Chapter 8 — All of Me

~ LYRA ~

In truth, curiosity is the reason I’m in this situation, because from that night forward, Ronan chased me night after night in my dreams—a sexual game of cat and mouse that he did so beautifully that I ended up wanting to be caught. When he finally caught me on the dance floor of the club I’d fled, I’d been a willing victim. I remember dancing in his arms, the rhythm of the music guiding our bodies. There'd been no fear. It was as if I’d finally found someone who understood me. A man whose arms felt like home. I began to crave sleep just to be close to him, to feel his body pressed against mine.

"It was real, Lyra," Ronan says, the words rumbling from his chest and dragging me back to reality. "All of it was real."

All of it. The words echo in my ears.

The first few dreams were somewhat tame, transpiring in places I refused to get down and dirty, but during the last one, we’d been alone in a bedroom. For the first time, we’d removed our clothing, stripping each other bare. Instead of just feeling his muscles bulge beneath my fingers, I’d finally seen them. He had been and remains the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. His large body is perfectly proportioned, his skin tan and smooth. I’d gone down on him because I couldn’t resist. The temptation he presented had been too potent to shake. I’ll never forget his taste. The way my lips stretched as his cock glided in and out of my mouth.

My pussy spasms, creating more wetness between my legs.

Damn it.

My panties are soaked, clinging to my swollen vaginal lips.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you? It felt so good when you sucked my cock. Your mouth was so hot, honey. I want to look you in the eye next time. I want to see how turned on you are when you're sucking me off."

Holy mother.

In my dreams, Ronan loved to talk dirty. It had taken a few dreams to become accustomed to his explicit sexual vocalizations, but I’d managed. A good thing since he enjoys doing the same thing in reality.

"I'm thinking about it," I admit, caving since I already have one foot in the door. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

Or your promise to do the same to me, I think.

After two nights of waiting for Ronan to appear in my dreams, my curiosity about what it would be like got the better of me. I hesitantly touched myself in the shower, imagining it was Ronan’s tongue caressing my clit, his mouth suckling on my flesh. Unfortunately, I stopped just shy of an orgasm, becoming uncomfortably aware of myself. I felt embarrassed and uncertain. One incursion into masturbation took me back several years, to another time and place.

At seventeen, I’d had one sexual encounter, a rushed pairing with an equally awkward boy from my English class. We parted ways immediately after, avoiding each other if at all possible. I don’t know if he was embarrassed by his performance or didn’t want a repeat of mine. Either way, it didn’t matter. His touch felt all kinds of wrong, even when I tried to relax and enjoy what we were doing. From that moment forward, I wasn’t interested in sex or men.

Then Ronan came along—at least in my dreams.

Each wisp of his fingers against my sensitive skin makes me melt inside, creating tendrils of heat in my stomach. I lift my head, meeting his glowing eyes. A simple look from the man makes my insides puddle. There’s nothing insecure or awkward about Ronan. He knows exactly what he wants and how he wants it.

And I realize I want him to take it from me. How am I supposed to process and accept this in such a short time?

"Here's what's going to happen." His body brushes mine. I feel the hard length of his erection prodding my belly. "I'm going to take you to my room and make you burn. I'm going to make you so hot you'll think you're dying from the pleasure of it. This isn't a dream. You're going to get all of me, Lyra. All of me."

Oh boy.

I try to argue when he cuts me off, his fingers sliding from my chin and latching on to the hair behind my ear, right over the sensitive mark. He pulls my head back, maintaining eye contact.

"I'm tired of keeping my hands to myself."

Then he kisses me, lips soft but demanding, his tongue lashing out to tease the cavern of my mouth. It shouldn’t be possible to swoon, but swoon I do. My knees buckle, the warmth from his body seeping into mine. His hand drifts down, and he palms my ass, squeezing just hard enough that I groan. I’ve forgotten what a master he is with his fingers, how expertly he puts them to use.

"So sweet and hot," he growls into my mouth, yanking me forward and rolling his hips, making the world tilt and shift. "And all fucking mine."

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~ RONAN ~

I tried to do the right thing.

Lyra deserves answers, not the mindless fucking I have in mind. The beautiful female is confused. She’s scared. But she’s also turned on. Hell, she’s been hot for me the instant we touched. Her scent calls to me. Tomorrow I can tell her everything she wants to know. For now, I have to calm her fears and show her I’ll take care of her, regardless of the cost.

I bask in her taste, sweet as sugar and tempting as sin. Her soft curves mold to me, her rounded ass the perfect size for my hand. She whimpers as I squeeze the giving flesh, my fingers digging into her jeans. Tugging her forward, I thrust my cock against her stomach and rotate my hips. The beast in me wants to yank down her pants, force her onto her hands and knees, and fuck her from behind.

Not yet.

She yelps when I lift her. I carry her in the direction of the bedroom. I catch the sound in her mouth, growling in pleasure as her surprise turns to hunger. Her lips part and our tongues dance, touching, teasing, and drifting apart. I’ll be lucky if I don’t come with my first taste of her, undone by the sweetness of her pussy as I lap at her slit. I can smell her—hot, honeyed, and primed for the taking.

We enter my bedroom and I head for the bed. I carefully lower her to the mattress, bringing my body over hers, forcing her knees apart so I can slide my hips between her thighs. I can feel the heat of her pussy through my jeans. The scent of her arousal tickles my nose. The white glow from the moon slithers through the curtains and caresses her face, the shadows on the bed a combination of black and gray. Her irises change color, shifting from blue-green to a vibrant seabed in the light.

"I'm gonna eat you up," I growl against her lips and nip the lower one gently. "I want to hear every little noise you make."

She helps me tug off her jacket, violent as she rips the material from her torso. I feel her fingers shaking when our hands meet, her lithe body squirming beneath me. She’s as eager and ready as I am. When we first started dream-pairing, she was nervous and inhibited during our sexual interludes. Now—real, willing, and in my arms—my little minx of a mate is wild and out of control.

Just the way I want her.