Exiled for Saying No, I Came Back and Took the Boss's Chair novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Steel Table

At two in the morning in the pit's kitchen she sits on the steel prep table and tells Ronan to put his mouth on her, and they set the terms: nine nights, no families in the bed.

The back door of the Pit had not finished closing before I had him by the lapels.

"Wait," Ronan said.

"No."

I pulled his mouth down to mine in the dark kitchen, and he made a low sound in his chest.

His hands stayed at his sides.

I felt them there, fists half closed against his thighs, while I kissed him hard and bit his lower lip and tasted smoke.

"Touch me," I said.

"You start it," he said against my mouth. "I'll finish it."

"I'm starting it."

I took his wrists and put his hands on my hips.

That did it.

His fingers dug into me through the canvas coat.

He lifted me off my feet and set me on the long steel table in the middle of the room.

The steel was cold through my jeans.

Through the window over the sink I could see the three smokers banked low and red at the vents.

The heat of them came through the walls.

I shrugged out of my coat and let it drop on the floor.

He stood very still and watched me.

I pulled my sweater over my head, then the thermal shirt under it, and threw them on the coat.

The kitchen was warm, but my skin pebbled anyway.

I unhooked my bra and let it fall.

Ronan's breath left him in a long rough sound.

"Come here," I said.

He stepped between my knees, and I took his face in both hands and kissed him again, slower.

Now his hands were allowed, and they went everywhere.

They slid up my ribs and over my breasts, and his thumbs dragged across my nipples until they ached.

I gasped into his mouth.

"Look at you," he said. "Christ, look at you."

He bent and took one nipple between his lips and sucked.

I arched into him and held his head there with both hands.

He moved to the other one and bit down lightly, and the feeling dropped low in my belly and pooled.

"Boots," I said, because I did not trust myself to say anything else.

He knelt and unlaced them one at a time and set them side by side under the table.

"Jeans."

He undid the button, and he did it slowly, with his eyes on my face.

I lifted my hips, and he drew the denim and my underwear down my legs together and dropped them on the boots.

"You don't have to be careful," I said.

"I know," he said.

"Then why are you?"

"I've wanted to since the sink."

My breath went out of me in a rush.

He stood and pushed my knees apart with both hands, and he looked.

I sat bare below the waist on a steel table in a room that smelled of hickory.

He stood between my legs with his shirt still buttoned and looked at me for a long time.

"Ronan," I said. It was the first time I had said his name. "Do something."

He knelt again.

His beard was rough on the inside of my thighs, and then his mouth was on me, hot and slow.

He licked a long flat stroke from the bottom to my clit.

I grabbed the edge of the table.

"Oh, fuck."

He did it again.

He took his time, circling and sucking and flicking the tip of his tongue until my heels hooked over his shoulders.

"Good," he muttered into me. "Just like that. Let me hear you."

I let him hear me.

I put one hand in his hair and held his face against my pussy and rode his mouth, and the table rattled under me.

He pushed two fingers inside and curled them and found the place at once.

"Ronan, there."

"There?" he asked.

"Yes. God, there."

He stroked it until my thighs shook, and he never lifted his mouth.

My back came up off the steel.

I came with a cry that bounced around the empty kitchen, clenching on his fingers.

He held me through it and kept licking until I pulled at his hair to make him stop.

He sat back on his heels.

His beard was wet and his eyes were nearly black, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his burnt wrist.

"Again," I said. "With you in me."

"Lotta."

"Get up."

He stood, and I went for his shirt.

I opened it one button at a time, then gave up and pulled, and the last two buttons skittered across the concrete.

His chest was broad and covered in red-brown hair, and I put my mouth on it and felt him breathe in.

I dragged my teeth across his collarbone.

He groaned, a rough sound, and his hands came up into my hair.

"Belt," I said.

My fingers were not steady, so he put his over mine and unbuckled it himself.

When I pushed his jeans down, he was hard and heavy in my hand, flushed at the tip and already wet.

He shut his eyes and let his head fall back.

"I'm on the pill," I said. "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."

"I wasn't going to."

I rubbed the head of his cock through my wetness until we were both breathing in ragged pieces.

Then I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled.

"Now."

He pushed in.

He went slowly, a little at a time, and I felt every inch of it stretching me open.

He did not stop until his hips met the backs of my thighs.

"God, you're tight," he said, hoarse.

"It's been a while," I said.

"How long?"

"Longer than I want to say."

"Say it," he said.

"Eleven years since anybody who knew my name."

His arm came around my back and pulled me hard against his chest.

"I know your name," he said into my hair. "Lotta."

My eyes stung, and I turned my face into his neck so he wouldn't see.

"Move," I said.

He moved.

He drew out almost all the way and pushed back in, deep and steady, and the table creaked under us.

I leaned back on my palms and watched him go in and out of me.

The muscles of his stomach jumped on every thrust.

"Faster," I said.

He gave me faster.

His hands clamped my hips and dragged me to the very edge of the table, and every stroke hit so deep that I cried out.

"That's it," he said through his teeth. "Take it. You feel so good."

"Harder."

"Tell me when," he said.

"Now. Now, Ronan."

He fucked me hard.

The table banged against the wall, and the heat from the smokers pressed on my bare back, and sweat ran down between my breasts.

I felt myself climbing again, quick and high, and I wanted a different angle.

"Pull out," I said. "Turn me."

He pulled out, and I groaned at the loss.

He lifted me down and turned me by the hips.

He bent me over the steel table, with my cheek against the cold metal and my ass in the air.

"Like this?" he said behind me.

"Yes. Like that. Fuck me like that."

He slid back in, and the new angle struck something deep that made my knees buckle.

He held me up with one arm around my waist.

"I've got you," he said. "Lotta, I've got you."

His other hand slid around my hip and between my legs and found my clit.

He worked it with two fingers in time with his thrusts, firm and fast, and I was babbling now.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't you fucking stop."

"Not stopping," he said.

"Ronan. Ronan, I'm going to."

"Go on. I want to feel it."

I came with my whole body, clamping down on him so hard that he swore.

The cry that came out of me was one I did not know I still had.

He slowed and stayed deep inside me while the aftershocks rolled through, and he kissed the back of my neck.

"Not done," I said, when I could talk.

"No?"

"Sit down."

He pulled out, and I turned around on my shaking legs.

There was a steel stool against the wall.

He sat on it, flushed and rigid and breathing hard, and I climbed into his lap and took him in my hand.

"Look at me," I said.

He looked.

I sank down on him all at once, and we both made a sound.

"Fuck," he said. "Lotta."

"Hands on my hips."

His hands went to my hips.

I rode him slowly at first, my knees on either side of his thighs, my breasts against his chest, my forehead pressed to his.

I wanted to feel every inch of him again, and I took my time.

Then I sped up.

His mouth found my breast, and his hands guided me up and down, and the stool rocked under us.

"Lotta, I can't last."

"Don't last. Come in me."

"You first," he said.

"I already did."

"Once more," he said. "For me."

He reached between us and rubbed my clit with his thumb, and I felt the heat building up my spine for a third time.

"Ronan."

"I've got you. Let go."

I let go.

I came around him, shaking, with my mouth open against his, and that sent him over the edge too.

He gripped my hips and pulled me down hard and spilled into me, groaning my name, his whole body tight under mine.

His forehead dropped against my shoulder.

We stayed that way for a long time.

My legs would not hold me, and neither of us let go.

"Okay," he said eventually, against my skin.

"Okay."

"That's the whole speech."

I laughed, and it shook both of us.

He eased out of me and found a clean towel by the sink and wiped me, gently, with great care.

I let him.

Then we sat on the steel table side by side with our legs hanging and the red light of the smokers on the floor.

"Nine nights," I said.

He turned his head.

"The novena is nine nights. I sit at my father's table for nine nights."

"And then?" he asked.

"Then I go back to Duluth, and you go back to your smokers."

"Nine nights," he said slowly.

"No families in this room. Not yours, not mine."

"No families," he agreed.

"And I start it. Every time."

"You start it," he said. "I'll wait for you to ask."

"Not ask," I said. "Tell."

He smiled for the first time, a slow dry smile that went all the way up to his eyes.

"Yes, ma'am."

He drove me back before dawn through the empty North End streets, with his hand on the gearshift and mine on top of it.

The house was dark except for the kitchen window.

Nonna stood on the back porch in her robe with her rosary wound around her fingers.

She watched me climb out of a Costigan truck at five in the morning.

Ronan lifted two fingers from the wheel to her and pulled away.

"Your mother's apron is on the nail," Nonna said. "Breakfast is at six."

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