Yet I don’t meet his gaze as I say that.
Something is definitely wrong with me.
“Who said anything about a blowjob?” He grips my chin, once again forcing me to be trapped by his glimmering gaze. “I’m going to fuck your mouth, belle.”
My core becomes slick with arousal and my pulse roars in my ears.
Holy shit.
I might need my therapist after this.
No sane person would feel this turned on by those words, right?
Before I can react, he grabs his cock with one hand and gathers my hair in a short ponytail with the other then pushes the tip against my lips.
The first thing I taste is the distinctive salty pre-cum, then him, then I’m gone. I don’t even wait for his order before I open my mouth.
In return, he doesn’t pretend to take it slow.
The first thrust hits the back of my throat — all the way in. I choke on my own spit and my air supply vanishes.
I place both hands on his thighs, nails scratching his skin in an instinctive attempt to push him away.
He forces my head down with my hair, suffocating me. Tears fall on my cheeks as I beg for air. I don’t cry; these are different tears. Lust tears.
“Drop your hands,” he orders.
I do. I just do. I don’t stop to think about it anymore. The moment my limp hands hit the floor, he pulls out, allowing me a large gulp of air before he pounds in again and again, stealing my breath and my sanity, too.
My chest tightens, my core tingles, and the need to come hits me again.
He’s turned me into a nymphomaniac. I can’t stop thinking about coming, and about the fact that I’m about to make him come, too.
I’m bringing him pleasure, as he brought it to me.
“That’s it,” he grunts, trapping his bottom lip under his teeth. “Make my dick nice and wet so I can slide it inside that tight cunt of yours. That cunt wants my dick, doesn’t it, belle?”
A sob tears the air, and I realise it’s mine as I nod. I don’t mean to, but I’m nodding. I can’t stop nodding.
He’s ruining me, corrupting me, and I’m enjoying every second of it.
This is different from any of my fantasies.
This is the best fantasy I could’ve had.
“Today, when you walked in on me and that girl, I wasn’t hard for her. I was hard for you.” Thrust. “I wanted to fuck you.” Thrust. “Ruin you.” Thrust. “Own you.”
I’m so glad his cock is blocking my mouth or I would be screaming right now.
When I’m with him, I let go of all of my inhibitions as if they were never there, as if all those chains and walls are of my own making.
He’s setting me free in ways I never thought possible.
And I hate him for it.
I hate that it’s him, of all people, who’s making me feel this type of strange belonging and absolute abandon.
He’s my enemy.
He should be my enemy.
But as he fucks my mouth, uses it, brutalises it, I can’t help asking for more, wanting more.
I would never get on my knees for anyone. It’s a humiliating position and a symbol of weakness, but with him, it doesn’t feel like one.
With him, it feels like a position of power where I’m giving him as much pleasure as he’s giving me.
He says he owns me, but I’m owning him as much as he owns me.
With every thrust into my mouth, he steals a part of me, and I steal a part of him too.
The part he never shows to anyone else.
It’s a shift in dynamics, a play of power. Just because I’m on my knees doesn’t mean I lack power; it only means I’m earning it in a completely different way.
A knock sounds on the door. “Mon chou? I brought Lars’ scones.”
Both of us freeze at Charlotte’s voice — and by freezing, I mean Ronan stops at the back of my throat, keeping me there by my hair.
Black dots form at my peripheral vision due to the lack of oxygen. I struggle for breath, and maybe that’s why the haze doesn’t wither away even with someone else’s presence. I’m still drifting, riding the wave, needing more of it.
“I’ll be right out, Mother.” He sounds normal, or at least a bit normal considering the circumstances. He focuses back on me and whispers in a lust-filled voice. “How do you feel about someone walking in and seeing you this way, all choked with my dick?” I shake my head frantically, but he just smirks. “You want to be my fiancée, but you’re my whore now.” His hold on my hair turns stronger, more controlled. “Made only for me.”
Those words make me lightheaded, and it’s not only because of the lack of air.
The more he speaks to me like that, the wetter I get. The more depraved he becomes, the deeper I fall into his web.
He goes back to thrusting in and out of my mouth, faster and harder this time. He uses my hair to guide me, not allowing me any movement outside of his approval.
I’m a marionette in his hands, a wanton, willing marionette who can’t get enough.
His shoulders become rigid and his head tilts slightly back. I can’t help staring up at his masculine beauty and complete control as he stops powering into my mouth. Something salty hits the back of my throat then drips on my chin, mixing with the drool and tears covering my face.
Ronan grunts, watching me intently, almost as if in a haze himself as he pulls out of my sore mouth. He gathers his cum with his thumb and coats my lips with it, smearing it all over, as if he doesn’t want to miss an inch, doesn’t want to waste a drop.
When he nudges my mouth open, I don’t hesitate to take his thumb inside and suck it clean. He laps his single digit against my tongue, groaning deep in his throat.
The sound does something to me. I feel pride, because I’m the reason behind that. I’m the reason his godlike features crease with satisfaction.
I feel lust, because even after two orgasms, I’m greedy for more. I want his hands all over me again. His strong, lean hands that know how to wrench me out of my self-imposed fortress.
There’s another emotion I can’t quite pinpoint, one that snaps my shoulders together and makes me want to run and never return.
“Ronan?” Charlotte’s voice comes again.
The spell breaks as he pulls up his boxers and trousers, and just like that, he appears normal, not like someone who just fucked up my entire universe.
He throws me one last quizzical glance and motions for me to stay quiet before he heads to the door.
I remain slouched by the bed, my heart almost beating out of my chest as I watch his back disappearing around the corner.
For the first time in my life, I feel used, and yet so utterly pleased.
That’s when I take the time to finally admit I’m in so much trouble.
15
Ronan
The upside of pretending since the day I was born is that most people can’t see the real me.
Hell, even I can’t see that bastard sometimes. It worked just fine for years, and we’re talking about a lifetime subscription.
The difference between me and, say, someone like Teal — who’s currently glaring at me from the top of the stairs at her house — is that she can’t hide.
She’s too real, too raw, even if she has this ‘fuck off’ aura. She can’t fake or say things she doesn’t mean, and it’s why she’s never fit in the hypocritical game of RES’s halls.