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My knees weaken, and I have to grip the arm of the chair as not to fall, and Anthony’s laugh deepens.
“It’s funny, you’d think I planned this out.” He dabs at the blood on his lip. “Do we call it coincidence, or fate?” the asshole adds, adjusting his button-up. “I’ll give you ten minutes to fill him in on our contract, and only because I know he’s incapable of touching you.”
If only he knew...
“You’re a prick,” I manage to rasp.
“Ten fucking minutes, Jameson. Don’t test me. You have no idea what I know, what I have, and what I can accomplish with it.”
Anthony’s angry steps carry him away and I move closer to Ransom, dropping onto my knees in front of him.
My hands fall to his shoulders and he jerks, trying to push me away, but I grip his face, forcing his gaze to mine.
He blinks, a dead look in his eyes, but when I span my fingers out along his skin, he blinks again, and an entirely different expression takes over.
Pure desperate need.
The need to be close, to feel a connection.
My blood runs warm.
His left hand comes up to cup my face, and he strokes my skin there, desire boiling in his hooded gaze and sparking my own deep within me.
Suddenly he’s gripping my hips, tugging me onto his lap.
My eyes widen and I jerk away, try and glance in the direction Anthony disappeared, but he doesn’t allow it.
He grabs handfuls of my hair, holding them stiff and straight, tugging them hard, so I can’t turn my head, his hips pushing up, letting me know how hard he is, that he needs me. Here. Now.
“He might hear.”
“Fuck him.”
“But he’ll screw with you—”
“Shhh,” he cuts me off, a broken smile on his lips.
He wants me to know he’s fucked up, getting lost in his mind, and instead, he wants to get lost in me.
I feel the same. The last few days have been overbearingly heavy.
I need him too.
“My mom, she—”
“No, baby.” He shakes his head, one hand sliding into my hair and tugging me closer, the other squeezing my upper thigh. “Show me.”
He pushes my dress up to my hips, his eyes low and heavy, weighted and worn. “Fuck everyone by fucking me. Now. Slow.”
My core clenches and he grinds into me.
“Let me inside,” he whispers, his lips aligned with mine, waiting for more and on the verge of taking it. “Let me have what’s mine.”
Desire surges through me, and my clit begins to throb.
Ransom groans, his tongue gliding along my lips, and my eyes nearly roll back. “I can feel how wet you are for me, baby, right through my fucking jeans,” he growls, his hold tightening.
My fingers fly to his belt, desperate to get the thing open. I don’t take the time to get it off and he doesn’t waste a single second.
My panties are torn from my body and I’m lifted and lowered onto him.
I moan instantly, taking his cock and wanting more of it.
I grind into him.
“I’ve been thinking about your cunt, baby.” He groans, not bothering to keep himself quiet, rolling my hips into him the way he wants it. “About how it squeezes me, tugs on me. Fucking loves on me.”
I shiver and his hand finds my spine.
He presses there, rolling with me as he thrusts up into me. My palms flatten on the wall at his back and I lift a little.
He knows what I want, he scoots down slightly and I drop, taking him deeper with a gasped moan.
I ride him, reveling at the feeling of his cock swelling inside me and he lets his head fall back, his eyes closing, lips parted and panting.
He’s feeling all of me, seeing me behind closed lids.
But then he begins to shake, so I press firmer, placing my lips on his and breathing for us both. I set the pace and after a few tense moments, he slowly follows.
His thigh muscles begin to clench, and I press harder, move faster, and he buries his face in my neck as he comes.
He grunts, low and deep, his body twitching, palms squeezing.
I hold him there and he me, massaging my back and running his hands along my body.
His lips find my ear, buried half in my hair, and he whispers, “Happy Birthday to my girl.”
Instant, bone deep aches zip through me, but I can’t pinpoint where I’m hurting.
Maybe everywhere.
All over.
He pulls back, looking into my eyes with a twisted expression.
“I tried to call, we all did,” he tells me, and I know this.
I ignored his calls too.
“We had something for you. Arsen made you a cake and B wanted to bring you coffee and pasta.”
I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.
“I’m going to tell you something,” he rasps. “And you’re going to panic, stress, and you’ll probably make a mistake after, but we’ll get over it.”
