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“Ransom,” I moan, barely sounding like myself anymore. I clutch at him, spreading my legs wider in an open invitation.
His cock presses inside a bit, sliding in less than an inch deep. I can feel the stretch of his crown at my entrance, and I hold my breath, waiting for the rest.
But it doesn’t come. He doesn’t push in any farther. He just moves his hips in tiny pulses, keeping the tip inside me but not giving me any more. I groan, half from desire and half from frustration. I feel desperate at this point, like I’m grasping for something just out of reach.
“Please,” I gasp out, arching my back and clutching at his shoulders. “Ransom, please. I need—”
I break off with another choked moan when he dips in a tiny bit deeper, just enough that it sends a wave of sensation through me that makes my breath catch.
“Goddamn, you’re so tight. The way you’re squeezing me, trying to pull me inside… I bet you could choke the life out of my dick,” he groans.
He seems to be having a hard time holding himself back. His arms shake where he keeps himself poised above me, and his face is screwed up in a look of utter concentration. As though if he lets himself go for a second, he’ll shove all the way into me, bottoming out in a single thrust.
But he doesn’t let himself go, and he doesn’t give in. He doesn’t fuck me.
Instead, he thrusts his hips in tiny little pulses, never going any deeper than he’s already gone. Every once in a while, he draws out entirely and slides his cock between my folds instead, so that the piercings on the underside of his shaft graze over my soaked flesh.
“The things I want to do to you,” he breathes as we both look down to watch the crown of his cock breach my entrance again. “You have no idea all the ways I’ve imagined fucking you. All the ways I want to make you come. All the ways I want to make you scream.”
“I—I—”
I let out a sobbing sort of gasp, and he rests his forehead against mine, his blue-green eyes burning into me. Then he releases a ragged breath and pulls away.
I give a little whine of frustration when I feel the head of his cock slip out of me without ever once pressing all the way inside. It feels like the worst kind of emptiness, and Ransom chuckles deeply, leaning down to nip at my bottom lip.
“You didn’t beg me quite enough,” he says, a teasing light entering his eyes. “Maybe next time.”
I gape at him for a second, my jaw dropping open, and then he’s rolling off me and getting out of bed.
“You’re the worst,” I mumble, feeling like someone just dumped a bucket of cold water on me, leaving me half horny and half dazed.
He laughs again, the sound easy and deep. “Sorry, pretty girl, but we’ve got things to do. We need to get downstairs.” He arches his pierced brow. “Unless you want the others to come looking for us?”
He says it like a joke, but my mind instantly floods with the image of Malice and Victor walking in, seeing me spread out in Ransom’s bed with my shirt riding up and my pants on the floor, legs spread, clearly soaking wet and needy. I go still, my bottom lip trapped tightly between my teeth as my chest heaves, and Ransom glances over at me.
“Fucking hell.” He tips his head back, groaning. “Now who’s teasing who?”
He reaches out and tugs me up from the bed, pulling me into his arms as soon as my feet hit the floor. He kisses me with so much enthusiasm that he bends me backward from the force of it, and somehow, my hands end up in his hair, gripping the strands tightly as his mouth slants over mine.
When we separate this time, my body feels like it’s floating, and Ransom looks even more mussed and flushed than before. He chuckles, shaking his head ruefully as he releases me from his hold.
“You’re my favorite kind of distraction, you know that?”
He winks, then slaps my ass lightly, nudging me in the direction of my clothes. I pull them on, aware of his gaze on me as I get dressed and surprised how comfortable I feel having him see me like this. I haven’t even been here that long, but it’s a far cry from the way I dressed so furtively that first morning I woke up in his bed.
Once I’m fully dressed, we leave the room. Ransom heads downstairs to start working on coffee while I head toward the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth, but when I get to the bathroom, I realize it’s already occupied.
The door is open and Malice is standing at the sink, washing the new parts of his tattoo.
It’s interesting to watch the way he cleans it, rubbing at it with surprisingly gentle fingers, and I stand there for a moment, too absorbed by the sight to realize that I’m staring.
“What?” he asks, sounding gruff but not angry for once.
“Oh. Nothing,” I reply, jerking my gaze back up to his face. “I was just… I needed the bathroom, so I’m waiting.”
There’s no mention of the conversation we had yesterday, or the way he held on to me like I was his lifeline for a moment before finally lifting me off his lap and leaving the room without another word. Watching him now, it almost feels like that was a dream. Or something I imagined.
But he doesn’t tell me to fuck off or close the door in my face. Instead, it almost feels like he’s inviting me to watch as he dries off the tattoo and then grabs a bottle of lotion from under the counter, rubbing it into the new lines.
