Page 102 of Tiny Fractures
For a moment he looks like he doesn’t know how to respond. He shakes his head slightly. “Why are you so good to me?” He brushes his lips against mine.
“Because I care about you,” I mumble against him. “A lot.”
He deepens the kiss, and we stay like that for a minute before I pull away, giggling at his disappointed expression. “So, what do we need to get done before we can enjoy the fact that we’re alone in this house?” I ask.
His eyes instantly brighten, a mischievous grin spreading across his full lips. “Laundry. A shit-ton of laundry. And then the dishes.”
“Okay, how about I do the dishes and you start on the laundry?” I suggest, and saunter into the kitchen, purposely swaying my hips.
I feel his eyes on me, and he chuckles, his voice low. He follows me into the kitchen and stands behind me, his hands on my hips. “Thank you for staying and helping me,” he whispers against my neck, then kisses it softly. My eyes fall shut as goose bumps erupt on my skin. “You being here makes everything better.”
We go to work. Ronan folds and puts away mounds of laundry while I wash and dry the dishes and try to figure out what goes where. I’m done half an hour later and jump in to help Ronan finish what laundry he has left.
“Is that it?” I ask after Ronan and I take the last bit of folded laundry upstairs and deposit it in his closet.
“Yeah,” he says with an enticing smile on his face. “Thanks, baby. This would have taken me hours without you. You’re seriously amazing,” he says and scoops me into his arms.
“Anytime,” I giggle, my arms around his neck, head dipped down to look into his gorgeous eyes. He kisses me softly while taking the few steps that separate us from his bed and somehow maneuvers us onto it without our lips separating. He hovers over me, his lips tenderly caressing mine; his left hand touches me softly, brushing over my shoulder then down my arm while his other supports his body weight. He kisses me so slowly and sensually that my eyes shut on their own. Seemingly on their own accord, my hands snake under Ronan’s shirt where my cool fingertips meet his hot skin. He’s always so warm. I run my fingers up and along the curve of his spine before moving to his sides, tracing his ribs, and coming to rest on his shoulder blades. My touch must feel good to him because he intensifies his kiss, urging me to part my lips before his tongue slips into my mouth, tasting me.
Heat rises inside me and pools between my legs when Ronan pushes up the hem of my shirt over my stomach. His lips leave mine as he moves down to kiss the newly exposed skin above my jeans while his hand glides up my waist. My breathing is ragged and I focus on Ronan’s touch, waiting for his fingers to reach my breast, to graze over my nipple, which is already hard in anticipation of his touch. I can feel his breath against my skin as he continues to lick and kiss my stomach, my belly button, before moving north and toward my chest.
“Ronan,” I breathe, urging him on without really knowing what exactly it is I want him to do. I just know I want more of him. I’m too eager for my own good as I retrieve my hands from under his shirt and push it up impatiently.
Barely even leaving my skin, Ronan reaches behind his head and pulls his shirt off before his tongue resumes its exploration of my skin, slowly but steadily moving toward my chest. When he reaches the bottom of my shirt still covering my bra, Ronan inclines just enough to push my shirt up over my breasts, then leans toward me and pulls the fabric of my bra down, exposing my pebbled nipple. I want him to touch me so badly. I push against him when his thumb gives me what I crave and brushes across my nipple while he kisses the spot between my shoulder and neck, nipping at my skin. I bury my hands in his hair, tugging at the roots while I inhale his scent that is just so perfectly him, I’d know it anywhere.
His lips move from my neck to my jaw, then to my mouth. He kisses me fiercely, pushing against me, and I grind my hips in rhythm. I can feel him hard between my thighs and wrap my legs around his waist. His mouth leaves my lips, which feel swollen and sensitive from kissing Ronan so greedily, and seeks out my nipple instead. I inhale sharply, wet heat coursing through my body to that needy flesh between my thighs as he begins licking and sucking on my sensitive skin. I feel his hand glide down the side of my body, hyperaware of his every touch, focused only on the sensation of his hands and mouth on my skin. I moan when his fingers glide down the outside of my left leg before moving to the inside and slowly sliding back up my sensitive inner thigh. I feel an almost overwhelming ache for him, for his body on mine, for relief from the pleasure swirling and the pressure building deep in my core. It’s like nothing else exists and I want to stay lost in this moment forever.
I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket and quickly move to retrieve it, to get it away from me so as not to let it distract me from Ronan’s touch.
I don’t know why I do it, but as I go to place my phone to the side, I glance at the screen and see Unknown, along with the beginning of the text message Adam just sent me.
Unknown: Can’t stop looking at those pictures of your tight body. I’m thinking I should pay you a vis…
That’s all it takes for the bubble around me to implode and for me to come crashing back down to earth. And suddenly, everything feels wrong: Ronan’s hands on my body while memories of Adam’s violence flash through my mind, the guilt of what I did to Adam, of what I’ve done to Ronan. It’s too much. Tears begin to fall, and just like that I’ve lost control over myself and the situation.
Ronan
God, Cat is perfect. In every way imaginable. Soft and warm and so damn gentle with me, and I love nothing more than getting to spend time alone with her like I am right now.
I feel high with her hands tugging at my hair while I caress her soft breast, licking her hard nipple, sucking it into my mouth over and over again while I allow my left hand to inch down the heated skin of her stomach. I reach the waistband of her jeans and let my hand slide down her leg before moving to her inner thigh. I never get tired of exploring her perfect body, of feeling her react to my touch, hearing the sounds she makes, watching her facial expressions when she gets turned on. I swear it gets me higher than any drug.
My heart pounds in my chest and heat thrashes through my body as she grinds her hips against me. I’m so hard, and her heat penetrating our clothes only makes it worse. I’m consumed by the way she feels underneath me, and I’m desperate to finally touch that sweet spot between her thighs, to feel her, to make her come apart. I’ve been thinking about it, envisioning it, fantasizing about feeling all of Cat way too often for way too long. But I will not pressure her; I will not go back on my promise of moving at her pace. Even if that means having to stroke myself to climax in private every single day until she’s ready. And, yeah, at this point, it’s every day because, man, I’m pent-up.
“Ran,” her voice cracks, and it has an immediately sobering effect.
I pull back and feel like shit when I see tears running down Cat’s face. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
My breathing is still ragged as I move to give her space to sit up. She doesn’t answer right away; she furiously wipes her eyes, trying to stop the tears that keep coming.
I take her face in my hands, searching her eyes. “Cat, I’m sorry if I’m moving too fast. You can tell me to stop any time; I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want.”
She still doesn’t speak and I’m starting to freak out a little bit, wondering if I missed some cue that she wanted me to stop, scared that I got too carried away. But then she leans into me, and I wrap my arms tightly around her as she begins to sob in earnest. She cries for what seems like a long time, her shoulders heaving while tears run hot down her cheeks and onto my chest. I have no idea what to say, no clue what triggered her, and I decide to just let her cry, waiting for the moment she’s ready to open up to me.
When the moment finally comes, though, I’m not prepared for what she has to tell me.
“My ex, Adam, just texted me,” she finally starts, her eyes red and puffy, her voice still shaky, cracking here and there. “He’s been calling and texting me since I ran into him when I was in North Carolina a couple months ago, and, Ran”—she moves out of my arms and looks me in the eyes—“you’re going to hate me.”
My eyebrows crease. “I doubt that,” I reassure her, but I worry about what she’s going to tell me that would make her think I’d hate her.