Page 43
Third strikeout.
Relief had surged through him. Followed by possessiveness.
And then he’d noticed the thin cotton of her shirt.
The way it shifted with every breath.
No bra. The realization had hit him hard.
Before he’d thought better of it, his hand had slid under the fabric.
That had been the moment his control snapped.
Still, somewhere beneath the storm of new and unwelcome emotions, a sliver of civility remained. His mom had raised him right.
So, he gave her a way out. A last chance to walk out the door.
Instead of answering, she grabbed the front of his sweatpants and hauled him back into another kiss.
That was answer enough. Ronan’s restraint snapped the rest of the way.
His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips as he lifted her clean off the floor and pressed her harder against the wall. Her legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer.
For a moment he held her there, eyes locked on hers as if searching for the slightest hesitation.
He didn’t find any.
“Bed,” he said quietly, “or here?”
She blinked. “Here.”
“Hold tight, then.”
He grabbed the bottom of her top and yanked it over her head, baring her to him. In all fairness, she didn’t need the support of a bra. Her breasts were firm, tipped with rosy-pink peaks, just enough to fill a man’s hand.
His hand.
Ronan dragged his gaze up her body, giving himself one last second to take her in. Hair tumbling around her shoulders in pale waves, the naked bulb overhead picking out the golden threads. Chest expanding with each breath — he was pleased to note her breath was as ragged as his.
And those breasts…
His palm closed over one again.
Felicity arched into his touch with a low sound that punched straight through what little restraint he had left.
His thumb brushed across her nipple. It puckered instantly. That sound she made again — half groan, half challenge — went straight to his bloodstream.
He shifted her higher against the wall, and his mouth closed over her other breast. And he went to work. It wasn’t gentle. It was … a ravaging.
Her nails bit into his shoulders. The heels of her boots dug into the small of his back.
“Ronan.”
He lifted his head. “You dare walk into a bar with no bra,” he gritted.
“My tits. My decision.”
“Your tits?” His grip tightened. “Not a chance, Deputy. While you’re fucking me, they’re mine.” He tweaked a nipple. Hard. “And mine only,” he ground out.
