Her eyes widened, that gorgeous blush creeping up her neck again.
“But I… what about… we’ll scare Santa away, and then he won’t leave us any presents!” She cracked herself up, and Ronan couldn’t help but laugh. She was so fucking cute when she laughed, so beautiful, so everything.
But cuteness and jokes would not save her.
“Santa lost my address a long time ago, Cupcake. The only present you’re getting tonight is my face between your thighs.” He didn’t hear what the fuck she said after that, because when Ronan made a promise, he damn well delivered. Her thighs were clamped down on his ears, muffling all sound as he tongued her through the sweatpants. Even through the cotton, he could feel her heat. She was already wet for him again.
She fisted his hair, tugging him hard against her, taking control as her thighs squeezed him tighter and tighter.
Fuck this. I need her naked. And I need to hear her moan.
Ronan pulled away just long enough to tear the sweatpants and panties from her ass and toss them to the ground. Then he grabbed her thighs and spread her wide, pinning her legs down with the heels of his hands.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He lowered his head again, licking and teasing her hot, wet lips as she thrashed beneath him.
“You’re not…” she panted. “You’re not going to tease me again, are you?”
“Depends. Am I forgiven?” Ronan blew a hot breath across her clit, then pressed his lips to it, sucking gently.
“Ronan!”
“Yes or no.” He sucked her harder into his mouth, grazing her with his teeth, his tongue swirling around the bundle of sensitive flesh.
“Not fair.” She arched her hips to get closer, but he held back, nipping and sucking her, stopping every time she got too close to the edge, only to start up the endless torture all over again.
“Yes!” She finally caved, grabbing his head and pulling him closer. “I forgive you for everything you’ve ever done. And for anything else you might do or say later. All forgiven. Completely. Just don’t—”
He shoved his tongue inside her pussy, cutting her right the fuck off. This time, there was no holding back, no teasing, no stopping. He wanted to make her come, wanted her all over his God damn face.
Georgie fisted his hair, tugging so hard it made his eyes water. She was right there, right on the precipice, her whole body begging for him to let her fall.
“Come in my mouth, baby. Fucking shatter for me.”
He rolled her clit between his thumb and forefinger as he fucked her pussy with his tongue, his lips, his breath. She bucked her hips, writhing beneath him, screaming his name as she came, but still he didn’t stop. He kissed and sucked and ate that gorgeous pussy like it was the last thing he’d ever taste, the last time he’d ever have that sweet cream all over his face.
God, she made his fucking mouth water. He bit the bottom edge of her T-shirt and slid it up, revealing her flat stomach, a cluster of freckles on the left, just below her rib cage. With his tongue, he left a blazing hot trail across her abdomen, licking and kissing his way from one hip bone to the other.
Georgie was still panting, riding out the aftershocks, but Ronan couldn’t wait. Her nipples were hard beneath the shirt, and he wanted those tits in his face, in his mouth. He wanted more of her. All of her. Every freckled inch.
“I need you naked,” he said. He bit the shirt again and dragged it upward, his stubbled chin grazing the soft skin of her belly. That shirt was the very last thing that stood between his mouth and her flesh, and it needed to be gone yesterday.
But out of fucking nowhere, Georgie bolted upright and snatched it out of his teeth, her eyes wide with fear.
And then she said the word that put his dick on ice.
“Stop.”
CHAPTER 15
Georgie was paralyzed, her fingers wrapped tight around the bottom of her shirt, adrenaline coursing through her body.
Fear was a funny thing. She’d taken Ronan in her mouth. She’d trusted him enough to let him spank her. She’d begged him for more, and she’d let him explore her most private places, bringing her to ecstasy with every delicious kiss, again and again, until she’d finally lost count.
But somehow, the thing he wanted now, this ridiculously small gesture… it felt too intimate. Too dangerous.
“Jesus, Georgie. Your scared out of your mind.” Ronan shoved a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”
He sat up straight at the other end of the couch, staring into the fire, every one of his walls going back up.
“Ronan,” she said firmly. “Look at me.”
He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, then finally turned to meet her eyes.
“That’s not it. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She closed the distance between them, climbing into his lap and straddling him, her wet heat hovering just above his jeans. God, he was so hard for her.
She slid her hands over his shoulders and brushed her lips across his jaw, his ear. “Isn’t it obvious how much I want this?” she whispered. “How much I want you?”
She lowered herself onto him, the cold metal of his button and zipper an exquisite shock against her sex. The aftershocks of his touch lingered; she was still so wound up for him—no matter how intense her fears—and she needed him to know it.
Ronan ran his hand up her back and tugged her curls. “I wish I knew what was going on in that head of yours, Cupcake.”
“It’s kind of a long story.”
“Everything with you is kind of a long story.” Ronan smiled gently. “Let’s have it.”
Georgie took a deep, steadying breath, then reached inside her shirt and fished out her locket, opening it up so Ronan could see the inside. There were no pictures, no jewels. Only names, one engraved on each side.
Georgie on the left.
Melissa on the right.
Ronan held the locket between his thumb and forefinger, turning it so he could read it in the firelight. “Who’s Melissa?”
“She died,” Georgie said. “Skiing accident last December twentieth. I was in a coma at the time—for about a week at that point.”
“What?” His hands went to her hips, holding her tight. “What happened?”
“My parents flew in that night. The last thing I remember was them standing on either side of my hospital bed, basically in tears. The doctor came in and told them to prepare for the worst. They didn’t think I was conscious at the time, but I heard every word. I wasn’t going to survive the week.”
Georgie closed her eyes, shivering at the memories of those dark days. But she had to keep going, had to get this out. She wanted Ronan to know her, and this was her story, part of who she was, part of the long and winding road that eventually brought her here.
She’d been born with a congenital heart defect, and after defying the doctors’ predictions and living beyond her first year of life, she’d spent her entire childhood battling illness, infection, tests, weakness, germs, fear, needles, pain. Doctors were always telling her parents to prepare for the worst, but even at her lowest points, Georgie had bounced back every time, stronger than the last.
But, she told Ronan, last year was different. Something inside her had changed irreparably, and for the first time in her life, Georgie knew that the doctors were right. Her heart was giving out, and no amount of machinery or medication could keep it beating. She’d passed out and hit her head at her office holiday party, and when she woke up, she was in the hospital, connected to dozens of tubes and machines, none of them able to revive her. She didn’t even have the strength to lift her head off the pillow, to tell them she was still there, to say her goodbyes. Her parents held her hands as the doctor’s news settled over her like a cold, dark presence, and then everything went black.
“When I finally came to again,” she said, “I thought I was dead. I opened my eyes, and all I saw was a big bright light—just like everyone says. But it turns out it was just my wi
ndow. There was a storm in New York City, snow blowing all sideways and crazy like tonight. It was Christmas day. They wouldn’t let my family in yet, but the doctors and nurses were there. They said I’d flatlined three times, but they brought me back, and now I was here to stay. Dr. Bello told me I had a new scar, and underneath it, the heart of a seventeen-year-old girl beating inside of me.”
Georgie grabbed Ronan’s hand and slid it inside her shirt, pressing it to her bare chest.
Ronan didn’t say anything at first, just sat with her, his eyes full of emotion. When he finally spoke, it was barely a whisper. “Georgie. Do you really think you’re any less beautiful to me because of a scar?”
“No, it’s just… you were right, Ronan. I love the way you hold me. The things you do to me. When I’m with you, when you’re touching me, you don’t hold back. I feel everything. And I don’t want that to change. I don’t want you think I’m sick, or weak, or worry that I can’t handle—”
Ronan crushed her with a bruising kiss, claiming her mouth so ferociously it hurt. He tasted like smoke and fire, like passion and heat, and when he finally pulled away, her lips were swollen, and both of them were panting.
“You’re the strongest, most fierce, most stubborn, most incredible, pain-in-the-ass woman I’ve ever met, Georgie. Nothing could change my mind about that.” He pressed his hand flat against her chest again, feeling her heartbeat, his eyes blazing in the firelight. “You have someone else’s heart beating in your chest, and you’re fucking alive because of it. You’re here because of it. You survived. That’s what this scar means. Wear it like a badge of honor.”
Keeping his eyes locked on hers, Ronan slid his fingers along the thick red line running down Georgie’s chest, marking the great before and after of her life. Before, she couldn’t walk up a flight of stairs without stopping to rest. She couldn’t hike with her family in the Colorado summers. She couldn’t play hide-and-seek with her nieces or go whitewater rafting or go anywhere in New York without a taxi. But after, she could breathe again. She could run. She could live. She could love.
Ronan was right—her scar was a badge of honor. In that moment, sitting in Ronan’s lap, her hands warm on his broad shoulders, Georgie thought of the girl whose heart now beat in her chest, and wondered if she’d ever been in love. If this very heart had ever beat so wildly, so passionately for another person.
Georgie hoped it had. She sensed that it knew what it was doing. That it wouldn’t let her down.
There was a question in Ronan’s eyes, and Georgie nodded and raised her arms. Ronan took his time removing her shirt, unwrapping her like a precious gift. That’s what it felt like—like she was giving him something special, some part of herself she’d never before shared with another man.
He dropped the shirt on the floor and marveled, unabashed.
“You’re so damn beautiful, Georgie,” Ronan whispered, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth, his hands trailing lightly over her breasts, sending her into a full-bodied shiver. “Your bright blue eyes. Your crazy hair. Your mouth. Your perfect ass. And especially this.” He ran his tongue down the line of her scar, from the base of her throat to her diaphragm, painting it with slow, hot kisses that left her breathless. “I want my lips on every part of you.”
“Me too.” She unzipped his hoodie and slid it off his shoulders, unwrapping him just as he’d unwrapped her, like a gift to be cherished. He slid his arms out, and the hoodie fell to the couch, revealing his full, naked torso to her for the first time.
Just as she’d imagined, his skin was a map of tattoos—symbols and letters etched from one shoulder to the next, winding down the sides of his abs to his hips, snaking along both arms. Every one of them told a story, and Georgie wanted to know them.
But beneath all that ink, all those stories, she felt the ridges of dozens of scars—too many to count. The deep slash of a knife wound on his side. Two white circles on his right shoulder that had to be bullet wounds. At the bottom edge of his left shoulder blade was an angry red X that could only be a brand.
They rose together from the couch, and Ronan slid out of his jeans and boxers, revealing more of the same. Angry white scars and slashes on his thigh, his legs. Knives and teeth. Pain and torment.
Georgie’s throat tightened, her vision blurring with tears. She wanted to kiss away every last mark, every last bit of pain he’d ever experienced, inside and out.
“I’m still here,” Ronan said. “I survived. That’s all it means. That’s all it’s ever meant.” He dipped his head and kissed her, sucking her lip between his teeth, biting gently, their breath mingling as she sighed into his mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed as Ronan cupped her ass, and her thoughts melted away.
Right now, all that existed was Georgie and Ronan, the fire roaring beside them, their lips and hands and flesh, scarred and storied, bared completely for each other.
Ronan’s clean, masculine scent enveloped her as he bit her shoulder, her neck, her collarbone, tracing a path to her breast with his lips and tongue. His silky black hair tickled her skin as he grazed her nipple with his teeth, soft and rough, the opposing sensations driving her wild with desire.
He ran his fingers down her chest, her abdomen, and instinctively she parted her thighs for him, welcoming his rough, commanding touch. He slid his fingers inside and stretched her wide, his thumb rubbing agonizingly slow circles against her clit, his mouth everywhere at once, tonguing her scar, her nipples.
Ronan made love to her breasts the same way he’d made love to her mouth, to her thighs, to her stomach, as if every inch of her flesh was something to be revered. He was passionate, he was rough, he was so damn sensual.
And he never, ever treated her like glass.
“You feel so good,” she whispered, losing herself in the hot pleasure of his tongue. But Georgie didn’t want to come by his fingers, by his mouth. She wanted him inside her. Now.
Georgie lowered herself down onto the plush rug in front of the fireplace, pulling Ronan down on top, his hard, delicious length pressing against her abdomen. It was so smooth, so perfect. She’d loved taking him between her lips after dinner, sucking him, tasting his release as it slid down her throat. She couldn’t wait to feel him inside her.
Ronan cupped her face, kissing her chin, her jaw, her ear. In a hot, soft breath, he whispered, “Touch yourself for me.”
Georgie was powerless to resist. She didn’t want to resist. She wanted to do everything he asked, everything he demanded.
Because everything he demanded felt so damn right.
“I used to be a nice girl before I met you.” Georgie laughed softly, sliding her hand between their bodies, her fingers brushing through the hair between her thighs.
“That a fact?” Ronan asked.
“Yep. No spankings,” she whispered, running a finger across her clit. “No orgasms at the dinner table.”
“Sounds like you met me just in time.”
Georgie closed her eyes, the pleasure of her own touch making her shiver.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “All of a sudden I have a naughty side.”
She’d never been so hot and wet before, so desperate for a man’s touch.
No, not just a man’s touch. Ronan’s touch.
She craved him. Needed him. Her legs fell open as she slid her fingers into her own slick heat, coating herself with her juices as she imagined Ronan kissing her, thrusting inside her…
Ronan was rock-hard, throbbing against her thigh as he watched her stroke herself.
“Your naughty side is very, very nice,” he teased, pressing a hot kiss to her mouth.
She melted beneath his soft lips, his kiss at once gentle and fierce.
“Ronan,” she moaned. “I’m right there. I’m—”
“Not yet, baby.” He grabbed her hand and sucked her fingers into his mouth, stopping the momentum of her impending explosion.
Georgie opened her eyes. She was so tight and wound up, so desperate, so delirious. She arched h
er hips to get closer, begging him to roll on the condom and slide inside, but still he made her wait, swirling his hot, soft tongue over her fingertips, watching her with intense hunger, with desire, with his own desperate need.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, sliding her fingers from his mouth. He kissed her wrist, the inside of her elbow, the edge of her armpit, his hard length pressing eagerly against her thigh. “What you need.”
“You,” Georgie said. “I want you inside me.”
“Inside where, my nice, naughty girl?”
Georgie whimpered softly, her heart racing as the fire in her belly roiled.
Ronan had unlocked something inside of her—something wild and dangerous, something uninhibited. Something that Georgie was only just beginning to explore.
“Tell me where you want me.” Ronan’s eyes were full of fire as he finally rolled on the condom, and for the first time in her life, Georgie felt powerful. Strong. Beautiful. Confident. Unstoppable.
And sexy as hell.
“I want you to own me, Ronan,” she said, parting her thighs even wider. “Own this hot, wet pussy. It’s yours.”
Ronan grabbed her wrists, pinning them to the floor above her head. In a low voice that made her thighs clench, he said, “You are mine, Cupcake. Every part of you.”
Without warning he slammed into her, fierce and sudden, thrusting deep, filling her so completely she could no longer tell where she ended and Ronan began.
Snowed In with the Bad Boy (Bad Boys on Holiday Book 1) Page 8