His Size...

Liam

My breath hitched.

Did he just…?

I blinked, stunned for a moment, lips still tingling. My fingers were in his hair, his mouth had just claimed mine like it was a challenge—but now he was pulling back, jaw tight, eyes darting everywhere but me.

"You just kissed me," I said, voice quieter than I meant it to be. There was something sharp underneath the words, something that cut.

Ronan’s hand fell away from my neck. He leaned back like he hadn’t just taken my mouth like it belonged to him a second ago.

"I thought you didn't want to be kissed by a gay man lips?" I said, my brows arching.

"You were pushing me," he said, cold now. Guarded. Like a steel door slamming shut. "I had to. I didn’t mean to—it doesn’t mean anything."

I blinked again.

"You regret it?"

His jaw clenched, his nostrils flared. He didn’t answer. That was answer enough. Ronan was obviously disgusted.

I could feel heat rise in my chest, not from embarrassment—no, this wasn’t shame. It was anger. And hurt, though I’d rather die than admit that last part.

"Wow," I said, pushing off his lap. "You kissed me like a man starved, and then act like it poisoned you."

I stood up, trying to keep my voice steady. My hands shook anyway.

"Don’t worry. I won’t make that mistake again." he said, pulling me back to his lap.

He was hard beneath me. I could feel it, thick and insistent against my butt. I could also feel his eyes stealing glances at my bulge stretching my briefs. Yes, you got that right, he looked at it with disgust in his eyes.

"We’re wasting time," he muttered, voice like gravel. "Let’s just get this over with and go back to our damn lives."

I blinked. "Wait—"

But I didn’t have time to finish. In one sharp move, he grabbed my waist, stood, and tossed me back. My spine hit the mattress with a soft thud, the world tilting for a second before he followed, crawling over me like a storm breaking loose.

My breath caught. He didn’t even look at me—not really. Just stared past my shoulder, fists pressed into the sheets beside my head, his body hovering over mine, warm and heavy. Our bulges were pressed against each other and I felt him rub his exposed one under my clothed one.

"You are enjoying me already, aren't you?" I asked, one my sole aim, getting into his skin since he was also getting into mine.

"I am not," he snapped.

I arched an eyebrow, glancing pointedly between us. "Right. That’s why your dick’s been begging for attention since."

His glare burned. "Shut up."

I smirked. "Say please."

That got him. His eyes darkened, something feral creeping in as he shoved my wrists down and pressed his hips against mine—just enough to make me gasp.

I let my legs fall open, deliberately welcoming. "So what now?" I asked softly. "Are you going to kiss me again? Or probably fuck me?"

He didn’t answer. Just lowered his head until his breath brushed my jaw, lips barely missing mine.

His breath was hot against my skin, his mouth hovering so close I could almost taste it. But still—no kiss.

Typical Ronan.

Still trying to prove something, even as his body gave him away.

"Are you going to fuck me or stare at me until I fall asleep?" I said, tilting my hips up, dragging a low sound out of him.

His jaw clenched. His eyes flicked down to my lips, then lower, to where I lay spread beneath him like an invitation he didn't want to read but couldn’t stop staring at.

"Stop talking," he growled.

"Then shut me up," I challenged.

That did it.

He crashed down like thunder, not with a kiss—no, he was too proud for that—but with his mouth on my neck, biting, sucking, leaving behind heat and something raw. I arched under him, gasping, grabbing at his back as he ground against me.

His hands were everywhere—urgent, rough, like he hated himself for touching me but couldn’t stop. He yanked my legs up, caged me in, pinning me to the bed with his weight.

"You think I can’t handle you?" he murmured, voice low, dangerous, right against my ear.

I could barely breathe. "I think you’re already losing it."

He pulled back just enough to glare at me, lips red from kissing anything but my mouth.

“I’m not enjoying this one bit,” he said through clenched teeth. "I'm still having thoughts of not going through this."

I smiled. “Your cock says otherwise.”

And then he was moving—undoing himself, fumbling with me, every motion rushed and wild and desperate. There was no tenderness, no romance. Just friction, heat, breathless curses, and the sound of two bodies colliding in something they both swore wasn’t what it was.

But I saw it.

In the way his hands shook.

In the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t looking.

He wanted me. I mean, my body.

Even if he’d never say it out loud.

"Fuck me already, Ronan!" I groaned, already frustrated.

"I’ve never done this before," he said, voice rough, almost like a confession dragged from his throat. "But I swear… but I’m going to try."

I smirked, but it faded quickly when his hand came down—smack—right on my thigh. My breath caught.

"Spread your thighs," he growled, eyes locked on mine. "Wider."

I shivered. Was this it now?

But damn, that slap wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. This was raw, instinctive. The kind of desperation that made people reckless. He was trying to stay in control, but every second, I could feel him slipping.

He grabbed my legs, adjusted me like I was his to manhandle, and I let him. His fingers dug into my skin, and when I moved for him, doing exactly what he said, he groaned—deep and guttural, like the sight of me like this was almost too much.

"Don’t overthink it," I whispered, voice low. "Just do it."

His hands froze for half a second.

Then Ronan leaned in close, pressing his chest to mine, lips grazing my ear. "I am."

"Take that off," he suddenly added, giving my briefs a glance. "I won't be the one taking off that."

So much for being a homophobe who wants a gay.

I rolled my eyes, grabbed the waistband of my shorts, and pulled them down in one swift motion, and his eyes caught on what was underneath. He hesitated. Not huge like his, but big enough. His gaze flicked up to mine, something like amusement or maybe arrogance flashing across his face.

"That’s it?" he muttered, with a crooked smirk. "Cute."

What an arrogant narcissist!

My face burned, but I bit my lip and let out a breathy laugh. "Size isn’t everything."

I was lying. Size was everything, and I had always wanted my men big, so huge like Ronan's.