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“I need to take care of the condom.” He gave a light squeeze. “Please don’t run out on me.”
The words lodged somewhere deep, sparking a flash of panic she buried under a practiced smirk. “Better make it quick then.”
As the bathroom door clicked shut, she stared at the ceiling, her pulse a steady drum in her ears. The sheets were warm from his body, his scent — soap, skin, sweat, a whisper of whiskey — clinging to them. She could still feel the rough press of his hands, the unspoken misery in his gaze.
Her fingers twitched with the urge to grab her clothes, to vanish before he came back. But her body stayed rooted in place, caught between the safety of leaving and the dangerous pull of the man just a few steps away.
*
The bathroom door clicked shut behind Ronan, but his mind was already miles away — stuck in the wreckage he’d become. His wife barely gone, and here he was, having sex with another woman
Part of him hated himself for it. Was there a rule for how soon you could sleep with another woman? Even if your late wife had broken the ultimate spousal rule herself?
But deeper down, a darker voice whispered doubts he refused to silence: Was it me? Was he lacking, missing something that pushed Violet away?
Straight to the bed of his best friend.
His teammate.
But when Felicity sat beside him, her stare blatant and full of heat, he’d acted on impulse. She was a woman with a reputation. One who wouldn’t ask questions. Wouldn’t demand explanations. Or expect more. A wild card to drown his insecurities.
And damn if the evening hadn’t exploded into something fierce, something primal and unrelenting. It wasn’t just sex. It was a defiant roar against the doubts clawing at him. A moment of raw fire that both thrilled and terrified him.
He shook off the weight of it and looked toward the bedroom.
A few steps, and he pushed open the bathroom door, heart thudding against his ribs, half-expecting the bed to be empty.
She was still there.
Waiting.
Because he asked her to stay.
Reclined against the pillows, eyes fixed on him, smooth blonde hair draped over one shoulder, sheet tugged up to cover her bare breasts, crossed arms matching the grumpy look on her face.
“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else … so why the hell are you still here, Deputy?”
Her gaze slid down his chest, lingered far too long where his dick made known it was glad she was still in his bed, and then climbed back up with a slow, deliberate smirk.
“Maybe I’m curious, Marine,” she said, voice low and taunting, “whether that was a one-off … or if you’ve got the stamina for a second bad decision.” She moved her hand; another foil packet pinched between her fingers.
Her words landed — half challenge, half dare — and he felt it right in the gut.
And his dick.
A slow, dangerous smile tugged at his mouth. “A Marine never backs down from a challenge, Deputy.”
Ronan stepped closer, the air between them heating, already knowing he was about to make mistake number two, and not giving a damn. He ripped the sheet away, and his hands clamped around her ankles, yanking her down the bed until her legs dangled over the edge.
He dropped to the carpet, hooked her knees over his shoulders, and went for the kill — no preamble, no teasing — just slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue. Her moan vibrated through the air, low and raw, as her fingers speared into his hair, nails digging in, anchoring him there.
As though he wanted to be anywhere but here.
His thumbs found her clit, circling, pressing, coaxing. Her hips jerked, but he pinned her in place with his forearm, mouth working harder now, licking, nipping, tasting. When she came, her breathless moans hit him right in the chest.
He didn’t stop. He eased her down from the high, his touch softening, drawing out every last tremor until her body slackened under his hands.
Ronan stood and donned the condom. Gripping her hips, he dragged her to the very edge of the bed and pushed in with one deep, claiming thrust. Her gasp tore through him, hot and sharp, and he buried himself to the hilt, setting a rhythm that was all force and need.
