Je ne pleurerai pas. Tu ne pleureras pas. Nous ne pleurerons pas. I will not cry. You will not cry. We will not cry.
Pride seared like an ulcer in my stomach at the thought of Ronan seeing how much he affected me. So, even as a tear escaped, I managed an ill-humored, unsteady response.
“I wanted rose petals and lit candles for my first time, but, really, what could outdo this?”
His back was to me like he didn’t even want to look at me. “Trust me, I did you a favor.”
Honestly, what did I expect handing over my virginity to the man who abducted me? The fact that sentence even existed in my head told me I needed help.
Getting to my feet, a resentful scoff rose in my throat. “Yes. I can feel your good intentions. They’re a warm ray of sunshine.”
He released a dark, bitter breath and turned to face me, his eyes fierce. “I promise, your entire body would feel them like the weight of the fucking sun if I stayed inside of you even a second longer.”
I held his stare, the words washing over me but unable to find purchase among the humiliation and self-loathing within. All I wanted right now was to lick my wounds anywhere Ronan wasn’t. Too bad I couldn’t eat my sorrows in a carton of ice cream without the chance of getting a spoonful of cyanide in the mix. This place sucked.
I took a step toward the door but halted when he spoke.
“You aren’t leaving this goddamn room,” he gritted, looking completely disgusted with me.
Today was going to give me a massive complex.
“Sit.”
Frustration singed my spine, but I knew if I refused, he would bodily set me on the couch. I didn’t have the energy to fight him right now—trying to hold the walls of my chest together was a battle of its own—so, numbly, I sat, looking at everything but him. To say the room was a mess would be an understatement. Yulia was going to have a seizure.
I stared at the wall as Ronan dropped to his haunches in front of me. My throat grew tight when he wiped a tear from my cheek. I was tempted to push his hand away, but the heat of the caress overwhelmed me, tugging at the twine around my heart.
“Stop crying,” he demanded softly.
“No.”
His hand dropped from my face. “Keep crying then. Don’t stop until I say so.”
The tears suddenly stung like bleach, and I tried to blink them from my eyes. He made a dry, disbelieving sound in his throat, and I realized I was too distraught to gather he was using reverse psychology on me. Apparently, he’d learned I would do the opposite of whatever he commanded.
It went silent for a second before he spoke. “I can’t fuck you like that, kotyonok.”
I didn’t want to talk to him right now, but I was also too curious to let the brewing question go.
“Like what?”
“How you need it.”
I pulled my lip between my teeth, the uncertainty and feelings inside going up and down like a yo-yo. The confusion became too much. The moment was just too much.
Finally, I met his gaze. “Can I go now?”
He held my stare for a beat, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Nyet.”
I sighed in frustration. “What else do you need from me tonight? I don’t care if you send me five peach emojis, I’m not giving you my anal virginity too.”
“Fuck,” he chuckled roughly. “Stop talking about being a virgin.”
“Why? Does it make you feel guilty?”
“It makes me want to be the first to take your ass too.”
Ignoring the heat rising up my neck, I raised a brow. “What’s the point when you’d take it for two seconds?”
His gaze hardened, then a ragged exhale escaped me when he grabbed my thighs and yanked my ass to the edge of the couch. I had to brace my hands behind me to maintain any sort of dignified pose.
“Don’t spread your legs, kotyonok.”
I glared at him, unwilling to let the trick work this time. Ripped fabric parted, revealing the curves of my breasts, my nipples hardening in the cool air. Why was I always the naked one? The only bare part of Ronan I’d seen was a few inches of his dick because the rest of it was inside of me.
“How sore are you?” he asked coarsely, his gaze slowly sliding up my naked body to meet mine.
My throat felt tight when I realized he did feel a little guilty. The thought aroused a weird sensation of solace, spreading something warm and heavy that melted all the tension within.
“Sore,” I exhaled.
He murmured something in Russian that radiated down my spine. When he pushed my legs apart, they complied.
He thumbed the top of one of my thigh-high socks, growling, “These fucking socks, Mila.” He tugged one down a little and nipped the flesh beneath it, sending a hot shiver through me.
Pulling back, the heat of his eyes warmed my sex, the ache inside coming alive again and pulsing. I was growing warm everywhere, the feeling interrupted by a cold wave of shyness when I recognized his intention.
“Wait,” I blurted and tried to pull free from his grip—but, as usual, it didn’t budge.
The look that lifted to my face was heated and narrow-eyed with a silent question.
“I bled.” My body grew tense in his hands, ready to flee from the embarrassing situation.
His dry expression conveyed he didn’t understand the point I was trying to make.
I grew flustered at the fact I even had to explain this. “It’s . . . gross.”
A second passed, and I thought he wanted to laugh, but the humor was contained by the intensity in his gaze. “As much as I wish otherwise, there is nothing about you I could find gross.”
The warmth that rushed to my face was consumed by fire when he went straight for the soreness around my opening, tracing it with his tongue. The pressure stung a little, but the heat of his mouth relieved it and sent a zap of pleasure to my toes.
Breath shaky, l readjusted my purchase on the couch, my thighs falling open at the next lap of his tongue, which he then slid inside of me. My head lolled back, a moan escaping my lips.
“Fuck, kotyonok. Dazhe tvoya kiska na vkus kak klubnika.”
I understood the gist of the statement given the mention of “cunt” and “strawberries.” The dirty Russian pushed all reservations to the wayside. Bracing one hand on the couch, I slid the other into his hair. I ran my blunt nails across his scalp and felt a shudder ghost down his back.
He was ignoring my clit, each lick making it throb in anticipation. Every time he came close to where I wanted him, I rocked my hips to make him get there, but he only drew his mouth back to my opening, which he soothed with undivided attention.
A fire brewed beneath my skin, sending a flush to every cell inside of me. My breath accelerated to little puffs of air, and the pressure in my core began to heat and build and blister. The flat of his tongue slid upward, so close to my clit I trembled, dying with need.
“Please,” I begged, my fingers tightening in his hair.
“Nyet.”
Ronan knew it would send me over the edge. I wanted to complain this wasn’t about him, but I didn’t have the words to do so—nor did I want this to stop yet.
Sliding a rough palm up my stomach, he squeezed a breast in his hand. I released a frustrated exhale as the ache inside swelled, desperate to be filled.
“More.”
Somehow, he understood what I needed and slid two fingers inside of me, immediately pressing against a spot that made my eyes roll back. The heat of his gaze warmed my face, a groan rumbling in his chest.