Page 28 of Ruthless Savior
The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I hear the unmistakable sound of a lock turning. I lean against it, my legs suddenly shaky, and try to process what just happened.
I saw Ronan O'Malley pleasuring himself. I watched him come, and it was the most erotic thing I've ever witnessed in my life. And now I'm trapped in this room with the memory of it, with the image of his face twisted in pleasure burned into my brain.
I slide down the door until I'm sitting on the floor, my head in my hands. This is so much worse than I thought. It's not just that I'm attracted to him—it's that I'm attracted to him in a way that makes a person do stupid things, make bad decisions. The kind I haven’t encountered in my life up until now, and now is the worst possible timing.
It’s the kind of attraction that could get me into even more trouble than I'm already in.
I force myself to stand up and change back into my sleep clothes before I walk back to the bed and crawl under the covers,but I know there's no way I'm going to be able to sleep now. My body is wound tight with need, every nerve ending on fire from what I witnessed. I try to ignore it, try to focus on other things, but it's impossible.
Finally, I give in.
My nipples are hard as diamonds. I brush my hand over them through the thin tank top I’m wearing, before letting it drift lower. I’ve touched myself before—hell, I have a vibrator—but the orgasms have never beenthatgood. They’ve never made me make the kinds of sounds that I heard from Ronan, sounds so ragged and needy that they bordered on pained.
Biting my lip, I dip my fingers under the waistband of my shorts. I’m not wearing panties underneath—I wasn’t wearing anything under my dress earlier either, because I don’t have any. I hadn’t even thought about it at the time, too caught up in what was happening, but now I can’t help but imagine what the look on Ronan’s face would have been if he’d known I was sitting at his dinner table without panties on.
A jolt of arousal shoots through me, and I dip my fingers between my folds. I’m so wet, wetter than I think I’ve ever been before, and I bite my lip harder against a moan as I rub two fingers back and forth over my clit. I close my eyes, letting myself remember the way Ronan looked, the sounds he made. I imagine it's his hand touching me instead of my own, his voice whispering my name. His cock nudging against my entrance instead of two fingers of my other hand, circling it without dipping inside. I’ve never actually penetrated myself before, never used a dildo or tried to mimic sex. I was too nervous, too unsure of what it was all really supposed to feel like, wondering if I should wait for the real thing.
Now, I wish I had. If I had, maybe the doctor wouldn’t have thought I was a virgin. Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up where I was.
Or maybe it would have been something worse.
The thought temporarily cools my arousal, and I’m on the verge of pulling my hands back and trying to go to sleep. But then I remember what I saw, and it all comes flooding back.
My wrist tingles as I remember Ronan’s touch there, pulling me back. A fantasy runs through my head, quick and vivid—him backing me against the table, setting me on the edge of it, shoving the dishes to the floor like some overwrought romance as he pushes my dress up. Him discovering that I’m not wearing panties, his voice, low and deep and accented, telling me that I’m a bad girl.
That I must be begging for him to make me come if I forgot my panties.
It’s hard to even imagine what a tongue between my thighs would feel like, but my mind is determined to try anyway, conjuring an image of Ronan sinking to his knees, his face between my legs as his tongue starts to trace the same pattern that my fingers are currently circling over my clit. I imagine that it would feel so good, that he’d know exactly what he was doing, that he’d bring me to an orgasm so fast I wouldn’t be able to overthink it or wonder if he was bored. I’d just come for him, hard and messy, and?—
I clench my teeth against a cry as my climax hits me, washing over me so quickly that it feels like the one I fantasized about. I arch into my hand, the other teasing my entrance as I clench and shudder, gasping aloud as pleasure rolls through me in waves that leave me boneless and limp against the mattress.
Slowly, I slide my hands away, pressing them against the sheets as I try to catch my breath. My thoughts don’t feel any clearer—if anything, they’re more muddled, more confused at how easily I conjured a fantasy I shouldn’t have.
I never usuallythinkabout anything when I touch myself. I don’t fantasize about anyone in particular—I’ve never hadanyone to fantasize about. Particularly hot celebrities, maybe, but that hasn’t done much for me. And my vibrator makes it easy to come quickly, without having to do too many mental gymnastics.
That was too easy. Tooreal. I stare up at the ceiling, wishing for sleep, and as my body sinks into the afterglow of the orgasm, I feel it creeping up on me.
I don’t fight it. Scary as it is to be alone in a strange house with a strange—and potentially violent, if not to me—man, I’m exhausted in every possible way. I curl onto my side, wrapping my arms around the down-soft pillows, and tumble into sleep.
Except that sleep is restless, filled with dreams that make me wake up hot and bothered and more frustrated than ever.
In my dreams, Ronan isn't just pleasuring himself—he's in this bed with me, touching me, kissing me, whispering things in my ear that make me arch against him. His hands are everywhere, his mouth hot and demanding on mine, and when I wake up, I can still feel the phantom touch of his fingers on my skin. I can still feel the weight of his cock against my thigh, hard as rock, demanding entrance. Demanding that I give myself to him.
I wake up in a haze, with arousal still thrumming through my body. I sit up, pushing my hair back from my face, and check the clock on the nightstand. It's barely dawn, the room still dim with early morning light. I feel like I haven't slept at all. I run my hands through my hair, frustrated with the restless night.
I can't keep letting myself think about him this way. It's not helping anything, and it's certainly not going to get me out of here. The guilt I felt last night floods me again, guilt that I’m here, in this opulent place, enjoying fine food and fantasizing about my handsome captor—rescuer?—while the people I love are worried and struggling without me.
I thought I’d fixed everything, and I’ve only made it all so much worse. I don’t know what my way out of this is. Unless?—
As I sit there in the growing light, trying to figure out what to do next, an idea starts to form in my mind. It's crazy, and probably stupid. But it feels like it might be my only option for going home.
I think Ronan feels the same attraction that I do. He called me beautiful. I saw the look in his eyes when he grabbed my wrist last night and I was close to him. And men like him, powerful men who are used to getting what they want, they don't usually deny themselves when it comes to desire.
What if I could use that? What if I could offer him what he wants in exchange for what I need?
The thought makes my stomach clench with a mixture of fear and anticipation. I've never done anything like this before, never used my body as a bargaining chip. The idea should repulse me, should make me feel cheap and desperate.
But Rocco was going to use me like this against my will. Neil was going to sell my body to cover my debt. Why can’t I do it on my own terms?
