The Hooker and the Hermit

“Fucked on the desk.”

“Oh!”

He slipped his arm around my waist and crushed me to him, his mouth fiercely colliding with mine, his hands possessive. We hadn’t been separated that long. Measured in time, we’d made love four days ago, but the emotional distance between us had been boundless—at least it had felt that way to me. His touch, possessive verging on desperate, told me he felt the same.

Peripherally, I heard Gerta’s squeak, followed by the sound of the door clicking shut. Ronan’s kisses grew softer, more loving, cherishing, even as he walked me backward to the desk. His deft fingers untucked my shirt and adroitly moved to the clasp of my bra.

I pulled my mouth away. My protests—though based in logic—were largely half-hearted. “Wait, we have—we have so much to talk about, to settle. I love you, and I want you to know that I—”

“Hush, Annie dearest. We have the rest of our lives to talk, and I promise we will; but we only have ten more minutes in this office.”

“But…but I have no restraints.”

Ronan pulled three inches away, his hands lifting to cradle my face as the back of my thighs met the desk. His dark eyes were foggy with lust, but there was a sweetness present, too, a welling of sincerity and emotion.

“My love….” He paused, kissed the tip of my nose, and whispered, “I don’t always want you tied up. I want you free. I want you wild. I want you brave. I want you any way I can get you. I want you now, and I want you for the rest of my life.”

I faltered, not knowing what to do, how to touch him. He must’ve seen the indecision in my eyes because he gripped my hands and slipped them under his shirt to the bare skin of his stomach.

“I want you to touch me, Annie. I want to feel your hands on me. Don’t you want that, too?”

Really, his words were all the invitation I needed. I dug my fingers into the ridges of his stomach and around his sides, feeling a sudden sense of greedy urgency. I kissed him—I kissed him. He groaned his approval. All thought of living underground, giving up bravery for safety, fled and would never been seen again.

I absolutely could not stop touching him. He felt hot and smooth under my fingers, hard and delicious. That’s right, he felt delicious, and I wanted to taste him, bite him, consume him.

Hurriedly, I pushed his shirt up to his collarbone and bent to lick and bite his chest, my hands moving to his pants. He made quick work of lifting my skirt and helping me step out of my panties. I half noticed he shoved them in his pants pocket just before I opened his belt, button, and fly and stuffed my hand down his boxer briefs.

We both sucked in a sharp breath, his palms coming to my breasts, kneading me through my bra. I stroked him, and he released a shaky breath and a “fuck.” This was my first time touching him like this, and I felt like I might spontaneously combust with lust. He was thick and long and hard and male and hot and so fucking sexy. The power I felt, holding him in my hand, encircling his perfect cock with my fingers. I was powerful. I was in control.

I stroked him again, and his patience snapped. In one swift motion, Ronan lifted me to the desk, swatted my hand away, and stepped between my spread legs. He then buried himself to the hilt with a single inelegant, swift thrust.

My hands went to his bottom, my nails digging into more delicious skin, and I pressed him to my center. I threw my head back as he pumped in and out. He lowered his mouth to my neck, biting and sucking and licking, tasting me as I longed to taste him. I lifted my chin and caught his lips, my fingers moving to his back and then his shoulders.

I anchored him to me with my hands, by winding my legs around his. I couldn’t get enough of his body, the friction and heat we made. I pulled back an inch and focused on his face, found him gritting his teeth, his jaw ticking, his eyes shut tightly.

My heart dropped, and I stiffened with disappointment. “Ronan, do you not like this? Should I not touch you?”

“No. God, no. It feels so good. You feel fucking fantastic. Don’t stop.” His head dropped to my shoulder, and he made a sound like a growl.

“Are you sure? Why-why are your eyes closed?”

“Because if I look at you while you’re touching me like that and making those soft, sexy sounds and feeling wet and tight and like heaven around my dick, then I’m going to come in ten seconds.”

My breath hitched, and I arched my back as he paired this speech with a sharp pinch to my nipple, sending a wave of coiling warmth to my lower belly. I was close, and his words pushed me closer. We were a tangled mass of limbs, and I was sitting bare-assed on my desk with my skirt hiked around my waist, and Ronan Fitzpatrick was fucking me, and it was uncomfortable and ungraceful and sexy as hell.

“Right now, Annie. Come for me now.” He moved his thumb to my clit and rubbed, his entire body taut, straining; a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. The sight of him so close to losing control was all that I needed to push me cresting into completion.

Ronan released a string of nonsense which might have been a foreign language, his pace frantic, his eyes finally open as he followed me, watching me, finding his own end and lingering there inside me, the final rocking movements of our bodies meant to prolong our shared pleasure.

He was breathing hard as he wrapped me in his arms, crushing me to him. His skin was damp, his heart beat like it wanted to leap out of his chest, and he was still speaking in some unknown language.

“What—what is that? What are you saying?” My breaths were still labored.

“It’s Irish, and I’m promising you forever. You have to marry me, Annie. Say yes.”

“I told you in the car. Yes, I will marry you.” I smiled against his hard chest.

“And it’s not just the sex—but I’m not going to lie, the thought of not having sex with you again makes me want to die—it’s you. It’s seeing you every day, it’s the way you look at me, it’s watching you come into your own, it’s how you touch me, it’s your generosity, your beauty, it’s you.”

My smile turned soft, and I snuggled closer. “You like how I touch you?”

“Yes. It’s addictive. Never stop.”

“Does this mean you won’t tie me up anymore?”

He paused, stilled, and then leaned away, searched my face. His eyes were bright with reverence and devotion. “You tell me.”

“I like touching you. I like touching you a lot.”

“Then—”

I hurried to add, “But I also like not touching you.”

His gaze warmed with happiness and maybe a little amusement.

“Then we’ll do both. My only stipulation is that I have a safe word, too.”

My eyebrows jumped as I stared up at him, and I felt the stirrings of a quizzical grin on my lips. “You want a safe word?”

“Yes.” He lifted his fingers to my now messy hair and tucked it behind my ears, his poorly suppressed smile claiming his features.

I crossed my arms over my chest and cleared my throat as I watched him expectantly. “And what will your safe word be?”

“Éclair.”

“Éclair?”

“Yes,” he said, his smile now enormous, his brown eyes bright with mischief and affection.

“Why éclair?”

“Because, love….” Ronan cupped my cheeks in his palms and tilted my head back as he lowered his lips to mine. He brushed a soft kiss over my parted mouth and then whispered, “I’ve always wanted you to eat me like an éclair.”

He wanted me to react, be shocked at his lascivious suggestion—typical, wonderful, dirty-minded Ronan.

Instead, I ignored the intent of his statement and pressed, “But doesn’t that undermine the purpose of a safe word?” His languid near-kisses were making me feel warm and fuzzy all over.

Ronan chuckled, nipped my bottom lip, made sure my eyes were on his as he responded, “Oh, Annie, I’ll never be safe with you.”

Epilogue

*Ronan*

Using my key, I opened the door to Annie’s apartment and stepped inside. She sat in the living area wearing a loose top that hung off one shoulder, giving me a tempting and very sexy view of her silky skin. Her hair was in a bunch on top of her head while her fingers danced rapidly over the computer keys. Too fuckin’ cute. I still couldn’t get used to the fact that one day I was going to marry this woman. That I had her for keeps.

Her and all her oddball online friends.

At first it was strange meeting these people that she’d known as The Socialmedialite but now was free to interact with in person. I was surprised that I liked most of them, especially Broderick. He’s the quiet sort, and I might have been tad jealous of their relationship when I found out about it. But I changed my mind about him pretty quickly. Added bonus, he could actually keep up with me in the park when we went running.

Hearing me come in, Annie glanced over her shoulder and gave me a warm smile, her eyes flickering with curiosity to the brown paper bag I held in my hand. I smiled back at her but said nothing, setting the bag on the entry table and going to hang up my jacket. I really liked Annie’s apartment here in New York. It felt so much like her, like home, and I was dreading having to leave when I returned to the team next month.