Give me more

Ronan

I didn't look at him.

I couldn’t.

The moment I emptied inside him, reality came crashing down like a wrecking ball. I shoved off the bed and reached for my shirt, dragging it over my head with shaky hands. The silence in the room was thick, stifling. Liam was still lying there, all flushed skin and messed-up sheets.

"You should clean up," I muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. "We’re done here."

He didn’t say anything, and that only made the silence worse.

I buttoned my jeans like I was sealing something shut, like if I dressed fast enough, I wouldn't be erase the last fifty minutes from existence. From my skin. From my fucking brain.

"This…" I waved a hand vaguely toward the bed, toward him. "This is just a little twisted game we played because we were bored. It doesn’t leave this room."

His eyes followed me—quiet, unreadable. That made me madder.

"I mean it," I snapped, voice colder now, sharper than I wanted. "Don’t talk about it. Not to me. Not to anyone. This didn’t happen."

Still nothing from him.

I scoffed and turned toward the door, my hand hovering over the handle. "It was just a one-time thing. That’s all it ever was—just... relief. You helped me, and that’s it. And I hope whatever crush you think you have on me... you find a way to let it go."

I left the room like I was escaping something dirty—like I could walk away fast enough to erase what just happened. Liam’s breathing was still heavy behind me, but I didn’t let myself listen to it. I didn’t even give him another look. Not even a goddamn glance.

The hallway air hit me like cold water as I stepped out, buttoning my shirt with shaking fingers. I couldn’t believe I actually… fuck. I swear, Never again. Ever!

I sighed sharply as soon as the door clicked shut behind me, shoving both hands into my pockets like that could somehow bury the guilt digging into my skin. What the hell had I just done?

I told myself it was just to get it out of my system. A mistake. A one-time slip. Nothing more.

Outside, I got into a waiting cab and the ride was quiet. Too quiet. The driver didn’t speak, and thank God for that, because I was already choking on the silence in my own head. The streets blurred past the window, but all I could see was Liam. His flushed skin. His moans. His eyes.

I gritted my teeth. Why was this happening? It made no sense.

Disgusting. I should’ve stopped it. I should've held it in. I should’ve never let it happen. He was my sister’s brother—for fuck’s sake. And importantly, he he was… he was a guy.

I ran a hand through my hair as the car pulled up in front of the house. My chest tightened when I saw the porch light still on.

Please be asleep. Please, Chloe, be asleep.

I pushed the door open and slipped in quietly. The house was still. The living room dim and quiet. I padded down the hallway, careful not to make any noise.

Then I saw her.

Chloe, curled up on the bed, fast asleep with a blanket draped over her. A small sigh escaped me—part relief, part something I couldn’t name.

I stood there for a second, just staring at her.

Then I turned and walked toward the kitchen, needing a drink. Something to burn away the taste of everything I was trying to forget.

I returned to the room quietly and stripped off my shirt and tossed it aside. My body was still sore, tense in places it had no business being tense. I slipped under the covers with a sigh, hoping naively that I could just shut my eyes and pretend tonight hadn’t happened.

But just as I reached for the blanket, her voice cut through the dark.

"Where have you been?"

I froze.

Of course she was awake.

Her voice was sharper now, clearer. She turned toward me, eyes wide open, watching me. I didn’t even bother to face her.

"We shouldn’t be asking each other those kinds of questions," I said, my voice flat. "It’s not like we’re actually married-married. This was arranged. Neither of us wanted it. You should even be grateful we share a bed and will have sex one day."

Yeah, sex for our upcoming heir or maybe it's better we just use the IVF or something.

Silence.

I swallowed, trying to ignore the bitter taste in my mouth. "So I’d prefer if we kept our personal lives to ourselves."

Then I turned away from her, pulled the blanket up over my shoulder, and shut my eyes.

"Good night."

But even with my back to her, I could feel her staring at me.

And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about Liam—his skin, his voice, the way he looked at me like I meant something.

I hated that I was suddenly remembering it in a normal way, and with a different feeling.

I hated that I enjoyed it.

Sleep came in broken waves, dragging me under only to shove me back up again. And when I finally did drift off, it wasn’t peaceful.

Liam.

His mouth on mine.

His legs wrapped tight around me.

The way he gasped my name like it meant something.

The dream felt too real. Too vivid. I could feel every damn touch, every press of skin, the heat of it, the softness, the way he whispered—

I shot awake, breath ragged, heart pounding.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, sitting up and dragging a hand down my face. I hated how my body reacted. I hated that the first thing I noticed was the way my boxers were tight against the growing bulge underneath.

Disgust twisted in my gut, curling up hot and sharp. What the hell was wrong with me?

I swung my legs off the bed and sat there for a second, just breathing, trying to will myself back into control. I glanced at the other side of the bed—empty.

Chloe was gone.

Good.

I also noticed that it was morning already.

I got up, tossed on a clean shirt, and padded down the stairs, still groggy, still half-cursing myself.

The smell of food hit me before I even stepped into the kitchen.

There she was— Chloe moving around the kitchen like nothing was wrong in the world. She was in one of her silk robes, flipping something on the stove, her back turned to me.

"Morning," I said, voice low and rough.

She turned briefly, gave me a tight smile. "Didn’t think you’d be up this early."

"Couldn’t sleep well," I muttered, walking to the counter, pretending like I hadn’t just woken from a dream that nearly made me come in my sleep.

I poured myself a glass of water, the cold doing little to calm the heat still simmering in my chest… and lower.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

And I hated that. Fuck! I think I want more.