Oh my God…
He takes hold of his cock…
Oh. My. GOD…
And he pulls it out. Erect. And rock fucking hard.
Ransome Rozanov is standing in front of me, less than five feet away, with his fully exposed, fully north-pointing cock in his hand.
This is not real. It can’t be. And yet, no matter how many times I blink, no matter how hard I pinch my thigh, it doesn’t go away. Ransome Rozanov is in front of me and he is stroking his own dick.
After two long strides over his shaft with his hand, Ransome groans, gripping the desk with his other hand. His head tips to the ceiling and his eyes close and I have to squeeze my legs shut so that I don’t burst into a waterfall all over the closet floor.
“Fuck me,” he grits out as his hand slides up and down, slow, then fast, hard, then with more ease. The man is edging himself and it is the most erotic, gorgeous thing I have ever seen. With each stroke, his jaw goes more and more slack. It’s the most relaxed yet simultaneously tense I’ve ever seen him. His temples begin to glisten with beads of sweat and his hand grips the desk harder, flexing the muscles in his forearms and making his veins bulge.
And that’s not the only thing that’s bulging.
With each stroke, his cock gets harder and wetter, the pre-cum trailing down the shaft, creating a natural lube.
How I wish my tongue was there to catch it…
“Fuck me,devochka, fuck me…”
Okay, I really need to look up what that word means. He’s said it twice now while jerking himself into a sweaty fit, so it has to mean something.
Suddenly, his hand starts to pump faster and his body tenses. Ransome groans, a sound I only ever imagined in my wet dreams. It’s similar to what I pictured but better. Throatier, deeper, more intense. Like sandpaper rising from somewhere deep inside of him, scratching over my nerves, making my nipples hard and my center ache.
I am so tempted to touch myself. To join him in the orgasm to come. But I know for a fact it would be one of the strongest orgasms I’ve ever had and I am not… for lack of better description… a quiet girl. So I cross my legs and bite my lip hard enough to make it bleed.
“Fuck… That’s it… Yes,devochka, yes, just like that. Just like… oh my God…”
His words melt into a mumble of half Russian and half English and I am too busy trying not to moan myself that I don’t catch any of it—except for one word.
I stop.
Did he just…say my name?!
I shake my head, refusing to believe it. There’s no way. He’s speaking in a foreign tongue. Some Russian word must just sound like my name. And yet…
Ransome reaches in his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, covering his cock and hand just as he unravels. His body shutters as he unloads discreetly and I have to admit, I am a little disappointed I can’t see it.
After that, he is Ransome again. He straightens up, tucks himself away, bundles the tissue in his hand and grabs his whiskey glass, tossing back the rest of the honey-colored liquid before walking out the door and down the hall.
I wait until I hear the shower turn on before making a run for it, bolting out of the office and through the foyer, stopping for nothing as I run out the front door.
I don’t slow down until I reach my car, and even then, I do everything as fast as I can, screeching back onto the street and hiding amongst traffic. Only when I can’t see his building anymore do I let myself breathe.
Holy fucking shit…
… he said my name.
6
AMARA
“Please pick up,” I whisper as the phone rings over and over. I’m getting weird looks as I wait at the busy New York City crosswalk. It’s hard to tune out the cacophony of noises, from wailing car horns to people yammering around me to the crosswalk signal beeping to music thumping from the barbershop on the corner.
I both love the city and hate it. It’s exciting, energetic, like a living thing in its own right. But it’s also never, ever quiet.
