“You’re mine,” I growl into her ear. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.” She lifts her hips and meets me thrust for thrust. “God, Ronan, I’m yours.”
I flip us over without breaking our connection, settling her on top. She looks like a goddess above me, hair wild, breasts bouncing with each movement. She takes control, setting a pace that drives me to the edge of sanity.
“That’s it,” I say, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “Take what’s yours.”
Her movements become frantic, desperate. I reach between us to circle her clit with my thumb, and she shatters, crying out my name as her inner walls clench around me. The sight of her coming undone is too much. I flip us again, pounding into her with abandon as my own release approaches.
“Inside,” she gasps. “I want to feel you come inside me. Coat me with your seed, Ronan.”
That’s all it takes. I explode, emptying myself into her with a primal groan, claiming her in the most ancient way possible. We stay locked together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin.
When I finally roll to the side, I pull her against me, unwilling to break contact completely. She nestles against my chest, her breathing slowly returning to normal. I trace patterns on her bare back, feeling more complete than I ever have.
“I've never…” she begins, then stops.
“Never what?”
She shakes her head, smiling softly. “Nothing. It’s just … this was incredible.”
There it is again—that note of finality. Like she’s saying goodbye already. I tighten my grip on her.
“Get some sleep,” I say, kissing her forehead. “We have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”
She tenses slightly before relaxing against me. Within minutes, her breathing evens out, and she’s asleep in my arms, looking heartbreakingly peaceful. I study her face in the moonlight—the curve of her cheek, the fan of her lashes against her skin. So beautiful it aches.
Whatever she’s hiding, whatever debt or trouble has driven her to that auction, I’ll fix it. I have the resources to solve any problem, eliminate any threat. Tomorrow, I’ll tear down whatever wall she thinks stands between us.
Because this woman in my arms belongs here. With me. With Ryan.
She thinks she’s leaving tomorrow.
She’s wrong.
8
RAYNE
This is it. I’ve never hated Monday as much as I do right now.
I carefully slide out from under Ronan’s arm and slip into his discarded dress shirt, breathing in his scent as I grab my phone and pad barefoot toward the kitchen. Thank goodness his staff are just on-call or else I wouldn’t be this comfortable walking around his mansion.
The coffee maker is a far cry from my instant coffee. After some fumbling, I manage to brew myself a cup, cradling the steaming mug as I wander to windows overlooking the backyard.
Fresh snow blankets everything, pristine and untouched. The Christmas lights strung along the trees twinkle despite the daylight, creating a winter wonderland that seems almost magical. I press my forehead against the cool glass, exhaling slowly.
In just a few days, my entire life has changed.
The weekend is almost over. I came here with a clear goal: make enough money to help my mother. Go back to my life. Move on. Instead, I’ve been thoroughly, irrevocably changed.
I should feel nothing but relief. Mom’s treatments are secure. The next round of hospital bills won’t send me spiraling into panic. But instead of relief, a hollow ache spreads through my chest. I’m mourning something I never really had, never expected to have—a fairytale ending with a man like Ronan Ward.
Men like him don’t end up with women like me. Not long-term. Not really. Especially not someone they essentially won at an auction.
My phone buzzes on the counter where I left it. Probably the hospital with Mom’s morning update. I reach for it, unlocking the screen with my thumb.
My coffee cup nearly slips from my fingers.
