Chapter Nineteen - The Spark Beneath Her Skin
1126 Words
The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the compound in a golden-purple haze. The evening was still, quiet, almost expectant—like the air itself was holding its breath.
Evelyn knocked lightly on Ronan’s door.
Once.
Twice.
She almost walked away after the second—but the door opened before she could.
He stood there in a black tee and low-slung jeans, hair damp from a shower, and his eyes… softened the second they landed on her.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough from the day.
“Hi,” she replied, and for a second, that was all.
Then she took a breath and stepped inside when he moved aside. Ronan said nothing—just watched her closely as she walked past him, calm but not casual, like she’d made a choice.
“I wanted to see you,” she said, turning to face him as he closed the door behind them.
Ronan nodded slowly, his voice low. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
Her stomach fluttered, heat blooming beneath her skin.
She stepped closer. “Can I kiss you?”
That wrecked him.
He nodded once. “Yeah. Please.”
She leaned in, reaching for his shirt like she had the night before, and he bent to meet her—his lips brushing hers softly, reverently.
The kiss started just like the last—gentle, controlled.
But when she pressed her body a little closer… when she opened her mouth just slightly to take more of him in…
His restraint thinned.
His hands came up—finally.
One to her waist, the other sliding around to the small of her back. She felt his palm splay against her spine, guiding her into him with a firm, slow pressure.
Then he kissed her again. Deeper this time.
Not rushed. Not frantic.
Just… more.
More pressure. More intent.
More of him.
And then she felt it—
His hand slid upward, tracing the side of her ribcage, not groping, not pushing—exploring. The way Jules said he would. Soft. Curious. Worshipful.
She gasped quietly against his mouth, but didn’t pull away.
Ronan paused, forehead resting against hers.
“You okay?” he whispered.
She nodded, breathless. “I like it.”
That undid something in him.
His mouth returned to hers, slower now, but firmer—his hand brushing the edge of her chest, then retreating again, like he was asking and waiting and letting her set the pace.
She leaned in. Gave him her answer.
His hands roamed lower this time, over the curve of her hips, across the tops of her thighs. Each touch was intentional. Slow. And she loved how it felt—how he was mapping her like something fragile but craved.
And when her own hands slid up beneath the edge of his shirt—brushing skin for the first time—he growled low in his throat, just once.
That sound?
She’d never forget it.
When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing hard, flushed, eyes dark with everything unspoken—Ronan cupped her face in both hands and kissed her forehead.
“You keep kissing me like that,” he murmured, voice wrecked, “and I’m not going to be able to keep playing this slow.”
She smiled, chest rising and falling, hands still tangled in his shirt. “Maybe I don’t want you to play it slow forever.”
His thumb brushed her cheek. “Say when.”
“I will,” she promised.
And when she left his room that night, heart racing and lips tingling, she was already thinking about when.
Later that night, Evelyn sat cross-legged on her bed in soft sleep shorts and an oversized tee, her face still warm from what had just happened with Ronan.
She hadn't even had time to process it when Remy and Jules barged into her room—uninvited, unbothered, and carrying a shaker of lychee martinis like it was sacred ritual.
“We come bearing alcohol and gossip,” Jules announced, kicking the door shut with her foot. “Two essentials for female survival in a biker compound full of panty-dropping men.”
Evelyn laughed, shaking her head as Jules handed her a martini glass already filled and chilled.
Remy flopped onto the bed beside her. “You look flushed, sunshine. That have anything to do with your president?”
Evelyn took a sip to stall. “Maybe.”
Jules grinned wide. “Ooooh. You didn’t!”
Remy leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Tell us everything. And we mean everything.”
Evelyn bit her lip, blushing. “It was just kissing. But… more.”
Jules wiggled her brows. “More touching?”
Evelyn nodded shyly. “Yeah. He… he started exploring. Just… hands. Over my hips. My ribs.”
Remy made an approving sound. “Good hands, that man. Strong and slow. He doesn’t do anything half-assed.”
“I liked it,” Evelyn admitted softly. “A lot.”
Jules raised her glass. “To Ronan teaching her how to feel.”
They all clinked glasses.
Remy, never shy, leaned back and grinned. “Maddox had me against the wall in the garage last night. Full clothes on, but his mouth was everywhere. I couldn’t walk straight for twenty minutes.”
Evelyn giggled, wide-eyed. “You what?”
“Oh yeah,” Remy said proudly. “Sometimes you don’t need the full package. Just the build-up.”
Jules tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Rider had me up against the hood of his car after club dinner last week. Said the sound of my heels in the hallway was driving him crazy.”
Remy howled. “You are such a showoff.”
Evelyn looked between them, her cheeks aching from smiling. “Do you guys always talk about this stuff?”
“Of course,” Jules said. “Why do you think we have cocktail nights?”
“To get drunk?” Evelyn guessed.
“Wrong,” Remy said. “To brag, to overshare, and to make sure none of us are missing out on the good stuff.”
They all laughed again.
Jules reached over and gave Evelyn’s knee a squeeze. “You’re glowing, babe. I’m proud of you. You’re not just falling—you’re stepping in.”
“And next time,” Remy said with a wink, “when that man’s hands start to travel again? You’re going to know exactly how to guide them.”
Evelyn’s smile deepened as warmth spread through her chest.
For the first time in her life, she felt like she wasn’t behind.
She was exactly where she was meant to be.
- Writer
