Except I wasn’t better, not then and not now as I stared at her perfect ass and full thighs and thought about my cock down her throat and my fist in her hair as my invasion made her eyes well.
And I sure as hell wasn’t better as I lowered my voice and said the one thing I knew would get results. “Turn around, Songbird.”
Her chest rose with an inhale, and like a wet dream, she obeyed.
Facing me obediently, she held her arms close to her chest. “Don’t call me that.”
With my stance nonthreatening and my hands still in my pockets, I used the same tone I’d just said her name in, the same one I’d used on her back then, and I became every asshole who’d ever taken advantage of her. “Give me permission, Sanaa.”
Her body, her eyes, her pulse, her breath, they all reacted—because she remembered.
She remembered, and she knew exactly what I was demanding.
The younger version of me had made her a promise. When I was ready to make her mine, I would ask permission to touch her.
That would be her warning.
Her only warning.
Except I wasn’t asking to make her mine.
Not anymore.
“Give me permission, Sanaa.”
His deep, quiet voice was pure, magnificent seduction, and my body betrayed me. Goose bumps raced across my heated skin, my breath caught and my heart skipped, then it slammed against my chest. Tingles spread everywhere, and I couldn’t believe how naïve I’d been dropping to my knees.
I was never going to give myself to him.
Ronan Conlon was going to take.
His hands were tucked civilly in his pockets, his face was impassive, and his stance was like that of gentlemen, but it was all a lie. I saw his eyes. I saw the dark depth in them that said the man in front of me was anything except polite and gentle.
If I said the word, he would pounce.
And God help me, I wanted him to.
This wasn’t like standing in front of his twin when his eyes sparked with the excitement of the fight. My body wasn’t naturally priming itself, loosening my limbs and making my movements fluid. I wasn’t preparing for battle.
I wasn’t preparing for anything, because I was standing here breathless and needy and so very delusional that I wasn’t running for the door.
I wanted to give him permission.
I wanted to say the word that would seal my fate and no doubt destroy the last tatters of my heart.
I wanted Ronan Conlon to touch me.
I wanted it so bad I could taste his last kiss and feel his warm skin.
Holding on to a young, innocent girl’s fantasy, I breathed four simple words. “I give you permission.”
His eyes darkened to a perfect storm, but he didn’t pounce.
Ronan ambushed me. Body, mind, soul.
One moment he was an arm’s length away. The next, the entire front of his body was pressed into mine as he locked his fists in my hair and held me so tight, I couldn’t breathe without feeling every inch of his muscled perfection pushed against me.
Swirling scents of dry cedar and ocean and desperate yearning surrounded my senses as his entire body curved into mine.
“I’m not going to ask again,” he warned.
After a lifetime of waiting for this moment, fear tipped my nerve endings, and suddenly I didn’t know if I could do this. This wasn’t a twenty-year-old promising me forever before he left to go to war, taking my heart with him. This was a war-hardened man who wanted my body to do with it what he pleased, consequences be damned.
The way I used to be with him, how my thoughts, my fears, my desires, my hopes and dreams would all bleed out when he gave me his attention—it came rushing back, and I spoke with honesty. “I’m afraid of what will happen after.” Or rather, what wouldn’t.
Holding me so tight it was almost painful, he didn’t react. Not moving, not speaking, the only glimpse into his thoughts he gave me was the storm in his fierce, intent gaze.
Traitorous desire pulled low in my belly, and heat wept from my core. “You aren’t offering anything beyond this.” I didn’t ask it as a question, and he didn’t answer.
“Are you giving me permission?” Dark, quiet, he asked for something I didn’t know how to give because he already had it.
Breathless and afraid, I sealed my fate. “Yes.”
His mouth covered mine, and for the briefest of moments, I was home. Not Trinidad, not Miami, but in his arms, as if I was the axis of his world, and I finally felt like I belonged.
More beautiful than any love song I’d ever sung, he kissed me with the gentlest of strokes, as if every sweep of his tongue was a love letter to me.
My heart soared, and my body responded.
Melting into him, my throat vibrated with the sweetest of moans, but before my arms had tangled around his neck, he abruptly pulled back.
His eyes darker than I’d ever seen them, he held me in his intense stare for a single heartbeat.
Then, using his grip on my hair, he turned me away from him and his breath touched my bare shoulder as he released me. “Walk.”
Anticipation and nerves rising on the back of my neck, I looked across the suite to the open bedroom door.
His heat left my back, and he repeated himself. “Walk, Songbird.”
Hearing him call me by the term of endearment no one else used, I tried and failed to fight the shiver that cascaded across my heated skin. The ache low in my core intensifying, I glanced over my shoulder.
As if expecting me to look back, his enigmatic gaze was already intently focused on me. With his hands back in his pockets and his stance dangerously unassuming, he said nothing more.
This was it.
This was the moment I had been waiting for since I’d laid eyes on this beautiful man.
Flushed, nervous, my body singing with anticipation, I held his mesmerizing stare for one more moment.
Then I walked toward the bedroom.
All of my restraint focused on my feet not fucking moving, I watched her.
The silk material of her dress hugging her perfect ass, her shoulders proud, her full hips swaying with her naturally inherent sexiness, she moved toward the bedroom.
My siren, my Songbird.
Finally.
Giving herself to me.
I didn’t deserve her, and she didn’t deserve what I was about to do to her. But I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to. Watching her lush curves and thick, dark hair, my cock pulsed, but I didn’t move.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Pausing at the door to the bedroom, she grasped the frame with one hand and glanced over her shoulder.
Expecting it, I issued my next order in an even but firm tone. “Dress off, stand in front of the bed.”
Her fingers curled, and color touched her cheeks. “Are you coming?”
“You gave permission,” I reminded, ignoring her question. “Dress off, Songbird.” Practically tasting her anticipation, I locked away every detail of the image she was portraying—innocent, submissive, apprehensive, eager. Then I waited with my fucking heart in my throat because, despite her words, despite her actions, I still didn’t trust she was consenting.
If she had any self-preservation, she wouldn’t have. I wasn’t going to be a gentleman. I wasn’t even going to be gentle.
I was going to punish her. Religiously.
But before I did, I was giving her one last opportunity to change her mind. Which was why I stood back, my patience measured, and waited.