from me.
Because I’ll give her anything. Everything.
Her hands slide up my arms, gripping my shoulders, nails biting into my skin. I drag my lips from her mouth, down her jaw, then lower, tasting her. She trembles beneath me.
“Ronan,” she breathes.
My name, from her lips, is the most dangerously sexy sound in the world.
I smirk against her throat, dragging my teeth along her skin. “You like this, baby?”
She doesn’t answer with words. She just moves against me, desperate and reckless, her body telling me everything I need to know.
I groan, hands gripping her hips, pressing her harder against me. “Tell me, Eleanor.”
She shudders. “Yes,” she pants. “Yes, I like it.”
Those whispered words nearly undo me.
