21. Ronan

This feels like a really bad decision, but when Fletcher came into my office yesterday, all hopped-up on obvious nerves, and asked me to go with him, I couldn't say no. Though I know I should.

But I can't remember the last time I did something for me. Just for my own pleasure. Not because I had to do it to survive, but simply because I wanted to, and damn it, I wanted to.

So badly.

So I said yes, and now I'm in the passenger seat of his Jeep while he munches on beef jerky as he drives, occasionally singing along with the radio, and it may be the cutest damn thing I've ever seen.

What the hell is happening to me?

When we reach the Ozarks, it is in fact around one in the afternoon, and Fletcher parks his Jeep in front of a really nice, fairly good-sized house by the lake and turns the vehicle off. "We're here."

I look up at the house. "It's nice."

He grins. "Not impressed yet?"

"I didn't say that." I turn to look at him, wanting to say so many things. Like I wouldn't care if it was a dilapidated shack he brought me to as long as he was here with me, but I don't let that come out of my mouth.

Summer.

This is for the summer only. I can't get blinded by this... God, what do you even call it? Chemistry? We definitely have off-the-charts chemistry. But it feels like even more than that.

I try to shake that off. Push it away because it can't happen, and he must sense I'm struggling with something because he pushes open his door. "Come on, Professor. I'll show you around."

I don't even hate when he says Professor like that anymore. Except for it most certainly does things to my dick. And after last night and this morning in the shower, you'd think I'd be sated.

But I'm starting to truly worry I'll never get enough of him.

Oh, how things have changed.

We grab our bags, and he lets us into the house. It's nice, but it's not overly fancy. It's cozy. I can definitely see the charm to it.

"So I'm pretty sure Rhett and Grayson use the loft room up there." He points upward, and I see a spiral staircase leading up to a room, then look back at Fletcher. "And I'm not touching that. So we should stay in one of the other rooms."

I grin. "Sounds good."

He leads me down the hall to a fairly large bedroom with an attached bathroom. "Blair may have convinced Grayson to let her add on a couple of rooms recently. He can't say no to her either."

His mom sounds like she's really something else. And I can't help thinking that I really want to meet her someday. My heart clenches tightly in my chest so hard I actually rub my hand over that spot.

I don't even bother reminding myself that we only have the summer. Fletcher places his bag on the bed, and I do the same before he turns to me, his smile bright and infectious.

It takes my mind off the gloom and doom it was on, and then his lips meet mine, and it takes all of two seconds to completely forget what I was upset about.

"I can't believe you agreed to come here with me," he says against my lips, and it breaks my heart. I've been such an asshole to him. And not just before I really started to get to know him, but even recently.

Because he's let me in. Despite everything that's happened in his life. Despite being abandoned by people who should have cared about him the most. He's good. He's so infinitely good, and he still has trust.

He trusts me.

And I haven't given him anything back.

It's not fair at all, and I want to tell him everything about me. I want to fully explain why I'm such a closed-off asshole, but I can't get the words out. And not only because Fletcher currently has his tongue shoved in my mouth, his flesh sweeping over mine. His hard body is pressed up against me as his fingers glide through my hair.

I want to tell him.

But of course, I don't. I let myself get lost in his kiss and his touch. I take my time pulling his tank top up and over his head before I kiss every inch of his bare torso. His muscles flex as I drag my tongue through the lines of his sculpted abs. He tips his head back as I lower to my knees in front of him, his hands on my shoulders as I remove his shoes and lower his shorts.

His cock springs free because he wasn't wearing any underwear. He kicks the shorts away as I stare at his steely length, the tip glistening with arousal. "Goddamn, that's hot," I breathe as I grasp his hard shaft in my hand, slowly stroking him.

"Oh fuck. Please, Ronan." I smile.

"Oh, you're begging me, huh?" I have to tease him a little bit. I run my tongue down the length of his erection, swirling it around the tip, but not staying there too long before I drag my tongue down the other side of him.

"Please," he gasps again.

I'll never tire of the raspy sound of ecstasy coming from Fletcher. I don't put him out of his misery just yet though. Instead, I kiss both of his hip bones, one and then the other, my hand on his shaft but not moving. My tongue trails over his thigh and down to his heavy balls, swirling around them and teasing before I take one and then the other into my mouth.

"Ronan," he gasps. "I want to come." His fingers dig into my shoulder. "I need to come."

He's desperate for it, panting heavily, his hips thrusting forward, trying to get some relief from my hand. When I finally take pity on him and take him into my mouth, he lets out a relieved curse, one of his hands going into my hair. "Yes. Just like that. Please, Ronan. Please please please," he chants as he punches his hips forward.

I let him fuck my throat until it's aching, but I don't care because watching Fletcher take his pleasure is the sexiest thing I've ever experienced.

"I'm so close. So damn close." He sounds breathless, and I can't resist reaching into my shorts—yes, I'm actually wearing shorts today, and I'm not even planning on running. Of course, he teased me a little when he saw I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts instead of a suit and tie, but I think he liked it. And I'm for sure grateful I did now. The ease of my hand going under the waistband of my shorts is a relief when I wrap my hand around my aching cock.

I stroke as he fucks my mouth with his long cock, and when I swallow around him, that's when he lets go, crying my name as warm cum fills my mouth. The taste of him is what sets off my own orgasm, making a mess in my shorts, but I couldn't care less.

He pulls me up to him, slamming his mouth to mine as we kiss and then fall to the bed, not missing a beat. Despite being sticky with cum and our cocks being soft, we kiss and kiss some more. His hands slide through my hair, and I feel every single thing deep inside my chest as his lips remain on mine.

We say so many things in this kiss. Things I so desperately want to say out loud but haven't allowed myself to do it. He's fully naked, and I'm still clothed with a mess in my shorts, but I can't stop kissing him.

I don't want to. The things he makes me feel are unlike anything I've ever experienced. I spent so much of my life being closed-off and not trusting anyone. Then he just barreled his way into my life and opened me in ways I've never experienced.

"Shower with me," he breathes against my lips, and I barely manage a nod before he pulls me away from the bed, but my lips are still seeking his out as we make our way to the bathroom. He manages to get the shower on and my clothes off, and the whole time, I cling to him.

Terrified to let him go for even a second. I'm desperate and needy. So unlike me. But I don't take the time to worry about it. We wash each other as we kiss, and when he turns off the shower, I grab a soft fluffy towel on the rack and dry him off and then myself, and then it's back to the bed.

His kiss is soft and exploring, but it seems like he's not ready to let me go just yet either, and I'm more than fine with that.

"My mother was really young when she had me," I blurt out, and Fletcher slowly backs away from my mouth, pulling back a little but enough to look into my eyes with surprise.

"What?"

I realize this is super awkward timing while we're lying naked in bed and kissing, but for some reason, I have to tell him this. I need him to know me—really know me. "She was really young. Way too damn young to have me."

He takes a deep breath, and it's like he understands what's happening now, a look of peace coming over his features as he tucks his hands under his cheek and stares at me as we lie on our sides.

"Her parents were super religious, I guess, and kicked her out when they found out she was pregnant."

"I'm sure that's what Jesus would do," Fletcher quips and then gives me a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly. But she tried. I think," I add because I've just been told these things. I obviously don't have the memories of that time. "We crashed on her friend's couch. Different friends. When one would get sick of her having a baby around all the time, we'd move to another one. She quit school and was trying to work, but it was always hard to find someone to watch me."

His brow furrows, but he doesn't say anything. He seems perfectly content to just listen as I talk.

"When I was four, apparently, she lost me at the mall. She wanted to hang out with her friends, and I was probably being a brat, so she thought it would be fine to just leave me in an arcade for an hour or two while she walked around with her friends."

He looks horrified, and I was too when I read it in my file. Because I don't have a memory of that either. Though sometimes, I think when I dream about it, it's actually a memory.

"The cops and CPS were called, but she just had to take some classes, and she did. She kept custody of me. But then a year later, she left me at this shitty place where we were staying while she went out on a date." Fletcher's face looks pained, but I keep going, "I kind of remember this, although it's foggy. I remember being in pain and crying. I had cut my foot on a piece of glass, and it was bleeding really bad."

"Jesus," he breathes.

"My mom's friend, who we were staying with, came home and saw the blood. Thankfully, she took me to the hospital. They tried to reach my mom, but it took her a while to show up. When she got there, the cops talked to her. She made excuses, I guess. I didn't really get to hear it. I just wanted to leave the hospital and go with my mom. But there were a lot of adults telling me that might not happen for a while."

"They put you into foster care," he says, his voice full of despair.

"She left," I say, but I barely get the words out because the pain I felt that day has creeped back up. It nearly chokes me. This is why I don't talk about it. Why I hate thinking about it. That darkness was nearly impossible to claw my way out of then. I'm always afraid when it comes up, I won't be able to make my way out of it again.

"What do you mean?"

"She just left me there. I don't know if she asked for a break from talking to the cops, but she just ran. She never came back. They tried to track her down, but yes..." I meet his eyes. "They put me into foster care."

He looks like he's having trouble breathing now, and his eyes are watery. "You were a foster kid."

"They tried to get my grandparents to take me, but they wanted nothing to do with me." I try like hell to swallow—my throat is sore with all the emotions I feel. They didn't want me. "I was a ward of the state at that time."

"I'm so damn sorry, Ronan," he says, and when he does, I know he really understands. He was the same. He knows what it's like to not be wanted by the people who should want you the most. To feel so damn lost and scared.

I think that's why, when I finally stopped and listened to him, when I heard his real truth, the sparks flew. Why I couldn't keep myself from kissing him that day because it's so damn rare to have that sort of connection.

"Why didn't you tell me?" There's no anger in his tone. He just really wants to know why.

"When I talk about it, it makes it real. I've spent a lot of time trying to forget, Fletcher. I push people away, so I don't have to talk about it. Every single day, I wake up and think I'm back in that hell. That I never got out."

He makes some sort of choked sound, and then he's pushing into my arms. I wrap my arms around him and hold him to me. "No one rescued you." It's not a question. It's a statement, and I realize why he says it.

"I'm okay. I made it out."

He pulls back a little, but stays in my arms, just looking up at me. "How?"

I fought.