He sucked my bottom lip and released it with a graze of teeth. “You denied me this pussy for weeks. I’ve got time to make up for.” “I’m too young to die,” I groaned. “I’m only twenty.” He stilled, then a darkly amused gaze met mine. “Fuck. I forgot how old you are. I really don’t need the reminder right now.” “Does it bother you?” I asked, my nails running down the length of his back. His eyes dropped to half-mast. “Not enough.” He punctuated the statement with a deep thrust that made me groan. A rough palm found my breast and squeezed. I wrapped my legs around his hips, sighing when he sucked a nipple in his mouth. It was so easy to forget everything with him inside me. But I wanted to be more than just another woman in his bed. I wanted to know him inside and out. Because he was so much more than a single shade of black or white. “Were you so gray at twenty?” I asked. The words shouldn’t make sense —wouldn’t make sense to anyone else—but it only took Ronan a couple of seconds to understand my meaning. “Nyet.” I shivered at the darkness and truth in his voice. If he were twenty now, things would have gone very, very differently for me. Pd never had a problem with his age, but now I appreciated his experience even more. His mouth traveled down my neck, leaving a hot, wet trail behind, while he leisurely fucked me as if he had all week to do so. I tried to blink through the haze of pleasure. “Were you in prison then?” “No. I was released when I was eighteen.” “When did you go in?” “Fourteen.” “What could you have done at fourteen?” I asked, aghast. He smiled against my throat. “I cut off a politician’s cock and shoved it down his throat.” I swallowed. I really shouldn’t have asked that question. My body should be primed and ready to run for the hills after his answer. But I already knew Ronan wasn’t Prince Charming. I somehow also knew the man he killed had deserved it and probably more. Bracing his hands on either side of me, he pushed up so he could see my eyes. “What? No comment about my blackened soul?”