Page 3 of Bad at Heart

Shawna selects her lipstick, making a skeptical noise. Setting my shoulders, I strut out of the dressing room as the first strains of my set ring out. Stepping through the curtains onto the VIP room stage, I smile at the loud cheers.

I immediately head to the pole, working it hard to whistles and applause. My gaze darts around the crowd as I spin around the pole, shaking my shit.

Ronan isn’t here. Good. Time to set my plan in motion. I’m not an idiot. Lap dances are completely out. But the topless thing…. Well. It’s not like anyone is going to be touching me.Hedoesn’t touch me. He doesn’t get a say.

Moving to the stage floor, I shake my ass and tits, working my way through my routine. Swaying my hips, I turn my back on the crowd, so they can see me reaching behind to unclasp my bra.

There is some murmuring as I slip it off, but a quick, flirtatious glance over my shoulder assures me Ronan still isn’t here.

Holding the bra on the tip of my finger, I drop it and slowly turn, still swaying my hips seductively. There’s a silent pause, but it only lasts until the cheers start as I drop my arms away, exposing my tits.

By the time my set has finished, I’m sure my tips will be huge. Leaving my bra lying on the stage, I move down to make my way around the tables to collect my tips.

I don’t even make it to the first one when a hand clasps my upper arm tightly. Scowling, I look up to tell this asshole to take his fucking hands off me, but the litany of colorful curses I was about to let fly dry up on my tongue.

Ronan glares down at me, his nostrils flaring and his eyes burning with fury. Shit. Niall and Liam are behind him, studiously avoiding looking at my exposed tits. Niall immediately moves to collect my tips, and I catch a glimpse of something in Liam’s eyes as they fix on my face. I can’t tell if it’s sympathy or disgust.

Whatever it is, I don’t have time to analyze it because Ronan’s fingers tighten further on my arm, and he jerks me out of the lounge.

The kitchenette is the closest room to give us privacy, so he takes me there, kicking the door shut behind him and shoving me up against the industrial steel fridge, which is cold at my back. I swallow, looking up at his furious eyes, flashing with anger.

His hands land on the fridge door on either side of my shoulders, hemming me in. I can smell his intoxicating scent of sandalwood and musk as his head dips down, so his face is all up in mine. Shit.

“What part of ‘no going topless’ was too much for ye to understand, lass?”

I swallow convulsively. He called me “lass,” not “leannán,” so I know I’m in trouble. Wicked trouble.

Ronan doesn’t yell when he’s mad. His voice gets lethally quiet, and it’s worse than screaming. A million times worse. Tears are gathering unbidden at the backs of my eyes, and I pray that I’m not about to cry. That would be the ultimate humiliation.

“I-I…” I don’t manage to get anything else out because Ronan’s rage-filled eyes leave mine, dipping down to my nipples.

They’re partly peaked from being this close to him, partly from the cold of the room and the steel at my back. The heat in his eyes changes from anger to hunger, a rumbling growl tearing out of him.

I whimper as his thigh comes up hard between my legs, pressing my lacy panties against my core. Ronan’s pupils dilate at the sound, and he lowers his head, capturing one of my nipples in his mouth. I moan at the suction of his lips and the bite of his teeth.

The sound causes something in Ronan to snap. His leg between my thighs grinds against my core as one of his hands tangles in my hair, the other palming my other breast. His thumb brushes ever so slightly over the nipple as he bites down hard on my other breast.

Oh,shit. My head tips back. My eyes flutter closed, and my fingers slide through his strawberry blonde waves of their own accord, holding him there as he suckles me. I’m breaking all my own rules, but this feels amazing. Five minutes surely won’t hurt…

Ronan pants against my breast, switching his attention and hand between them. The bulge of his enormous erection is pressed against my thigh, and before I can think about what I’m doing, my hand drifts down to caress it through his jeans.

Immediately, Ronan’s mouth and hand freeze on my tits.

“Leannán,” he groans around my nipple. He lifts his head, heat burning in his eyes as they roam my face. I boldly stare back at him, exuding bravado I don’t truly feel, my hand still massaging his raging boner through his jeans. My mouth is drier than the desert, and my tongue darts out to wet my lips.

The motion captures Ronan’s attention. He groans again, his eyes darkening from steel grey to almost black. One of his hands moves, sliding up my neck, tangling in my hair at the nape. Tugging my head back, Ronan’s mouth crushes down on mine, and he swallows my moan of longing as he deepens the kiss, grinding his erection against my hand.

I don’t know how long he devours my mouth, but finally, he breaks the kiss enough to speak against my lips.

“I need ye so bad,leannán,” he groans.

No. Icy fear floods through my system. This is a dangerous game I have been playing with Ronan. He’s a dangerous man, and I’m scared I have pushed him too far.

Ronan senses my unease – probably through my sudden stillness – and opens his eyes, pressing his forehead against mine. Whatever he can see in my eyes has a look of regret flashing in his eyes.

“Ye’re killing me here,leannán,” he mutters.

Relief courses through me. He is going to walk away. He’s not going to press for something I’m unwilling to give. The Irish Saint indeed.

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