Page 3 of Not Another Yesterday
His rhythm breaks, thrusts turning erratic, harder, faster. His body tenses above mine, muscles coiled and shaking as he chases his own high. I watch him, every glorious second, because I love seeing him like this—unraveling, needy, beautiful.
When he finally lets go, it’s with a quiet, broken groan and a final hard thrust. His body seizes, releasing inside me as his head drops to my shoulder, breath hot and fast. God, I love him.
Ronan blinks his eyes open a few moments later, dazed and sated, a lazy smile spreading across his face.
“Sorry I made you late,” I tease, brushing my thumb across the curve of his lips.
He chuckles. “Worth it,” he murmurs, then dips his head to kiss me softly, like he’s memorizing my taste all over again. “You’re always worth it.”
Carefully, Ronan slips out of me, drawing a soft whimper from my throat.
“Might need another quick shower, though,” he mutters as he pushes off the bed and rises to his full height, gloriously naked and unbothered.
I let my eyes roam his body. “I should join you,” I say, lifting onto my elbows with a grin.
He narrows his eyes and snatches his towel from the floor. “Stay away from me, Cat,” he warns, half-laughing. “I can’t resist you, and I really need to get to class.”
I shrug and fall back onto my pillow. “Fine, if that’s what you want.”
Ronan stops mid-step, his towel by his side. “‘Want’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” he says. “Trust me, I’d rather spend all day in this bed with you than sit in a three-hour lecture about biochemical processes, but I really need to go because my final paper is due after Thanksgiving break, and I’m not sure I understand what the hell this class is even about.”
He tightens the towel around his waist, which somehow only makes the pout on my lips deepen. Ronan chuckles as he heads out of the room and down the hall toward the bathroom.
***
“No class for you today, right?” Ronan asks upon his return from the bathroom only a few minutes later.
I stretch my arms over my head, the blanket slipping off my breasts. I grin at the way Ronan’s eyes darken the moment he notices, his jaw flexing. “No class for me today,” I say casually, like I don’t delight at how he reacts to me, even a year and a half into our relationship. “Jealous?”
Normally I’d have my Intro to Psychology class today, but my professor decided to offer up the time for us to work on our term papers instead. I finished that last weekend—an aggressive-overachiever move I’m very proud of—and I gleefully kicked off my Thanksgiving break last night.
Ronan drags his eyes from my nipples and focuses on my face. “Very,” he says with a dry nod, and turns abruptly to open the door to his closet, which really shouldn’t be called a walk-in unless you’re a toddler. It’sthattiny.
“What time do you think you’ll be at my dad’s?” he asks, pulling a hoody over the black Murphy’s long-sleeve he’s already wearing.
“Not sure,” I say. “What time are you done today?”
“At three. Depending on traffic, I should be at my dad’s no later than four. But you can always head over there a little early,” Ronan says, then grins. “Stevie got home last night.”
I perk up. “I thought he wasn’t supposed to come in until today?”
“Yeah, but I guess he decided to skip class today and avoid the holiday traffic. He hung out at Murphy’s until I closed last night,” Ronan says with a smile.
I know he misses his big brother. The two of them are about as close as brothers can be, and Ronan has mentioned a few times over the past three months how weird it is that his brother lives so far away now. “You can interrogate him about his new girlfriend.” Ronan chuckles and pulls on his jacket, the hood of his sweatshirt tugged neatly out from underneath.
“Did he finally fess up to you?” I ask with a giggle. Ronan shared his suspicions with me a few weeks ago that Steve was seeing someone new.
“Nope, but I know my brother. Something’s up.” He leans over and kisses me softly. “I’ll see you later, baby.”
I watch him walk out of the bedroom, then hear the front door close moments later. I sigh. That half hour with him this morning is the most uninterrupted time we’ve had in days, and already that all-too-familiar ache of missing him begins to settle in my chest.
Ronan hasn’t stopped. Not once. He’s all motion, all momentum. He works, he moves, he avoids. He’s all go and no stop. He rarely even stops for me. And he also doesn’t talk—at least, not about the thingsthat matter. Not about his past, and not about the future either. Not evenourfuture.
Sometimes I wish he’d stop. That he’d pause long enough to see that he’s safe now, that he can trust me. But no luck.
So I wait. I give him space, even when it hurts, even when I’m frustrated or lonely or angry. I wait for him to stop running from everything he’s survived. I wait for him to fall into me completely.
I just hope he knows I’m here when he’s ready to land.
