I grab his shoulders and feel the muscle through his shirt as he teases me mercilessly, one flick of the tongue at a time.
Most men will tell you they enjoy eating a girl out, but I think they just like the idea of it. Ransome, however, goes down on me like I’m parfait and he’s the spoon. Like it’s a fucking Olympic sport.
“Right there,” I moan.
“You like that, baby?” he asks, his voice the same texture as gravel.
“Yes. Fuck yes.”
I lean back on the counter, gripping the edges in my hands behind me as Ransome’s tongue runs up and down the length of me, trailing over every nerve with killer precision. As he finds my slit, he presses into the most sensitive spots and teases my clit. It sends liquid fire to my pussy, making me gush, making me moan, making me need to come.
“Ransome,” I murmur.
“You’re impatient,dorogoya.” The rough whisper of his words makes me shudder at the change of sensations. “You need to be patient.”
“No. I need more. Make me come, Ransome, I need to fucking come?—”
“You want to come, you little brat?”
“Yes!”
“Alright…”
With that, he nips me. It’s hard enough to make me yip, but fucking God does it feel amazing. Euphoric, even. Apparently, being Bratva girlfriend material means being a little bit of a masochist.
Which, turns out, I am.
His mouth flattens against me as his tongue flickers across my clit, hard and fast. It’s making me wet enough to soak the counter, but he doesn’t stop.
“Ransome,” I whine again, but he doesn’t care. He’s going to make me come more than once, no matter how much it destroys me.
With his tongue pressed flat to my skin, he sucks, lapping the sweet spot that no other man has taken the time to find.
My muscles tense tighter and tighter, until I am writhing on the granite counter. Still he presses on, his hands tight on my thighs, holding me up to his mouth while he unravels me with every flick of his tongue.
Like a freight train, I can see the edge coming. I let go of the counter and grab him by the shirt. My fingers dig into the hard muscle of his shoulders as the orgasm rips through me.
After I go limp, Ransome lifts me off the counter and takes me to the bedroom, laying me on his bed.
“Are you staying?” I ask, but when he starts to fix his hair and shirt in the wall mirror, ironing out the wrinkles with his hands from where I nearly ripped it off him, I know the answer.
“I have to work,” he tells me.
Then he walks out, leaving me hot and fuzzy and dizzy and exhausted on his bed.
Holy shit.
35
AMARA
“This tastes exactly the way it did five years ago,” I say as I take a bite of pizza margherita.
“Probably because they haven’t cleaned the pizza oven since then,” Bella jokes, and we all laugh.
I don’t care if they have or not. Even with its scuffed checkered floors and cheap paper plates, Diorio’s is arguably the best pizza place on this side of NYC.
“You go to a lot of bougie ass pizza joints in the city?” Gianni asks around a sip of his Coke.
