Untamed

by M. O’Keefe

  “You destroy me, Poppy. You fucking ruin me. Who the fuck do you think you are to be so brave? To be so fierce?”

  “I am what you’ve made me,” I said, stroking his hair back from his face.

  He put his mouth on me through the satin of my underwear. And my hands flew back, my ugly ring smacking against the glass hard enough to break it, but he didn’t move. Could not be distracted. He licked me through the satin, over and over again until I was out of my mind with it.

  “What do you want, Poppy?” he whispered against me. I wanted him to love me. To love me like I loved him. And I had to believe I was right, but I couldn’t force him. I couldn’t make him feel something when he wasn’t ready. And maybe…maybe he’d never be ready. That was a risk I knew in my heart was true. That I might be alone in my feelings for him for the rest of my life.

  “More,” I said, and he chuckled low in his throat. I could feel a kind of relief roll off of him, because this he could give me. This cost him nothing. He would give me more until there was nothing left of him. He eased my panties over my shoes, leaving them on. He ran his hands slowly up my legs. The outside of my calves. My knees. My thighs. I was panting, unable to catch my breath. My entire world narrowed to his touch on my skin. Nothing mattered outside of this.

  I only cared about Ronan. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered, his hands easing from my hips, across my belly to the ache between my legs. His thumbs stroked me, slid me open. Held me open. “So pink, Poppy. You’re so pink and wet.”

  He kissed me, and if he was kissing any other part of my body, it would be chaste. Reverent. “Ronan,” I groaned. My hand clutching his hair, pushing him against me.

  He resisted, the asshole, just to torment me. “More?”

  “Please.”

  And he gave it to me. He pushed me against the wall and held me there, his mouth between my legs. He shouldered my thighs out wider and cupped my hips, holding me still. Holding me down. I was wet and he was loud and there was no room for shame or embarrassment. “Fuck,” he kept saying against my flesh. “Fuck, Poppy.”

  He sucked on my clit, slid a finger inside of my body, and I moaned high in my throat, my hips searching for the right pressure, the right angle, trying as best I could to have more. To get more of him.

  “Fuck, yes,” he said, and I looked down to find him looking up at me, his mouth wet, his body at my feet. His hand was buried between my legs. And maybe there was a disconnect for him between the word love and what he felt for me, but I saw it in his eyes as he watched me fucking myself against his fingers. Naked against a window, spread open and so mad for him I didn’t care about anything but him. But us. This is how I know, I thought. Because you are what matters most to me.

  And he looked at me the same way.

  “Yes,” I moaned, my fingers in his soft hair. He put his mouth back on me, messy and wild, and I exploded in orgasm. I lost myself in it. In him. My brain was empty, my body full of starlight. I was made of pleasure, and when my legs buckled, he caught me. I put my mouth to his, catching my breath by taking his. And of course, he gave it to me. He would give me anything. Everything. That’s how I know.

  “Please,” I whispered, my hand finding the hard length of his cock. I gripped him in my fist until he bit my name out through his teeth. I needed more. I needed everything. And I needed it until I couldn’t take any more.

  That’s how I know. He stood up, my strong gorgeous Ronan, swinging me into his arms.

  “Ronan, you’re hurt—”

  “Not enough to stop.”

  His mouth was on mine as he walked us into the back bedroom with its giant bed and soft sheets. He laid me down in the middle of it and I pulled off his shirt. His skin was soft and warm and I traced the muscles of his back as he flexed, lifting himself onto one hand, magically getting rid of the last of his clothes. He took care of everything, this man. Sandwiched between him and the bed, I eased down as best I could, kissing his chest. His hard nipple. The soft hair down the center of his belly. For such a hard man, he really was so soft.

  “Poppy,” he groaned, shifting away from me. “Ya can’t.”

  “Well, we both know that’s not true.” I kissed his chin. The skin beneath it—also soft. The edge of his ear.

  “I want to fuck you, lass,” he said in my ear, making goose bumps ripple over my skin. Over my heart. I spread my legs, letting him between my thighs. The hard length of his cock fell against my wet pussy and we both groaned and shook. I slipped my fingers around him, pressing him harder against me, lifting my hips higher until I felt the head of his cock at the entrance of my body. He kissed me again and again. Hard kisses. Clumsy. His nose bumped mine. His teeth cut the edge of my lip and I realized he was barely in control.

  Ronan. My Ronan, who had spent every moment we were together under almost perfect control was losing it. Never in my life had I felt so gorgeous, so loved. Sweating, with my own come slick on my thighs. This terrible haircut and undoubtedly raccoon eyes. He was shaking with desire for me. “You make a mess of me, Poppy. The second I’m inside you, it’s going to be all over.”

  “Ronan,” I groaned, dying for him. For this version of him. I pressed him against me again, arching my hips so he hit my clit and got messy with my come. Our breathing was ragged and I could feel him shaking. “I love you, Ronan,” I said, smiling into his harsh beloved face. “I dream of having your babies—”

  He shifted me, pulled me, and in a breath was so deep inside me I screamed. He stopped again. His hands cradling my face. “A chuisle, I’m sorry. I’m—”

  “Good,” I gasped, though it stung deep inside and I felt like I’d been impaled to the bed. But from one heartbeat to the next, the sting eased and I was just so full. Stretched and full. Of him.

  “It’s so good,” I said, stroking his face. Tears burned in my eyes, not from the pain of loving Ronan. Always from the pleasure. I arched against him and he pressed his head to my neck and eased himself out of my body. I shook and shuddered against him. I could feel the tremors in his body. The muscles of his back. His arms where he was braced by my shoulders.

  So much control. In every situation. So much so he never let himself bein fear of losing that control. In fear of pain. That he was hanging by a thread with me felt miraculous. Felt like a gift.

  “I love you,” I whispered in his ear, and he flinched, almost like he wanted to get away from me. But I wrapped my legs around his waist, changing the angle, and when he slid back inside me, he was deeper than I could even dream. “I love you,” I said on a choked sob because it was unbearably true. “I love you so much.”

  He fucked me across the bed, three massive strokes, and then he held on to me so hard it pulled my hair. “Poppy,” he groaned and then another thrust and he roared it, my name bouncing around the dark room as he came inside of me, shaking and whispering nonsense I could not understand. I was limp and loose, though there was an orgasm waiting inside of me, humming between my legs.

  He eased out of me and I moaned, still sensitive, still needing him. Between my legs I could feel the slip-slide of his come and I pressed my thighs together, gasping at the sparks that set off. “Are you all right, Poppy?” he whispered, wiping the tears from my cheeks. The sweat from my breasts. “Did I hurt you, a chuisle?”

  “No,” I sighed. “You didn’t hurt me, Ronan.”

  I stroked his face, lifted my face to kiss him. And then again. The taste of him impossible to get enough of. I could kiss him forever. Hungrier and hungrier for him. “Ah, fuck, lass,” he said. “You need more.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  He rolled onto his side and turned me so my back was against him. His arms wrapped around me, and I felt small and cradled and safe against his chest. I pressed my ass against his dick, growing harder against me. I reached for him, the fever in my blood getting hotter and hotter. He chuckled against my neck, his breath against my skin, and I shivered and whimpered. I reached my hand back, hungry for him. So hungry it felt like I
was empty.

  “You need this, Poppy.” His fingers ran from my stomach to between my legs. He groaned when he touched me.

  “I need you,” I whispered. “Please, Ronan. I need—”

  He shifted me, arranged me the way he wanted and slid back inside of me. He was hard and I was hot and together we were wet and it all felt electric. We were electric. We were fire. We were something elemental. Like air and earth. This feeling was timeless.

  We were endless. He fucked me sweet and slow, his fingers pressed hard against my clit. “More,” I whispered, clutching at his hands, pressing him harder against me.

  “No.”

  “Ronan,” I snapped.

  “Trust me,” he said, and then again, kissing my temple. Sweet. So sweet, it hurt. “Trust me.”

  I let go of his hands, relaxed myself against him, let myself be touched and used and stroked. It was slow and long and a pace that made me want to crawl out of my skin and I was sobbing his name, desperate and wild, the orgasm curling and twisting inside of my body. I’d reach for it and it would slip out of my fingers. “Please,” I begged. Again and again.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes. Anything.”

  He pulled out of me, and when I growled, he only laughed. “I like you like this,” he said. “It makes me want to keep you in bed and never let you go.”

  He rolled me onto my stomach and grabbed one of the pillows that I hadn’t knocked to the floor and shoved it under my hips. He moaned, running his hands up and over my ass, and I knew what was coming. The way he’d been getting me ready for this since the cottage. “You give me so much,” he said. “Every time you surrender. You’re so strong, Poppy.”

  He used his fingers to scoop up the come, mine and his, that was dripping from my body. He smeared it against my asshole, slowly working in a finger. I panted and moaned. The pain of it was fleeting, and when it left, it left behind an unbearable ache. A profound emptiness. He worked in another finger and I kept making a high keening sound in my throat as he rolled over me, pressed my legs out wide.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, lass.”

  “Then don’t stop. Please don’t ever stop.”

  Slowly, gently, he pushed himself inside of me, and every time I asked him to stop, he did. And he kissed my cheek and told me how beautiful I was. How perfect. And it took a thousand years and no time at all until he whispered,

  “There, Poppy. You’ve taken all of me.”

  And still, somehow, I said, “More.”

  He growled in his throat, my favorite sound. The sound of him coming untamed. “You’ll be the fucking end of me, Poppy.”

  And then he was fucking me. One hand under my body, his fingers against my clit. I was starlight and magic. My body completely unfamiliar to me. Brand new. The way he stroked me and held me, it went on and on until I had to twitch away from him. His cock and his fingers. His warmth and the sound of his voice. All of it too much. My body was raw and he was too much.

  “Ronan,” I cried, suddenly scared.

  “I got you, lass. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” And it was the truest thing I knew. The best thing in my life. This man would keep me safe.

  I exploded in orgasm, my whole soul pulled into it. I felt him behind me, stiffen and then swear, holding still as I clamped down on his cock and couldn’t stop. The orgasm kept going, my body buzzing and without boundaries.

  I was boneless and limp underneath him and he grabbed my hips, holding me the way he wanted and used me for his own pleasure. Used me until he came, shouting my name and gripping my hips hard enough I’d have bruises tomorrow. But the pain didn’t begin to register now. I was only pleasure. I was endless light.

  As slowly as he entered me, he withdrew, hissing and whispering my name. I wanted to tell him I was all right. That nothing in my life had ever felt so good, but my body didn’t work. Slowly, he turned me in his arms, my body wet and sticky against his. His hair was slick against his face and I longed to push it back, out of his pretty blue eyes, but if I had hands, they were broken. I love you. I love you so much it hurts.

  “You okay?” he asked, kissing my cheek. My lips. My other cheek. He brushed my hair off my face with the flat of his hand.

  “I’ve never…” There were twenty things I could say. I’ve never come that hard. I’ve never had sex that good. Been fucked so well. “Felt this way.”

  “Me neither,” he said, surprising me.

  I put my hands over his, pressing him against my stomach.

  I rolled to face him. A slice of shadowy light seeped out from the blinds on the window and highlighted his face. The eye and the slice on his cheek. I touched the bruising as gently as I could. “I don’t want…” I stopped, unsure of how to say this.

  “What?”

  I picked up his hand, the one with the scar on his wrist from the downspout when he had to jump through a window. “I don’t want our child to jump out a window because something bad was coming through their door.”

  “No,” he whispered. “Me, neither.”

  He was silent for a long time, his eyelids drifted shut and he forced them back open through a force of will.

  “When’s the last time you slept?” I asked him.

  “I sleep,” he lied. He was so tired he sounded drunk.

  “You didn’t sleep at the cottage. You didn’t sleep last night.”

  I stroked his face, and with every touch of my fingertips, his eyes half shut. A spike of sweetness went right through me. “We’re safe here,” I said. “No one can hurt you here.”

  “You think I don’t sleep because I’m worried about myself?” No. I didn’t think that. “I don’t sleep, Poppy, because of you. I’m worried about you. And Bryant…the deadline.”

  “I’m safe,” I whispered. “We have two days. You’ve made me safe. Sleep.” I smiled into his face. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  He was so tired he didn’t even react. He was so tired he was asleep before his eyes even shut. His breathing soft and even, his body relaxed and heavy against mine. I curled my arms around him and held him the way he never let me hold him when he was awake. With my arms around his shoulders, his head against mine. His knees curled up against my legs. Ronan was so strong. The strongest man I knew. He was determined and stubborn. He was brave. But he was also human and I loved him more the more of his humanity he showed me. And this, right now, I loved him so much it brought me to tears.

  But then I had to go pee.

  Carefully, so I didn’t wake him, I rolled away from him. Though it was obvious he was out, like out out. Ronan was nearly superhuman, but there was a limit to how much a human body could endure. And he’d hit the wall. I put on a robe and made some coffee with Ronan’s fancy coffee maker before texting my sister to see how she was doing.

  Fine, she texted back right away.

  How are things with Jacob?

  The little dots on her end appeared and then disappeared. I waited for her text to arrive but then the dots showed up again. Disappeared. Reappeared.

  I called her.

  “What’s going on?” I asked when she picked up. “I don’t…” she whispered, and I could hear some scuffling on her end, the creak of her old wood floors. “Zilla?”

  “I don’t really know,” she finally said in a slightly louder voice.

  “Are you safe? Is he—”

  “He kissed me last night. Or…I kissed him. It’s blurry.”

  My eyes opened wide and I was stunned into silence. Zilla, for all her unpredictability, was pretty predictable when it came to men. She had one very limited use for them, and otherwise she stayed away. “He’s sleeping now. Like really sleeping. The guy is pretty fucking tired.”

  “That’s weird. So is Ronan,” I said, walking into the living room where my bag and all my jewelry was spread across the couch. The clothes I’d been wearing were in a pile in front of the window. The bag Ronan had been packing for me was forgotten on the floor. God, the plane and now having sex ag
ainst this window.

  Being Mrs. Ronan Byrne was turning me into someone new. I liked her. She was ballsy and sexy and owned all of that. It still felt a little bit like I was pretending, but I imagined change didn’t happen overnight. I needed to remember that when it came to Ronan, too. He could not change simply because I wanted him to. And it seemed, a little, like he wanted to, too.

  “He’s…” Zilla sighed. “He’s a nice guy. And he…gets me. Like I don’t have to hide anything from him. I don’t have to pretend.”

  I realized in her voice that pretending must be a large part of her life and I ached for her the way I always did. And I was proud of her and how strong she was. “That’s amazing, Zilla.”

  “He’s still scary as fuck, but it’s not hard hanging out with him. He laughs at my jokes.”

  “Good,” I said, and started picking my shit up off the floor.

  “How are you and Ronan?”

  I laughed because that was some kind of complicated. “Good,” I finally said, choosing not to go into the war we were wading into. “I think. I mean, I think he’s coming around to the idea of us. That he can believe me when I tell him I love him.”

  I didn’t tell her about Ronan working for Bryant.

  “Why do you do that?” she whispered.

  “Do what?”

  “Love someone who has no way of loving you back. Why do you give so much of yourself away when there’s no return?”

  Another sunrise through the windows. My whole world was upside down here. I slept during the day and was held at gunpoint at night. And through it all there was Ronan. Ronan holding me tight. Keeping me safe. Loving me when he didn’t know the word.

  “I think he can love me back. I think he does. But I can love him enough for both of us until he feels what I feel.”