I swallow hard, trying to sort my thoughts and feelings. But the proximity of our bodies and the look in his dark, blue eyes is making that a little tricky right now.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” he asks.
“I know that you didn’t believe me that there was nothing going on between me and Tristan,” I say quietly. “And you didn’tbelieve me that the baby was yours even though I insisted he couldn’t possibly belong to anyone else.”
“I was blind. Angry. Upset by everything going on,” he says, but it’s not quiet enough.
“You also didn’t tell me you were married. You let me believe I was coming home to you. That it would be me and you. That you still l—” I stop before I say the word.
Ransome’s body softens. He reaches up, tipping my chin so I will look at him. “I’m sorry,” he tells me, and the gentleness in his voice tugs my heart into believing it. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be honest with you. I’m sorry you had to deal with her. I’m sorry you thought I don’t care. This is not the way I want things to be. You are not an obligation, Amara.”
I search his eyes looking for anything safe and promising to grab onto. But he’s a dark man. A hard man. And even if that softness is in there somewhere, it’s hard to see. “Then what am I?” I dare to ask, my voice trembling.
“You are the mother of my child. You are the woman I lay awake thinking about when I go to bed at night. And the woman whose face flashes through my mind first thing in the morning. You…” he says slowly as he brushes his thumb over my lips. “Are beautiful,dorogoya.Intoxicating. Bewitching,” he whispers, and as his mouth lowers closer to mine, I shut my eyes. “You… are mine,” he says.
Then his lips cover mine.
Undressing isn’t as sexy when you’re pregnant, at least not in my opinion. Ransome isn’t ripping at my clothes, yanking my shirt off and clawing at my bra. He can’t exactly throw me on the bed or slam me over the table to take me from behind.
He does, however, seem to have no issue scooping me up and walking me to the bedroom, our lips still locked in the process.
He lays me down gently and pulls my legging off like hosiery, one leg at a time, his hands grazing my leg as he goes, sending a chill up my spine. Then he slips my hoodie up over my head and leans down on all fours to kiss my belly.
“Trakhni menya, kotyonek,” he growls. “I never thought you could get any sexier than you already were. But seeing you like this, carrying my child,my son…” he trails off as he continues to kiss down my stomach.
Then his mouth moves further south.
My legs part in anticipation. I have needed his touch, dreamed of it every night.
“Eager?” he asks with a devilish smirk.
I nod. “I didn’t know if you would come back for me.”
Ransome’s face is between my legs now, his breath inches from my pleading skin and his eyes on mine. “I will always come back for you, Amara. Did you not hear me before?” He kisses my pussy, sending a jolt through me. “You,” another kiss, “belong,” a lick, “to me.”
I cry out as his mouth covers me. His tongue finds my clit as he sucks and flicks, going straight for my ruin. No teasing, just finding the spot that drives me wild and digging in with no abandon.
I writhe on the bed as the orgasm nears. Ransome is the only man who has ever figured out how to make me come in less than a minute, and I’m thoroughly convinced he is the only man who ever could.
Ransome is relentless, hungry, brutal, dominating. As I moan and whimper, my hands dig into his shoulders, scratch up his neck and through his hair. But his tongue continues to thrash against me until the orgasm rushes over me like an all-consuming storm.
Then the storm breaks.
I lie on the bed, gasping for air, my voice hoarse. Ransome stands up and yanks his shirt off, the buttons snapping as he pulls. He sheds it off like an unwanted skin, revealing his tight and toned torso. It’s a sight I’ve seen a dozen times, and yet it always leaves me speechless. Always leaves me wanting more no matter how many times I’ve been satisfied.
Next, he shoves his slacks off, revealing just how hot he is for me. How hard he is for me. There’s no denying that this man wants me. The bulging of his veins in his shaft, the dripping of the precum over his hand as he gives himself one, two, three strokes, all while smirking down at me… it tells me just how much he wants me. How much he wants me to want him.
I spread my legs wider, an invitation for him to come inside. But Ransome kneels on the bead next to me, and as he does, he closes my leg and rolls me gently onto my side.
“Like this,dorogoya,” he whispers gruffly as he lays behind me, his warm body fitting perfectly against mine.
He slides his dick inside me with ease. I am already so wet for him. But I do gasp at the mere girth of it. No matter how many times he penetrates me, it will always feel like the first time. He takes me, makes me his, every time he fucks me. Again, and again, and again.
Ransome’s hips glide against mine, in and out as he moves my hair away from my neck, kissing behind my ear and down to my collarbone.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he groans. “I just want to devour every inch of you, over and over.”
“Mmm,” I murmur in response, because I am not capable of real words right now.
