Eli
Ronan doesn’t walk. He hunts.
Every step closer rattles something deep in me, that bond screaming between us like a live wire about to snap. My thighs are already trembling, my c**k hard and dripping.
His hand slams against my chest, pinning me flat to the wall. His palm finds my throat next, hot and rough, squeezing just enough that my lungs stutter. My mouth falls open on instinct, a sound torn out of me that isn’t protest.
His c**k drags against my thigh, heavy, leaking, hot enough to scald. He snarls my name into my jaw, teeth scraping hard enough that I know I’ll wear the bruise later.
“Mine.”
It’s not a word. It’s law.
The next second he’s grinding me into the wall, rut-dumb and reckless. His hand doesn’t leave my throat. He licks me like he’s trying to taste the marrow th
