Chapter 21: Vicious Prince: Chapter 21

By the time I arrive at the Meet Up, it’s night-time.

It’s only when I push the door open that I actually take a second to think about what I’m doing.

I came here for Ronan.

He’s also the only one here. I confirmed it when I spotted his car parked outside without a trace of the other guys’ vehicles.

I can do it. I can absolutely do this.

I draw deep breaths in and forge ahead. One foot in front of the other.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps…

It’s not that hard, and it’s probably the first time I’ve thought about steps while I’m taking them.

It’s like the club all over again — me on my knees waiting for someone to set me free, even if just for the night.

The person I got was the last one on my mind, but maybe, just maybe, like Cole and Knox say, I needed that without even realising it.

Or maybe I’m making a huge mistake.

My thoughts come to a screeching halt and so do my feet when I stand at the entrance of the Meet Up’s small lounge area. There’s a soft yellow light bathing the place, casting a cosy glow on the furniture, yet it feels lonely too.

Ronan sits on the sofa, still in his uniform, minus the jacket that’s thrown over the armrest. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, exposing his veiny, strong forearms as he inhales from a joint.

His other hand is holding his phone up, and he glares at it as if contemplating cracking it to pieces.

All the doubts I had — and still do — evaporate at that sight. He’s waiting for a reply while staying alone.

Ronan isn’t the type of person who likes loneliness. While Aiden and Cole are completely comfortable with it and Xander can gravitate towards it sometimes, Ronan is always with people, one way or another.

At first, I thought it was because he loved partying so much, but it’s probably something more.

To find him willingly alone is a first. He always makes up dramatic fights with Aiden and Xander when they pick their girlfriends over him. The fact that he kicked them out to stare at his screen is new.

He types something and my phone vibrates. I check it with a lump in my throat.

Ronan: You know, I hate being alone. It’s when the demons come back and want to rage and burn the whole fucking place down.

I swallow, staring between his text and his face.

Demons.

For some reason, I suspected he had them, but I never thought they were real, I thought maybe I was projecting myself on him. Turns out, his demons are real; he just hides them so well you’d never even presume they’re there.

I doubt the others know about their existence.

Sucking in a breath, I type back.

Teal: I stay alone because that’s how I can control my demons. People bring them out.

As soon as I hit Send, I stare back at him. A smile tilts his lips and scrunches his beautiful face — his stupid beautiful face that I can’t stop dreaming of.

He straightens in his seat then types.

Ronan: We’re opposites that way. But hey, luckily there’s some shit people say about opposites attracting.

Ronan: That’s you and me by the way, not you and some other fucker.

Instead of continuing the dance over the phone, I quietly drop my backpack and phone on the floor and walk up to him.

He’s still staring at his phone when I stand in front of him, blocking his view. His eyes slide from the phone to me and stay on me.

The more he looks at my face, the harder it becomes to breathe. It’s like he’s confiscating my air, my sanity, and all my better judgment.

He’s confiscating things and feelings he has no right to.

“Whoa, this shit is good if it makes me see what I want.” He twirls the joint. “I need to add to my stash from that Liverpudlian, stat.”

“I’m really here,” I murmur.

“You’re not answering the text.” He waves the phone. “Can I make you do that while you’re standing here?”

I grab his phone and yank it from his fingers.

“Not on my phone, on yours…or your original image’s, or whatever.”

“I’m actually here Ronan. It’s not an image.”

He stares blankly for a second then without warning, he grabs my wrist and pulls me down. An excited yelp leaves my lips as I end up on his warm, hard lap.

He palms my cheek with the other hand and then pinches.

“Ow.” I wince. “What was that for?”

“You’re real.”

“That’s what I was saying.”

“You’re here.”

“Obviously.”

“Why are you here?” He narrows his eyes. “Did you have some sort of rendezvous with Captain?”

“You sent me a text saying you were here alone, remember?”

“So you’re here for me?” He says it with such wonder, as if he doesn’t believe it.

“Don’t expect me to say it.”

“You’re so fucking infuriating — do you know that?”

“You kind of told me that in long clingy texts.” I was supposed to scold him or something, but I sound happy even to my own ears.

I don’t even remember the last time I was happy, or if happiness means just sitting on someone’s lap and having them palm your cheek.

No, not someone. Him. Ronan.

His lips tilt in a smirk. “You still came.”

I scoff.

“Now, belle, it’s time for your confessions.”

“My confessions?”

“Don’t think I forgot about it. What did you do wrong?”

As he speaks, he strokes the skin of my wrist and runs his other thumb near my lip, but not close enough to touch it.

“I don’t know,” I murmur.

“Of course you do. You just don’t want to say it. You have to, belle.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then we’ll just keep circling in an endless vicious cycle. I’m as fucked up as you are.”

“Fine. It’s about Agnus and how I refused to let go when you told me to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

I bite my lower lip and try to stare away, but he brings me back with a firm grip on my chin that has my thighs tightening.

“Why, Teal?” He has a way of speaking with a command in his tone that turns me to putty in his hands.

This is so wrong.

And yet so right.

“I wanted to see your reaction, okay?”

“You wanted to see my reaction. I like that.”

“Well, I didn’t. Your reaction sucked.”

A wolfish grin curves his lips as he brings me nearer until his breath tickles my skin, hot and close, so damn close my toes curl — which they never do.

When he speaks, it’s in low murmurs. “What did you want as a reaction? A hard fuck? A redo of fucking your mouth?”

My chest tightens in that way that’s only possible around him, but I manage to keep my neutral tone. “Something that doesn’t have to do with how ‘everyone gets a share’.”

His grin widens at the way I mimicked him. “Jealous, belle?”

“Not as jealous as you are of Agnus. After all, he’s my type. You’re not.”

He growls deep in his throat. “Don’t bring up that fucker’s name again. I’m not above murder. I mean it. I’m even consulting with Lars about ways to hide it.”

That somehow makes me smile, but I quickly mask it. “No other girls either. I’m not above murder. I mean it.”

“You’re fucking crazy — of course you’re not.”

That makes my shoulders drop. I’ve been called crazy, a freak, and Satan’s spawn more times than I could count, but for some reason, I don’t want Ronan to label me that way.

“You think I’m crazy?” My voice is barely above a whisper, and I hate it.

“I don’t think it. I know it.” This time he does run his finger over my lips as if he’s smearing my lipstick, just like that first time he touched me in the library. “And I want every last bit of your craziness.”

My breathing hitches, my heartbeat bursting out of control. If those words are a way to get under my skin, they’re working.

They’re working so well.

He releases my wrist and removes my jacket, and then his fingers unbutton my shirt. I remain still, afraid a single move will be a mistake and I’ll lose the connection rippling in the air between us.

But then his hips thrust into me from below, and I moan at the crude contact. Since I’m wearing the uniform skirt, his bulge brushes straight against my pulsating core.

He does it again, and this time, I grab both his shoulders for balance.

“Stay still,” he orders.

My body goes stiff, but it’s so difficult with the way he’s dry-humping me. Just the friction over the clothes is enough to turn my thighs into a trembling mess.

While I’m trying to remain in place, he’s already gotten rid of my shirt and bra and is holding both my breasts in his hands.

The moment he runs the tips of his thumbs over the tight buds, I gasp, my head almost falling over his shoulder.

“I see you’re still sensitive here,” he muses while continuing his double assault, twirling my nipples and thrusting into me over the clothes.

It’d be impossible to stay in place even if I wanted to.

His mouth finds my nipple and sucks on it, hard.

Oh. God.

I ride his bulge, unable to remain still. His sucking intensifies and so does my up and down movement against his erection.

He rotates his tongue against my nipple. Once, twice…

“Oh…Ronan…if you do that, I…oooh.” I come hard against his mouth, against his clothed cock. He didn’t even need to touch my pussy.

“Who’s your type now?” He gives me an arrogant grin I’m not even able to react to. I’m busy trying to contain the last burst of pleasure swirling through me.

Ronan skilfully unhooks my skirt and drags my wet underwear down my shaking legs then throws them amongst the rest of my clothes on the ground. “You’re my little whore now, aren’t you, belle?”

“I’m not a whore.” I try to argue, but my voice is too breathy, too lust-filled.

“You’re my whore. Only mine.”

He stands up abruptly and I fall down on the sofa, my mind filled with jumbled thoughts. “What—”

My words are cut off when he gets rid of his trousers and boxer briefs in record time and then his shirt follows.

I gawk, like an idiot. I couldn’t stop gawking even if I wanted to.

Ronan is beautiful like a god, an immortal, a legend. I was never one of those girls who stopped and stared at abs. Hell, I saw his abs in his million pictures posted on Instagram, and I never thought of them as beautiful like I do now.

Maybe because now, something other than his physical beauty is visible to me.

I can see his scars, not like the ones on my knees, but the scars hidden underneath that six-pack and that charming smile. The scars no one sees but are known of by him, the scars he hides from by being with people.

After all, the most painful scars are the invisible ones.

I’m still studying him, getting my fill of him, but he doesn’t even allow me that. He yanks me down on the sofa, the leather creaking, and looms over me, kicking my legs apart with his strong knee.

They do part. Of their own volition, they just…part.

I’ve never liked missionary sex, never liked looking at their blurred faces, but now? God, now, if he flips me over and takes me doggy style like I always demand, I might start crying.

I place a palm on his cheek and kiss him. I kiss him so hard I’m almost sure I’m sucking his soul out in the process. Ronan grunts in my mouth as he kisses me back with all his intensity.

He reaches between us and wraps a condom on his cock.

“I won’t take it easy on you, belle. I won’t speak love words in French in your ear or make love to you. I’m going to fuck you and hurt you and you’re going to love every second of it.”

His mouth goes back to mine as he thrusts inside me in one ruthless go.

I grip his back for balance as the air is knocked out of my lungs.

Oh. God.

This force is nothing like I’ve felt before. Ronan picks up his pace and fucks me hard and dirty.

Like he said it would, it hurts. He’s big and he doesn’t finish fast.

No.

He goes on and on. He fucks like he wants to hurt me, like he wants to engrave himself under my skin so he’s the only thing I feel, the only one I smell and taste.

And he is.

My senses are overwhelmed by his spicy scent, by the low growls he emits as he drives his cock deep inside me over and over again.

It’s like he’s punishing me for everything that’s happened over the last couple of days. He’s making me delirious with both pleasure and pain. A sob echoes in the silence, and I soon realise it’s my own.

He’s owning me body and soul, and I have no way to stop it or to put it on pause. All I can do is ride it, let him take me, float with me.

And it’s the most freeing sensation I’ve had in my entire life.

Do I even want to stop this? What if, all those times I’ve been thinking about belonging, I’ve been approaching it the wrong way? What if this — this overwhelming pounding — is all I’ve been waiting for?

“Oh, Ronan…”

“You don’t get to come yet.” He bites the lobe of my ear and I shriek. “You get to feel this, feel us, so the next time you say I’m not your type, you’ll think about this exact fucking moment of me owning every inch of you.”

My nails dig into his back as I gasp for air and find the potent smell of him, of us, mingling and intensifying and taking me to newer heights.

When the wave hits me, it’s different from the orgasms he’s wrenched out of me thus far. This one beats under my skin before attacking me out of nowhere.

I’m falling hard and fast, and the only abyss is Ronan.

Just Ronan.

It’s the best abyss I didn’t know I needed.

He isn’t finished. Not even close. He keeps powering into me over and over as if he’ll never be done with me.

As if he can fuck me until eternity.

His thrusts turn longer and faster and more painful. They’re so painful; it’s delicious and a turn-on.

I’ve never been this aroused in my life. It’s like he touches me and I’m a goner.

I’m shattered.

I’m empowered.

He reaches a hand between us and flicks my clit. “Now fall again with me.”

I do.

I just do.

I come at the same time his back turns stiff and his thrusts come to an abrupt halt.

“Mine. Only fucking mine,” he growls before he claims my lips in an animalistic kiss.