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Teal doesn’t back away though. She has this adorable habit of glaring even when she’s cornered. There’s so much fight in her, and I want to explore it inch by agonising inch then maybe break it. Definitely break it, so I can see what’s behind it.
“Does it turn you on to know you hurt me?” “What? No.” Her voice is the lowest I’ve ever heard. My little crazy beauty.
“You don’t have to hide your crazy from me, ma belle. Show it, and I promise to feast on it.”
People think knights are your love interests, but mine is Dad, Ethan. He saved us from his wife and was about to take us back to Mum, but Knox begged him not to.
I hit the number on my contacts list and smile for the second time today. Ronan should not have messed with me. If he bites, I’ll always bite back.
When I was younger, Earl Astor’s glare meant I needed to shut the fuck up and do as he’d told me. I always did. Until one of his glares changed my life for fucking good.
Mum is standing in the sun, her blonde curls falling to her shoulders as she laughs. I haven’t seen her laugh like that in…years. And the reason behind the laugh is none other than the tiny girl who’s crazier and prettier than I ever thought. Teal fixes a ribbon on Mum’s dress and says something that makes her laugh again. The rare English sun shines down on both of them, making Mum’s hair and eyes shine and giving a glint to Teal’s black gaze. She’s smiling. It’s demure and discreet, but it’s there. A smile — a fucking genuine one at that.
“I wish there was a textbook explanation for that, but I can promise you this: the moment you encounter love, you’ll recognise it right here, chérie.” She places a soft hand above my left breast.
“That’s why I want you to keep an open mind, chérie. You never know what you’ll find unless you destroy some walls.”
My shoulders stiffen at the sound of the voice that’s starting to appear in my dreams — not my nightmares, my fucking dreams.
I’m starting to think Ronan smiles more when he’s trying to camouflage something.
I’m not prey. I’ll never be prey again.
Everything turns heightened — the rise and fall of my chest, the heat radiating off him, his smell like spice and fucking damnation. He’s all I breathe, all I see, and all I can focus on.
His force is havoc-wreaking — it’s the type you can’t escape even if you try. It’s the type that shakes my thighs and turns me into that marionette I can’t push out of my head. Only this time, it’s the good type. The pleasurable type.
If I’m sick and he’s attuned to my sickness, what does that make us?
How come he was completely off my radar and now he’s the only one on it? How come I see his face when I close my eyes at night and even dream about him?
“Do you realise how beautiful you look right now, belle? You’re all splayed out and ready for the taking.” My cheeks heat, but it’s not out of embarrassment about my position. He called me beautiful. He thinks I’m beautiful.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I pant. “Not him.” He emerges, licking his lips like a lion about to start his meal. “Me.”
Unlike the other time, he doesn’t stop to take it slow. He invades me, conquers me, and most of all, he tastes of me: slightly sweet, a lot dirty.
The fact that I can’t get enough of Ronan’s kiss should be alarming — and it is. I just can’t seem to get enough. There’s not enough kissing, not enough touching. There’s simply not enough. I’m starved for more. So much more.
“You taste like fucking sin.” He breathes against me.
He’s discreet but ruthless. Appears loveable but is actually domineering. Death. And he’s now after me. I’m his next target, and for some reason, I think he’ll never let me go or be finished with me.
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.”
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.
“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.”
The more he speaks to me like that, the wetter I get. The more depraved he becomes, the deeper I fall into his web.
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.
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.
It’s a commitment I made to myself when I decided I’d never be alone. Not for one second. Not even for a blink.
So how come someone like her, someone who doesn’t fit in my image of peopling, can consume my thoughts?
My head has been going into overdrive since that day, obsessing about the best way to fuck her so thoroughly she’ll forget everyone before me — and after me. Wait. She gets people after me? I don’t like that thought.
“Forget about him, starting right fucking now.” “Or what?” “Or I’ll make you regret it.” Something sparks in her features, a challenge, a ‘game on’ of sorts before she puffs out her chest. “No.” “Oh, Teal.” I caress her skin, my voice calm and touch gentle though my insides are on fire. “You’re fucked.”
Ronan Astor is more than what meets the eye. He’s the disaster you never see coming. He’s a monster hidden under the popularity and the picturesque smile and family.
I ignore the voice in my head, not wanting to dig into these emotions going through me all at once. It’s hard to comprehend one emotion at a time, let alone all of them.
Is it so wrong that my entire body comes to life whenever he looks at me that way? Whenever he sheds his mask and shows me his true, raw self? Only to me. Not anyone else but me.
I want him to kiss me, to bite my lip and draw blood. I want him to devour me like this is the last day on earth and I’m the only one he wants to spend it with. But most of all, I want him to breathe life into me.
I expected Ronan to act on that since he did before. I expected him to tell me fuck no, or kiss me, or anything. Instead…he’s smiling. Why the hell is he smiling? “You do that, belle.” What?
“Just because you have a dick doesn’t mean you’re the only one who gets to do things.” “Just because you have a pussy doesn’t mean you’re the only one who gets to do things,” he shoots back without missing a beat. It’s a challenge. He’s challenging me.
She can’t resist glaring. It’s in her personality and the only way she can purge away her emotions.
I need to keep up the façade, need to make everyone believe I don’t give two fucks about Teal — even she needs to know that. She needs to realise there’s no way in fuck she’ll become my weakness like Aiden is parading his around in the form of Elsa. I don’t have weaknesses. I have people. Lots of fucking people who fill every corner of my life.
I want to understand. Deep down, I want to sit with him, talk to him, touch him. Just be with him.
I am the slave of what I have spoken, but the master of what I conceal.
I place a hand on my chest, willing it to stop beating this hard, this fast. What the hell is wrong with you, heart? Why are you coming back to life? And for who? A fucking gigolo? Couldn’t it be someone, I don’t know, more available?
“You’re afraid of Ronan, Teal.” “Me, afraid?” I scoff. “Yes. You know he can barge through the whole goth and satanic exterior and see the real girl inside, and you don’t want that, so you picked up the defence and decided to protect your walls. But you know what? You can’t protect your walls and claim him at the same time. One of these days, you’ll have to choose.”
“Nah, I’m really interested to know about the girl who’s stealing your heart.” “She’s not stealing my heart.” “Your sanity, then?” Probably. “She just hides so much.”
Maybe I should make them feel how I felt before I stopped feeling altogether. Maybe the shadow on my shoulder will finally stop crying. But no. I can wait. If I suffered, he can suffer. If I bled, he’ll bleed.
He has a way of making you feel like you’re there with him.
I’m tempted to reply to that text and come clean about all the shit I think about when I’m in this mental state. He has that effect on me, Ronan, the type where I want to bare myself and just be out there with him.
He’s an anomaly. A serious one. And he’s the only one who makes me laugh even when he doesn’t intend to.
