Chapter Thirteen

Ronan

I stomp to the kitchen hours and one fecking fateful trip to my own animal shed later.

Even though I know it’s a train headed down the wrong track, I’m still planning on cooking Savie’s supper this eve. As I walk, I notice the rustic décor of my home, and look at it through the narrowed eyes of judgment. Caris helped make it a wee bit homier, procuring antiques and other bric-a-brac, hoping that I’d eventually settle down and start a family. At thirty, I’m not getting any younger. I don’t want to be grey and rocking on my front porch when my children are tots at my feet.

I don’t really understand the repercussions behind my desire to do something nice for Savie. Ever since I first clapped eyes on her inside that obnoxious metal beast, she’s stolen every bit of pleasure from me outside of the physical. The worst part is how she’s caused me to question my own beliefs and way of life. I admit, her long, judgmental looks and heavy sighs have become few and far between. But consequences reside behind that truth, and I don’t want to examine them.

As I run a hand over my scalp, I feel like a sheep at sheering time. Literally, my head feels ten pounds lighter. When Caris asked if I would do it for her, I did balk. Then, her yapping got on my last nerve and I agreed to let her shear me. In the end, we both agreed that the time to look like a right savage had passed. Now, I’m not so sure.

The first time I stepped outside of the shed, the cold air hit me like an ice block to the head and face. I can’t remember the last time I cut my hair, and the last time I shaved was the morning that my cousin Paddy told me I had a baby face.

The long hair I love or loved, so it was, vacated my head on a few swipes of my own shears and blade. The same ones I use if Mateo’s mane and forelock go awry. But the beard that I’d grown purely out of spite, well, I’d come to love that too. It kept me warm from the wintery chill, or so it did. As the Bard of this grove, I can’t even give an appearance of weakness. If my people lose respect for me, they won’t follow me and chaos could ensue.

Worse than the thought of stepping down from my position, at the soul level, I know why I really cleaned myself up, looking like a right townie. Because of her. I don’t want to admit, even to myself, that the woman makes my cock harder than steel. Admitting it would mean even more painful arguments with myself over a woman whose lifestyle I don’t respect. In fact, most of her ways disgust me. Her musical talent can’t be denied, but she’s all American glitz and glamour. She’s got more personal possessions along for a six-week tour, than I’ve ever seen one person own in my lifetime. She may now understand my personal values because she stopped to listen, but she’d never dream of adopting them.

I busy myself at the pantry, looking through jars labeled with every possible vegetable and fruit from my own garden and my sister’s. When I finally find what I’m looking for, I load my arms up with the various ingredients and get to work preparing a pot roast with garden vegetables, along with homemade biscuits. Caris sent an apple pie so we’ll have that for dessert.

Savie’s out on the porch again with her guitar in hand and the haunting sounds of her chords reach my ears as I cook. She hasn’t seen my new look yet—she was napping when I got home from the inn this afternoon—and I can’t help but let my mind drift to her reaction. Will she look at me as if I’ve lost my mind or will she be attracted to the new less hairy version of me? Lord knows her body wants mine, but I know that she’s just as opposed as I am to a true meeting of the minds. We’re not only from two different countries, we’re from two different worlds.

The family stories go back centuries, of how my grandfather once owned this land and his grandfather before him, for generation after generation. My chest swells with pride every time I think about our legacy. As I glance out the window, admiring the rolling hills and towering trees, I realize even though I’ve never spent any time of consequence anywhere else, I don’t ever want to.

In the harsh light of day, my beliefs seem strange and rigid. But Savie seems to understand them. I see the light of curiosity in her eyes when, in most stranger’s eyes, I see censure. That part touches my heart in a place I never knew existed. She has to leave. She will leave. But until the sweet sorrow of parting comes, I’ll enjoy her in my way.

The sunshine glares off the snow that remains spattered about. Even the barren foliage looks bright today, or maybe it’s just my mood. I’m predisposed to be pleasant, but only for her. Other than a brief interlude with Mary Murphy during the last ritual I performed, I haven’t had a woman come apart in my hands for a very long time. They want me because I’m the alpha in this grove, the leader. But I’ve never really stopped long enough to consider their pleasure. I take what I want when I want it. It’s always been that way, and it’s not ever going to change.

Without conscious thought, I move around my kitchen, finalizing the supper preparations, wanting everything to be perfect. For a moment, I feel as if I’ve stepped forward into my future. It feels like something I’ve lived before, this idyllic life with my woman a mere few yards away from me and my home full of vitality. I sit down at the table, suddenly overcome with déjà vu and allow the images to overtake me. Is the vision right? Is Savie here for a reason?

I close my eyes, imagining Savie standing underneath a huge oak tree in a white dress. Savie’s belly round with my first son. Savie splayed out for my pleasure, screaming my name as her release pulses around my straining cock. She tastes like heaven and she tastes like home.

My home.

I jump up from the chair and shake my arms at the elbows, chasing away the demons of a life not fully lived. It’s a mistake, allowing her to stay here. But how can I ask her to leave now in her hour of need? I can’t and I won’t. Aside from my own guilt, Caris would have my arse on a plate and serve it to the townsfolk.

“Ronan?”

My head snaps up in time to see Savie float into the room, her guitar still in her hand. She stops and stares at me, her mouth sagging open. Her eyes explore my face, and a ghost of a smile tugs at her lips, but she says nothing.

“Are yer ready for a wee spot of supper?” I ask, hoping that calm and gentle Savie is going to appear tonight as my supper companion, aloft on a cloud of positivity after her composing session. “I feel like I’m about to gnaw me own arm off, I do.”

“Famished,” she says, walking over to the stove and inhaling the aroma of the bubbling roast. “Mmm…smells heavenly.”

I jerk my gaze away from her as my crotch roars to life again. I’m appalled at my body’s base response to this woman and my mind’s constant lapses of sanity and control. Seems all she does is get me horned up.

“It’ll be ready soon,” I say, staring at her plump arse and imagining my hands kneading the flesh.

She bounces back toward the table and takes a seat across from me. “Your haircut looks fantastic. Very stylish. After so many days with the mountain man, I’m surprised to find a really handsome guy underneath all that hair.”

I can feel my face heating up as I blush.

I’m feckin’ blushin’ over some cosmopolitan American townie. Ach…

Reality and space fall away as I feel myself being transported back in time. Mary’s down on all fours, begging me to horse it in. I’ve used that particular fantasy to pleasure myself for years, except this time, it’s trite and unpleasant. I don’t want to think about mindless sex ever again. Savie’s done something to me, and I don’t want Mary or anyone else’s mental intrusion to dull the light of my fantasies about the woman who stands now within my reach.

With the tip of one finger, I reach out and lightly trace the swell of her bottom lip. She flicks her tongue out to moisten it, and I feel the wetness, the heat. I wonder if her pussy’s just as wet. I’m no longer hungry for roast. The only thing that’s going to assuage my appetite is this woman, naked and bending to my every whim. Taking my cock inside her as she begs for more.

Savie moans, and I’m caught in a place between rationality and pure sensation. Lust rages through my body and there’s no longer room for any rational thought, or any strategy to keep from getting too attached to her. She’s leaving soon and that will be that. There’s nothing I can do to make her stay even if I wanted to. But that’s not going to stop me from taking what I want right now.

Consequences be damned.

She captures my finger in the recesses of her mouth, and I feel the answering twitch in my overactive groin. A soft moan escapes her lips, and the sound spreads like a salve over my soul. She touches a place so deep inside me that I never even knew it existed. Like my future’s come home to roost within my present. Since Savie’s tour bus broke down on the country road, my whole life’s been imploded and what I thought I knew has been replaced only with a riot of sensations.

I continue to explore her with just a light touch, tracing first her upper lip, then her lower, delighting in the feather soft skin as I go. Leaning my head forward, I touch my lips to hers, feeling her melt into me. Surrendering. I tame the beast that wants to burst into a gallop, to claim her in a way she can’t deny. My racing heart begs me to seek out the finish line, but my rational mind tells me to savor every moment, since it probably won’t be repeated.

Every cell in my body screams at me to stop being gentle. To take what I want as hard and fast as I want. But this isn’t Mary, a cocktrough. This isn’t even some sensitive and fragile American lass who probably can’t understand or accept the beast inside of me. This is Savie. My destiny. For this one night at least.

Savie opens her mouth to me, surrendering and allowing me greater access to plunder the farthest recesses of her mouth. My tongue seeks and demands, and she answers with a fervor that surprises me, adding fuel to the fire of my already raging lust.

An overwhelming urge to taste every inch of her overtakes me, and I move my mouth to the hollow of her elegant throat, licking her pulse. She moans, and it hits me in the middle of my chest, my heart surging to keep up with the rush of my blood. My arousal turns base and feral, and we don’t even have our clothes off yet.

As my tongue moves to find the sensitive flesh behind her ear, she gasps and writhes on the kitchen chair, her hands clutching the edges until her knuckles turn white. A fireball of need grows within me until I’m unable to contain my baser urges another second. It flares brighter and hotter, soaring toward the point of no return.

The sunlight peeking through the panes of the kitchen window hits Savie’s raven hair, transforming it into a fiery auburn color. I grasp the back of her head like she’s mine. Like I’ve always wanted to do to her. Instead of slapping my face, she moans and leans into me. I search her face and don’t see fear. I see passion and wild abandon.

“I want to feck yer, Savie.”

There’s no hesitation. “Yes.”