“I’m aware.”
Amara’s cold stare is enough to turn me to stone, but I’m not about to budge on this. “It would be too risky. Between the baby and Apex and the Jenica ordeal and the El Paso deal and the Chadovich bullshit, my life has about a million moving parts right now, and none of them are moving in the same direction. A party with a hundred people, all not vetted, a bunch of commotion, all while the room is focused on you… it’s out of the damn question.”
I know my words are harsh. Amara’s lip begins to quiver, even though her expression is still very much angry. “That’s not fair,” she says. “If it’s for work or for Bratva shit it’s allowed.”
“Because it’s necessary,” I state.
“And so is this! It’s our baby. He is going to need a lot of things, Ransome.”
“And we can afford to buy all of those things,” I tell her.
“I know we can afford it. But what I can’t afford is to be locked away. To pretend like this isn’t happening. It’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to our son. He should be celebrated. Not hidden.”
“And he will be. When we aren’t at risk. The situation right now is very fragile. Nobody can know that I am getting divorced. Not when Tristan is still out there planning God knows what. And not when I’m this stressed.”
Amara stares at me for a moment before her face softens. “You’re right. I should have taken into consideration the amount of stress you’re under.”
“Yes,” I answer as I reach for a shirt. I’m ready to be done with this conversation once and for all.
But when I turn around, Amara is on her knees. She is looking up at me through her eyelashes, her lips pouting, her breasts bulging from the sports bra she is wearing because pregnancy has done wonders for her there.
“What are you doing?”
“I shouldn’t be asking you for things when your world is weighing on you so heavily. I should be asking what I can do for you. And I can do…a lot…for you.”
Amara’s voice is velvety as she runs her hand up over my dick, hardening it almost immediately. I reach behind me and brace my hands on the marble island in the middle of the closet.
I don’t like being manipulated. But I’m not about to tell her to get off her knees either.
Amara’s eyes stay locked on mine as she tucks her fingers inside my underwear and tugs them off, letting them fall to the floor. Then she raises herself from a sitting position to her knees and takes hold of my cock, gently stroking her soft hand over the smooth skin.
I moan at the feel of her small hand wrapped around my girth as her mouth nears me. Slowly, her lips pop open and her tongue flattens seductively over her lip. She licks up my sack, over the shaft, and stops right before touching the tip.
“Fucking tease,” I growl, but she only smiles. Unless I force her to do what I want—which I won’t—I am at her mercy.
Her hand slides softly up and down the length of me one time. “It’s just that I get so lonely. And I have needs, you know?”
Jesus Christ…
“And I know you have needs,” she goes on as she lets go of me. Then she tugs her bra off and tosses it aside. Her breasts, full and delicious, bounce with the movement, and my eyes are locked. Every part of me is paralyzed as I swallow, taking her in.
Then she cups her hands around her breasts and lifts them up as she rises back to her knees.
And the next thing I know, she is sliding my dick in and out of them.
“Fuck me…” I cry out as she gives me a boob job. Each time the tip surfaces, she licks it, lapping up the precum and teasing me into a frenzy.
“I just wish we could come to some kind of agreement,” she pouts as her ass moves up and down, her tits stroking me, her tongue teasing me.
“You’re being a very bad girl,” I growl, though I’d come the fuck undone if she stopped.
“Maybe I need to be punished,” she says.
Fuck…
There’s a lot I can withstand. I can go weeks, months even, without sex. I have that kind of control. Hell, I’ve been subjected to actual torture and didn’t crack.
But Amara’s submission is another story entirely. It’s my kryptonite.
