I was already touching myself when the door opened.
My fingers were wet and moving steady between my legs, two of them sliding in and out while my thumb pressed hard circles on my clit. The sheet was pushed down to my thighs. My tank top was bunched under my breasts.
I didn’t stop when Ronan’s tall frame filled the doorway. I just looked at him and kept going, hips rolling slow against my own hand.
He stood there for a long second, green eyes locked on the place where my fingers disappeared inside me.
“Elise.” His voice was low and tight. “What the hell are you doing?”
I pulled my fingers out slowly so he could see how shiny they were. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. No lock this time. He stayed near the foot of the bed, arms crossed, jaw working.
“Cover yourself. Now.”
I didn’t. I let my knees fall open a little wider. “You walked in.”
Ronan’s eyes flicked down once more, then back to my face. He looked angry, but not only angry. Something darker sat under it.
“Listen to me,” he said, voice quiet and hard. “Your mother is right down the hall. You do not lie here with your legs spread and your hand in your cunt while I’m in this house. Lock the door from now on. And keep your hands to yourself. I’m only warning you once.”
He turned and left. The door clicked shut.
I stayed there breathing hard, fingers still wet, the ache between my legs worse than before. He had looked at me like he wanted to climb on top of me and ruin me. Then he walked away.
I must have fallen asleep sometime after that. When I woke again the house was quiet except for soft sounds coming from the master bedroom. At first I thought I was dreaming.
Then I heard my mother’s voice—low, broken, moaning.
I slipped out of bed and walked barefoot down the hall. Their door wasn’t fully closed. A thin line of light cut across the floor. I stood to the side and looked through the gap.
Ronan was on his back. My mother was straddling him, moving slowly. The sheet had slipped down. I could see the thick, hard length of his cock every time she rose up. It was bigger than I had imagined—heavy, veined, shiny with how wet she was. Her hands were on his chest. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks.
They were talking between the sounds.
“I’ll be gone in four days,” my mother said, breathless. “Business meetings. You sure you’ll be okay here with Elise?”
“I’ll take care of her,” Ronan answered, voice rough. His hips lifted once, pushing deeper. “Don’t worry about it.”
“She’s been… restless since the wedding.”
“I noticed.” He thrust up again. “I’ll handle it.”
I watched his cock disappear inside her one more time, then forced myself to step back. My heart was slamming. My own cunt throbbed so hard it almost hurt. I went back to my room, closed the door, and climbed under the sheet. I didn’t touch myself again. I just lay there staring at the ceiling, the image of his thick cock burned behind my eyes.
The next morning my mother left early. Suitcase by the door, quick kiss on my cheek, then she was gone. Four days.
The house felt different the second her car pulled out of the driveway.
I didn’t put on a bra.
I pulled on a thin white tank top that was a little too small and a pair of short gray shorts that barely covered anything. No underwear. I left my bedroom door open. I left a pair of my panties on the bathroom counter like I had forgotten them. I walked downstairs barefoot, the soft fabric of the tank clinging to my bare breasts with every step.
Ronan was in the kitchen making coffee. He looked up when I came in. His eyes dropped to my chest for half a second before he forced them away.
“Morning,” I said, reaching past him for a mug. My arm brushed his. The tank pulled tight across my nipples.
He didn’t move. “You’re not dressed.”
“It’s warm.” I poured coffee and leaned against the opposite counter, one hip cocked so the shorts rode higher. “Mom’s gone until Thursday. Figured I could be comfortable.”
Ronan set his mug down carefully. “Comfortable doesn’t mean walking around with nothing under that shirt.”
I tilted my head. “How do you know there’s nothing under it?”
His jaw flexed. He picked up his coffee and walked out of the kitchen without answering.
I spent the rest of the morning making sure he noticed.
I did laundry and “forgot” to fold the clothes. My bras and underwear stayed in a loose pile on the living-room couch. Later I stretched out on the same couch with a book, one leg bent, the shorts riding up high enough that he could see I wasn’t wearing anything underneath when he walked past.
He stopped in the doorway and stared at the mess of my clothes.
“Elise. Clean that up.”
I sat up slowly, making the movement shift my breasts under the thin tank. “I will. Later.”
He walked over, picked up one of my bras by the strap, and held it out. “Now.”
I took it from him. Our fingers touched. Then I stood close enough that the front of my tank almost brushed his chest and dropped the bra back onto the couch behind me.
“You told me to stop touching myself,” I said quietly. “You didn’t say I had to start dressing like I live in a convent.”
Ronan’s hand came up. For a second I thought he was going to grab my waist. Instead he caught the hem of my tank and tugged it down an inch, trying to cover more of me and failing.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, voice low. “Your mother trusts me in this house with you.”
“I’m twenty-two. And she’s not here.”
He stepped back. “Stop leaving your clothes everywhere. Stop walking around like that. And stop looking at me the way you have been since the wedding.”
I smiled. “Or what?”
He didn’t answer. He just turned and went upstairs. A minute later I heard his bedroom door close harder than it needed to.
That afternoon I decided to push a little further.
I was carrying a basket of clean clothes up the stairs when the tank top caught on the edge of the basket. I felt the fabric pull. One of the thin straps slid off my shoulder. Before I could fix it the whole front of the shirt slipped down.
Both of my breasts were suddenly bare—soft, full, nipples tight from the cool air. The tank hung useless around my waist. I stood frozen halfway up the stairs, the basket still in my hands.
Ronan was at the bottom of the stairs. He had just come out of the kitchen. He looked up.
And he stopped completely.
His eyes locked on my bare chest. He didn’t look away. He didn’t speak. He just stared—jaw tight, chest rising and falling slower than normal, green eyes dark and fixed on the way my breasts hung free and heavy in the open air.
I didn’t move to cover myself.
I just stood there on the stairs, heart slamming, watching him watch me.
The house was silent except for the soft sound of our breathing.
He still hadn’t looked away.