Page 121 of Not Another Yesterday
Too risky.
Cat
Yep, I’m definitely sore now. But it’s not painful per se. It’s a delicious kind of ache, the kind that comes with repeated stimulation, increased blood flow, muscles stretching and clenching again. And again. And again. Still, I’m nowhere near sated—not after months without Ronan—and neither is he, judging by how quickly he came unglued again once he had me perched on the bathroom counter, my ass teetering on the edge, my legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into me at a steady but relentless pace.
Eventually, though, the sounds of life outside the house pull us back to earth, reminding us we’re not alone on this planet. With flushed cheeks and lingering touches, Ronan helps me straighten up, then disappears upstairs to change into jeans and a t-shirt.
Minutes later, after stealing one last kiss, he loads the booze into the truck and we head back to the barn. It’s obvious we’ve been missed.
“Where the hell did you guys go?” Shane asks as Ronan and I make our way back to the reception, where everyone’s gathered around the tables waiting for food to be served.
“We picked up the booze and I needed to change,” Ronan says simply.
Shane laughs. “I’m honestly shocked you stayed in that suit as long as you did. Do you remember my confirmation? You were so grumpy in your shiny dress shoes.”
Ronan chuffs. “They’re the worst. In fact, I’ve got blisters on my heels right now.”
“Dude, the moment I saw the shoes Penny picked out for us, I knew she’d never stepped foot on a ranch,” Steve says with a throaty chuckle.
“Did you guys say anything?” Tori asks.
“Fuck no. It’s Penny’s day,” Ronan says quickly. “We can suck it up for a few hours.”
And that’s one of the many reasons I love him.
“Except the first chance you got, you were out of that getup,” Miranda says, strolling to the table and dropping into an empty chair beside Steve.
I’ve got a whole new appreciation for Miranda—since our talk, since Ronan’s and my reunion. She’s dressed in a flowing periwinkle dress, her hair loose for once instead of in its usual braid, strappy heels dangling from one finger.
“I could say the same for you,” Ronan says, nodding at her bare feet stretched gratefully in front of her.
Miranda shrugs. “Do I strike you as a black-dress-and-heels kind of girl?”
“No,” Ronan deadpans.
Miranda frowns. “Why does that offend me?”
“I don’t know,” Ronan says, unfazed. “It shouldn’t. I’m not saying you don’t look good—I’m saying you’re not usually someone whochoosesto wear what you’re wearing right now.”
Miranda seems satisfied with that response.
“I happen to think you look absolutely amazing,” Tori chimes in, raising her champagne glass toward Miranda in a casual toast.
“I agree,” I say, snagging what looks like an orphaned glass and mimicking Tori.
Miranda smiles widely. “Aww.”
“Are you going to sing some more after we eat?” I ask.
“Probably,” Miranda says with a quick nod.
“Speaking of singing,” Shane says, leaning forward on his elbows, suddenly all business. “You’re pretty great on stage,” he tells Miranda, then grins at Ronan. “You, too, man.”
Ronan squints at his best friend like he’s trying to detect sarcasm.
“I’m serious, Ran,” Shane says, then turns back to Miranda. “Would you ever consider coming to New York and performing?”
Miranda’s eyes go wide, jaw dropping. “Fuck yes,” she says without hesitation.
