22. Fletcher

He was a foster kid. Never in a million years would I have seen that coming, but now everything is starting to make so much sense. Why he was so angry when he thought I was just a spoiled rich kid.

Why he hardly ever smiled and kept people at bay. His reaction when he heard I was a foster kid.

No one rescued him.

"As soon as I could, I got a job. It was usually just side jobs, getting paid under the table, but I hustled. Every single day of my life, I fucking hustled."

I swallow hard because I know. I know what it was like. We told ourselves we'd find a way out. I remember sitting for hours with Bree and Rhett, talking about all the ways we could make money and save up. Make a life for ourselves. Get the hell out of foster care. That was our one goal.

"And I kept my grades exceptionally high, which thankfully wasn't that hard for me. I worked, and I saved. And when I was sixteen, I finally had enough saved to get a crappy apartment and get myself emancipated."

"They granted it?"

He nods. "They did. I'd started working at this little diner by the school. I had six months of employment there and a stellar attendance record both at work and school. My grades were high. I didn't give that judge one reason to deny me."

I smile sadly at that because I can picture sixteen-year-old Ronan—no-nonsense and just presenting the facts to the judge. Daring them to question his ability to take care of himself.

"You rescued yourself," I say, guilt washing over me. Guilt I've felt since the day I realized I was going to be adopted by Blair and Rhys. That I didn't have to be scared any longer. But there were so many other kids out there who didn't get that. Who had to spend every single day scared and alone. Hungry.

"Hey." His deep voice makes me realize I'd looked away from him, and I look back up and into his eyes. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" I ask a tad defensively.

"Just because someone adopted you doesn't make your suffering any less valid. You went through hell too."

Damn him."But I got out."

"So did I." He says it so firmly, I want to believe him, but I can see the scars now. The ones on his soul. From the time he spent in hell. "Fletcher, I'm okay. I made it."

"But you had to work your ass off to do it." My voice sounds strangled and tired. "No wonder you hated me." I shake my head. God, I think about the days I sauntered into his class, acting like I didn't have a care in the world. Acting like I owned the place.

"I didn't hate you. Not even a little bit, Fletcher. Maybe I was a little jealous of what I thought was freedom to not have to worry, but now I know you. I know what you were doing."

"And what was that?" I ask, knowing he's already figured me out. Knowing without a doubt he sees right through my charade.

"Surviving," he surprises me, and my eyes widen.

"I was a shithead."

He offers a really small smile, one that doesn't reach his eyes, but he shakes his head. "So was I. I pushed people away, so I didn't have to talk about my past, and you did something totally different." He sounds almost in awe. "You found a way to pull people in, charming them into thinking you're okay."

"It was fake," I say. "I'm a fucking fraud."

"No," he says and then uses his hand to tip my chin up. I guess I looked away from him again. "You're the most real human I've ever met."

He leans and presses a firm kiss against my lips. "Tell me more," I plead because I want to know everything now that he's opened up. I know it's greedy, but I can't bring myself to care. I need this.

"I loved that shitty little apartment I had, but I lived in constant fear that something would happen and I'd get kicked out. I went ahead and took my GED so I could apply to colleges and passed on the first try. I went to college and worked my ass off every single day." He gives a small laugh. "I don't think I slept for years. I worked several jobs while going to school because I had some grants but not nearly enough to pay for school, and I didn't want to start my life off in a ton of debt. In graduate school, I was able to get a teaching assistantship, which paid for my school and gave me just enough to squeak by, but it was a lot of work."

"You're incredible." And I mean that. I'm in absolute awe of him.

He just shrugs. "I knew from a young age I couldn't depend on anyone else. So I just kept going, and when I finally graduated, I got a job almost immediately at the college. I bought my house two years later, and it needed a lot of work, but I didn't care. It was mine."

I smile sadly at that, tears pooling in my eyes because it's all clicking into place now. "It was yours."

He nods, and I see the hint of pride in his smile. "I worked some side jobs while teaching for a few years because I just wanted to feel safe. For the first time in my life, I felt really, truly safe. Like no one could take it away from me."

"That's why you're so afraid to lose your job," I say, knowing that's it. And God, do I get it. As foster kids, we move around so much. All we want is security.

While other kids dream about a gaming system or new technology, we're dreaming about a roof over our heads and a full belly where no one will hurt us or call us names. Where we're safe and taken care of.

"You mean a lot to me, Fletcher." His voice sounds so damn pained, and I reach up, my hand resting on his face.

"I get it. I really do. That house is yours. You made your escape, and it's your sanctuary."

"And the job pays for that house. And for me to never have to rely on another human again."

My heart sinks because I know why it has to end with the summer. Why we absolutely cannot risk his job. This is everything to him, more so than most people. It's a very tightly strung rope, keeping him from breaking.

"Thank you for telling me," I say, moving my body up so I'm face-to-face with him, and then before he says anything else, I steal into his mouth. It's all too damn raw. I think I've found my soulmate, believe it or not, I really truly do, and I have to let him go.

But not quite yet.

I have him for now, and I'm not going to waste it. I kiss him, and it doesn't take long before the seriousness of the talk fades and our bodies start to respond. My dick is aching, my balls full and begging for release by the time he pushes me onto my back and climbs onto me.

"Ronan," I say against his lips. "Please."

I can feel him smiling against my mouth. "Please what?"

"I need you inside me," I say it in a quiet, pleading rasp, and it's enough to make him pull back and look down into my eyes.

"You really want that?"

"More than anything," I say easily. I've wanted this for a long time, but something always held me back from actually asking for it. "Please," I ask again.

He takes in a shaky breath, and for a moment, I think he's going to tell me no. Maybe he's not into anal. I know we haven't really talked about it. My mind is spinning before he lowers his mouth to my ear. "I've thought about what it would be like to be inside you for so damn long."

Relief goes through me at the sound of his words. "Are you going to find out? My ass really is spectacular." I waggle my brows at him, trying to lighten the moment because this is heavy.

He chuckles at that and then presses a firm kiss to my lips that leaves my head swimming. "I don't have any lube. Please tell me you thought ahead."

I grin at him, pointing toward my bag. "I'm like a motherfucking Boy Scout."

He grins back at me, and it's so damn pretty. His smile just does it for me. Everything about Ronan just does it for me, if I'm honest. And yes, I know I'm in way over my head here. That the feelings I'm having aren't going to magically go away from the summer and letting him inside me will likely just make it more difficult, but I need this.

It's like a living breathing thing deep inside my soul. I have to give myself this. I need him to have this part of me.

He climbs off the bed after giving me another bone-melting kiss—it's like he can't get enough, and I'm totally okay with that. He grabs the lube and a condom from my bag but doesn't walk back to me yet. He holds the condom up in a silent question.

Do we really need it?

I shake my head before he even opens his mouth. "I trust you."

That seems to be good enough for him because he tosses it back in the bag and only brings the lube back with him. He doesn't open it yet, though, just tosses it on the bed next to my head and climbs back onto my body, his hands holding my face as he kisses me hard.

There are a lot of things I want to say. That I think he's the most impressive human I've ever met. That I'm sorry I was such a fuck-nugget in his class. That I'm so damn happy I met him.

But I don't say any of it out loud. I like to think he hears them though as we kiss and rut together on the bed. His hard cock drags over mine making us both gasp and moan. We're both leaking and hungry for it, but he doesn't rush it.

I'm close to begging him again when he starts to slowly trail kisses down my jaw and neck to my nipples. He takes his time, licking and sucking, making me writhe and moan, my hips bucking upward, desperately seeking some friction on my cock.

But I don't rush him this time. I let him explore every part of my torso with his mouth. "Your body is so fucking crazy."

I laugh, my muscles flexing tight with the motion. "Home gym at my parents' and now one in my building."

I can feel him smiling against my skin before he drags his tongue over the V leading down to my dick, but of course, this smug bastard bypasses the needy flesh. He kisses my thighs all the way down to my calves and then back up, his hands moving to my knees as he lies between my legs, he pushes my knees up, and I widen them, opening myself to him.

"Fuck." He lets out a deep, shaky moan when he stares right at my hole. "Every part of you is perfect."

"Please, Ronan," I beg, even though I'm not sure what I'm asking for, but Ronan seems to.

He doesn't waste any time. Just dives right in. His tongue sweeps over my hole, lighting up so many nerve endings I didn't even know I had as he licks me. He drags his lush tongue over my hole, over and over, softening it to let him inside. His hands are resting on my knees as he eats me out. The sounds he makes are obscene as he licks and sucks on my hole, making me needy and desperate.

My hands go to his hair, but I'm not pulling him away. I'm sweating and panting as I thrust my cock into the air, needing to come. "I'm so close. Holy fuck, I'm so close," I babble. My cock is dripping so much pre-cum, just sliding down my shaft, and I want to touch myself.

I want to come with his mouth devouring my hole, but I want him inside me even more than I want that. "Please, Ronan. Inside me."

He doesn't let up though. He just continues to lick his way inside me. "Goddamn, you taste good," he says, his breath tickling my balls and nearly sending me over.

"Please. I want your dick inside me now." My fingers tighten in his hair, and every single muscle I have is pulled tight. I feel like I could burst, but I need this.

Finally, he reaches for the lube, and I place it in his hand. I watch him apply some on his fingers, and that's when the nerves kick in. Maybe I should tell him I've never bottomed before, but I'm too afraid he won't do it.

I know I want this—crave it. But when his first finger slips inside of me, he stops, his very aware eyes on mine as he watches me. The man misses nothing. "Have you done this before?"

I won't lie to him.

"No, but I want it. I fucking crave it. Please." Damn, how many times have I said please to this man? Don't care.

His eyes are dark and stormy with need and lust, but also concern as he watches me. "Would you rather fuck me?"

My cock jerks violently, and yeah okay, that sounds damn good, but no. "No. I mean yes," I quickly say, "I want that so damn badly, but I want you inside me first, Ronan." I keep my eyes on his as I look up at him with determination. "I can't explain it, but I need this."

I watch him battle with himself for several seconds, but then he nods. "Okay, relax for me." He's so damn gentle when he adds one finger, slowly opening me up. It doesn't hurt, my hole already softened from his glorious tongue-fucking. When he adds a second one, I definitely feel the stretch and burn a little more.

By the time he adds a third finger and a lot more lube, the burn is still there, but it's morphed into hot pleasure too. "More. Your dick. Now." I can't use full sentences, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"If you want me to stop, tell me," he says firmly before removing his fingers and making me whine with desperation. His mouth morphs into a cocky, confident grin as he slathers his cock with lube, and then the head is at my entrance.

He looks down at me, one hand on one of my knees, holding me open for him and the other beside my head, bracing his weight. I think he wants to say something. Stupid hope races through my mind at the prospect of what he wants to say, but then he only leans forward and kisses me as he slowly starts to push inside.

And okay, his fingers are nowhere near as big as his dick, and it hurts, but I listen to him and breathe through it. I relax my body as much as I can and focus on the fact that this is Ronan.

That he's making me his in a way that I've never allowed anyone else to do.

And when he's finally inside me all the way, I'm pleading with him to move. But he stays frozen, his cock filling me, stretching me as his forehead meets mine, and we just breathe together.

"You're going to wreck me."

I'm confused for a moment because I'm pretty sure it's his massive cock that's going to wreck me, but then I realize that's not what he's talking about.

Not at all.