His arm wraps around me. His hand travels over my stomach, caresses the swell of my belly, explores every inch of what belongs to him. All the while, he keeps driving his cock deeper and deeper inside me.
“Ransome,” I whisper, because I need more. The soft and slow is delicious, every nerve stimulated, but I need to get railed.
And I don’t have to say another word. Because he knows, and he needs it too.
Ransome picks up the pace, his hips crashing harder and faster against mine. Both of us groan, and my hands search for something to grab onto, something to squeeze as I lose all control of myself.
Ransome’s hand grabs mine, our fingers lacing together as he grinds into me, over and over again, until finally?—
“Oh fuck,” I gasp, my body shuddering against his.
“Yes, baby,” he moans. “Oh, fuck, yes.”
I can feel him filling me up, hot and sweet and all-consuming as he makes me his again.
His body eases against mine, and we both fall asleep.
21
RANSOME
“Ransome Rozanov. Are you actually walk-of-shaming out of here?”
Amara’s voice stops me in my tracks. I was almost out the door too. Damn.
“It’s not the walk of shame if it’s my house,” I tell her, shoving my hand in the pocket of my slacks and looking back at her. Amara is laying on the bed, wearing nothing but a white sheet, exposed from the hips up.
Fucking hell.
It’s taking everything in me not to rip my clothes back off and jump back into bed with her. But I can’t.
“It’s your house, but it’s not your home. I understand,” she pouts, laying her head back down. But she knows what she’s doing.
I pull my hand back out and stalk over to her, my wing-tipped shoes clapping against the hard floor with every step. I stop in front of her and lean down, brace my fists on the mattress, fullyaware that my fingers brush her nipple in the process, making her gasp despite herself.
She looks up at me, waiting. But I don’t say anything. I pierce her soul using only my gaze and then grab her firmly by the chin, tipping her face up to mine before crashing my mouth against hers. I part her lips with mine, my tongue finding hers, dancing with it, embracing it, holding it hostage before finally letting go.
I rip my mouth from hers and she gasps, both from the power of the kiss and the need for air. Then I look down at her without so much as a hint of a smile.
“I haven’t had sex with her,” I state.
And then I walk.
Only after I leave the room, knowing full well that she is in paralyzed shock, do I smirk.
The hot water of the rainfall showerhead beats down on my tense shoulders hard enough to peel off the first layer of skin. I need it.
This comes after beating out the frustration Amara caused me this morning. That kiss left her speechless, doing the job I intended, but it also left me with blue balls that wouldn’t quit. Now I’m just slow cooking myself in the shower until the water runs cold, because I can’t go back to bed and I don’t feel like getting out yet either.
Jenica was asleep when I got home. Or at least, the snoring from her cracked bedroom door told me as much. But I know betterthan to assume she is ignorant to me being out all night. Her door is usually closed. Probably locked. But never cracked. That tells me she was lying awake wondering where I was. Probably wondering who I was with.
Eventually I have to face the music. Or in this case, the snoring. Although as soon as I step out of the shower, I realize I’m not that lucky.
“Look who decided to show up.” Jenica’s voice comes from the bathroom door, which is wide open.
I quickly snatch a towel off the rack and hold it in front of me.
“Jesus Christ. What do you want?” I snap.
