Eli
Ronan looks at me like I’m water and he’s been dying for days.
He’s taken me three times already and with each release his need only seems to increase.
Something in him slips. I can see it go. The last thread of leashed control, snapping silent as spider silk. His pupils blow wide, gold eating the dark, and then there’s nothing left but appetite wearing his face.
“Mine,” he says.
Not a sentence. An environment.
My body answers before the rest of me catches up. Shiver, heat, pulse stuttering into a sprint. This is the thing I pretend to be afraid of and dream about anyway.
He’s on me again without ceremony, a storm that forgot how to hold rain. The first impact knocks the breath out of me. My back hits the wall, shoulders slam hard enough that the wood creaks. His hand closes aro
