Page 173 of Not Another Yesterday
And the silly thing is? I still live at home. Granted, I’m at Ronan’s apartment more often than not, but I spend at least two to three nights at home, in my own room. And I see my mom at work every day. Apparently that’s still not enough.
I tug at my white sundress. It’s clingy in all the wrong places. Maybe a corset top wasn’t the best idea.
“I don’t really feel like going either, but it makes them happy.” I fan the back of my neck. “Is it me or is it hot in here?”
Ronan chuckles. “It’s you.”
I turn around to inspect the thermostat, even though I already know they keep the apartment cold for me—cold enough that poor Tori’s taken to wearing Shane’s hoodies and wrapping herself up like a burrito anytime she’s over. Even Ronan’s started throwing on extra layers in the mornings, but he never complains. Not once. He just shivers and kisses me and asks if I need anything.
I twist my hair into a knot at the crown of my head and let the cooler air hit my neck. It helps, a little.
“You’re always so damn hot, baby,” Ronan says from behind me, and then his lips brush the curve of my shoulder as his arms slip around my waist, just above the gentle rise of our baby. My eyes flutter closed. I lean back into him, helpless against the pull of his touch, his warmth.
He trails kisses along my neck, and I feel his breath against my skin, feel the way his hands settle—protective and claiming all at once.
“I’d tell you to stop being so horny,” I murmur, “but I don’t really want you to.”
He hums into my skin, and I melt just a little more. “Let’s just skip dinner,” he mutters. “We can eat at home.”
“And what are you going to eat, sweet boy? Me?” I tease with a light giggle.
“Uh-huh,” he groans, his hand gliding down the front of me, slipping beneath the hem of my dress. He strokes back up along my thigh before settling between them, the heat of his palm pressing right where I’m already aching for him. Moist heat pools there so fast. It’s always like this. I’m always needy for him.
My breath quickens as he slips one strap of my dress off my shoulder, then pushes the top down, exposing one breast.
“We’re going to be late,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath, already dizzy from the sensation of his mouth—licking, kissing, sucking—while his thumb circles my nipple.
“Want me to stop?” he rasps, his mouth still warm against my skin. I can tell he has no intention of stopping. And honestly, neither do I.
“No,” I whimper, almost ashamed of how fast the word leaves me.
His hand leaves my breast and dips down again, sliding under my dress to hook his fingers in the waistband of my panties. He eases them down to my ankles, then rises, gliding both hands up my thighs as he bunches my dress up around my waist.
“Fuck,” Ronan growls, his hand splaying over my bare cheek. “That ass is so delicious. Everything about you is. I can’t get enough of you, baby.”
His hand slips back up, cupping my breast again, thumb dragging slow, taunting circles over my nipple. I gasp at the sensation shooting straight down my spine, settling hot and deep between my legs.
His other hand glides lower, between my thighs, to my most sensitive flesh.God.
His fingers part me just enough, and he finds my clit like he’s mapping constellations. He draws perfect, maddening little circles with that familiar, practiced pressure that makes my knees weaken.
I brace a hand against the wall, the other gripping his wrist as I try to press into him, into more, but he keeps it measured, deliberate.
“Ran,” I breathe, my voice breaking around the hunger in me.
“I know, baby,” he says, mouth still at my neck, voice low and raw. “You’re already primed for me.”
It’s true. I’m soaked, drenched, and the slow drag of his fingers over my slick, throbbing skin makes me want to sob with need. He doesn’t push in, doesn’t let me fall apart. He just keeps stroking, circling, teasing.
He’s relentless.
My hips start rocking on instinct, chasing friction, but he moves with me just enough to keep me teetering, never tipping. Pleasure coilstighter and tighter, like a wire pulled taut. My breath is coming in gasps now, thighs trembling, nipples peaked and aching under his touch.
“Please,” I whimper, shameless. I’m so wound up, I’m not sure I could stop even if Tori and Shane suddenly walked in.
“Not yet,” he says, his voice like gravel. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Desperate for me.”
His words make me wetter, make me throb. I want him inside me so badly it’s blinding. I ache for it, for him, for the way he fills me and makes me feel whole, like I’m not just carrying his baby but his entire damn universe inside me.
