Page 32 of Dual Surrender

“Mmmn,” he made an affirmative sound.

“Do you want me to make you something?”

With his teeth, Ronan popped my fly and pulled down my zipper. I hadn’t worn underwear, and my cock sprang free, eager for attention.

“Make me something,” Ronan whispered before taking the head of my dick into his mouth.

“Jesus.” I fisted my hand into his hair, hips bucking off the couch on their own.

Ronan set to work on me, dragging an orgasm out of me that I didn’t even know I needed to have, but as he swallowed down my release and tucked my softening dick back into my pants, I felt better than I had before. I dropped my head against the back of the couch and groaned, balls still churning from use and want.

“Don’t let him bother you,” Ronan said, sliding off my lap and adjusting himself on the couch, still lying down with his eyes closed. He too looked less tired, but still exhausted.

“He doesn’t.”

Ronan opened an eye and gave me a doubtful look. “Don’t be a liar.”

“I’m not.” I pushed off the couch so he wouldn’t see my face.

He made a sound like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. He scooted backward, filling the space where I’d been sitting and resting his head on the arm of the couch so he could watch me in the kitchen.

“Do you want something filling or light?” I asked, pulling open the fridge.

“Something easy,” he said.

I peeked up at him over the door. “You already had me.”

He groaned at the joke, but licked his lips and shot me a feral look across the room.

“BLT?” I asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” He folded his hands together on his lap while I grabbed the bacon and a pan. “Tell me about your day. How was work?”

“Met with that divorcee about her reno.”

“The divorcee.”

“Yes.” I plucked a tomato off the vine in the bowl on the counter and dropped it on the cutting board.

“Does she have a name? I feel like it would be easier to discuss the project with a name instead of calling it the divorcee reno every time it comes up.”

“Savino-Sharp,” I told him.

“That isn’t much easier.”

“I know.” I rolled my eyes and sliced through the tomato, setting it aside. “Anyway, the divorce reno is going fine. She approved the plans for the upstairs, but not the office.”

“She has the big office with the frosted windows, right?”

I nodded and leafed the lettuce, then returned to the bacon.

“She wants me to wall it off.”

“What?” Ronan balked. “Why?”

“Closet or something, she said.” I shrugged. “Her call.”

“Her money,” he agreed.