Page 13

Selene

There’s a glint of deviance in Ronan’s eyes, something that makes me push up on my hands a little because I have no idea what he’s doing. I didn’t actually think he was going to make me come that hard, and the way he’s staring at my cunt is doing things to me. Before I can ask him what the fuck he’s doing, he drops to his knees, his hands spreading my legs wider, and stuffs his face into between them.

A gasp tears from my throat as my fingers tangle in his dark curls, the other slapping over my mouth to keep from screaming. It’s so dirty, so fucking filthy, the way his tongue drags inside me, lapping at his own cum, desperate to pull another orgasm from me. My thighs tremble, my pussy clenching around him, pushing his release into his mouth. The sensation’s overwhelming—hot, wet, and depraved, like he’s claiming every inch of me.

I’m shocked by his enthusiasm, by the way he fucks as hard as he promised, no hesitation, no softness, just raw, unrelenting need. Most men talk a big game, but Ronan’s different, a welcome surprise. I’m too sensitive to come again but the pleasure’s ramping up again anyway, threatening to drag me over that edge again regardless.

His tongue works me over, swirling over my clit, dipping inside to chase the mix of our releases. My fingers tighten in his hair and he groans against me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine. My other hand slips from my mouth, clawing at the desk, papers crinkling beneath my nails. I’m close again, the oversensitivity making way for another orgasm. His lapping grows more frantic, his fingers bruising my thighs as he digs in a little tighter, holding me open as he devours me. I shatter a third time, a raw, feral cry tearing from my throat as I come, my pussy flooding his mouth with my release and his own cum. He gorges on it, his tongue drawing out every shudder, every pulse, until I’m just a trembling mess trying to catch my breath.

Ronan stands, his face glistening with a mixture of our releases, cheeks puffed out just a little, as he wraps a hand around my neck, pulling me up into a sitting position. His eyes lock on mine, silently asking for my safe word. I know I should use it because I don’t know him, don’t know the depths of his darkness.

I’m the Reaper, a killer who guts abusers for their hearts, but this man’s unraveling me, pushing me into a space I’ve never been. Some part of me, the twisted, hungry part, wants the filth, the claim, the way he’s rewriting my edges. I give a small nod, barely a movement, and then he leans forward to kiss me. His cum and my release dribble into my mouth, spilling down my chin, a salty-sweet mix that’s dirty as fuck, like he’s marking me inside and out. My pussy clenches again, already aching for more, the taste igniting a new hunger I didn’t know I had.

This time when he steps back, the rabid desire in his expression has lessened but he makes no move to clean off his face or mine, leaving us both marked, claimed, ruined . His tongue darts out to lap it up as he helps me to my feet, righting my thong and then my dress like a fucking gentleman.

I run a finger across my chin, staring at the slick mess on my skin, the evidence of what we’ve done. “What is it with men and marking the shit out of me?”

Ronan chuckles, giving me a few more inches to catch my breath, his jeans still undone, his cock half-hard. “You’re too fucking perfect not to mark,” he says, his eyes raking over me like he’s already planning another round if I’d let him. “That fire in you, the way you reacted, the way you strangled my cock. It’s begging to be claimed.”

He stuffs himself back into his pants, tilting his head a little as I shimmy my dress down a little farther. “You don’t even know me,” I mumble. “But hey, you kept your word, pretty boy. Better than I expected.” My words are absolutely a challenge because I’m not done with him either. I’ll stick him in the little bank of men I would actually want another night with. I drag a hand across my face, grimacing at the slickness now on my hand. It’s fine.

Ronan laughs at that too, folding his arms across his chest, his dark eyes settling until there’s a sort of boyish charm attached to his features. “You good to get home? I’ve gotta close up the bar, but I can give you a ride in thirty minutes.”

Where the fuck did this guy come from? In Ashthorne, people are snakes; dealers, killers, liars, all out for themselves. Sure, there’s a few good people, but I haven’t met very many. But Ronan? Offering a ride like some knight in a dive bar? “How are you a gentleman?” I snap, my voice edged with suspicion. “No one in Ashthorne is nice.”

“I’m not nice,” he snorts. “But I know how to treat a woman. There’s a difference.”

“Lovely,” I mutter, brushing past him toward the small sink in the corner. “I’m gonna wash my face and my… well, I guess a whole ass bird bath is needed. Thanks for scratching an itch.” I gesture to the desk, papers now all over the floor.

“My pleasure,” he muses, his tone warm but laced with a hint of possession. “I’m here every night.”

“That’s cheesy as fuck. And this was a one-time thing.” It won’t be, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He shrugs, leaning against the desk now, his arms crossed, unfazed by my statement. “Okay.”

“I expected some pushback.”

“You told me what you wanted, and I accept that, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try and find my way to drag you back here again. Maybe next time, I’ll be gentlemanly enough to grab us a bed.” There’s a smirk on his face that both pisses me off and makes me want to ask him if he’s got another round in him.

But no.

I need to go home. Plan. Find a way out of the several messes I’ve gotten myself in and then figure out how I’m going to survive.

None of that includes Ronan’s cock stuck in my cunt again.

But hey, maybe tomorrow will have a different agenda.