Текст книги "Dance for Me"
Автор книги: J. C. Valentine
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 12 страниц)
TWENTY
Being alone isn’t my strong suit. I’ve always made sure that someone is there to keep me from losing myself in my thoughts. It’s not a design that I follow on purpose, but more of a survival instinct. I need someone there to catch me if I fall. That’s why I finally decided to pull up my big girl panties and return Annie’s calls.
She’s surprised to hear from me. Of course, she is. I’ve been blowing her off ever since she told me she was moving out of state. If she knew why I was calling her now, she’d probably tell me to take a long jump off a short bridge. A certain amount of guilt comes with that. Knowing that I am essentially using her to keep me from doing something even more stupid, like asking Ransom to take me back.
We’re curled up on the country blue sofa in Annie’s living room facing each other. She’s wearing a soft white, fuzzy sweater that looks like someone skinned Sasquatch and black skinny jeans, and she’s glowing.
“I’m really happy you’re here,” she says for the tenth time since I walked through the door.
“Me, too,” I say honestly. I’ve never felt more at home than I have with this girl. She’s my soft place.
Her nose grows red at the tip and profound emotion tears across her face. “I really missed you this last week.”
I clear my throat and shift in my seat. I’m no good at heartfelt moments, but for her, I’ll give it a shot. It’s the least I can do. Reaching down deep, I hunt for the right words and lay them out between us.
“Listen, Annie. I want you to know that it was wrong of me to shut you out like I did. I hate myself for pushing you away over something that is important and life changing for you. If anything, you needed my support, and I was too self-absorbed to set my own insecurities aside and be there for you.
“I know an apology will never be enough, but it’s all I’ve got, and I hope you’ll accept it.”
She smiles sweetly. It’s the only kind she’s ever had. Her eyes well with tears an instant before they start falling down her now ruddy cheeks. “You’re in my apartment, aren’t you?”
Throwing herself across the single cushion dividing us, she pulls me into a choking hug. I guess that’s her way of telling me that I’m forgiven. I hug her back fiercely and take a relieved breath, because I was so close to losing this person that I need in my life.
Several minutes have passed by the time she pulls away and settles back on her side of the sofa. We both have to wipe our cheeks and touch up the makeup that has spread beneath our eyes, but it feels as though a tremendous weight has been lifted off my chest.
“I was never mad at you, you know,” Annie says as she wipes her nose with a tissue. “I understand why you were upset. I kind of hit you with the news out of nowhere and Jason is involved and…”
…and I have an extreme dislike for Jason. The words are left unspoken, but they don’t have to be for me to understand her meaning.
She waves her hand in the air and rolls her eyes at the ceiling. “Anyway, there’s nothing to forgive. You’re my sister from another mother. We fight, we get angry with each other sometimes, but we’ll always be sisters.”
That’s always been our motto. I don’t know how I could have forgotten that, but I’m glad she reminded me. It means we’ll always have each other’s back. Even when we’re alone, we’ll never truly be alone, and that is a security in life that no amount of money can buy. “Right, well, I’m still happy we’re okay.”
“Me, too, J.” She sits up, her expression lightening. A wide smile that shows all of her teeth emerges and when she speaks, her whole body is animated. “Oh, you have to see this.” Getting up, she dances away.
I follow her into the single bedroom, and studiously ignore the queen-sized bed that sits unmade, as though she and Jason have just rolled out of it. That is not a picture I want in my head.
Annie directs my attention to an old wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room, nestled between the wall and long vanity dresser. It looks like a poster child for lead poisoning and is painted a pale yellow that’s cracked and peeling…everywhere.
“I picked it up at the flea market the other day for a steal. I thought I would paint it blue or pink, and do that whole shabby chic thing with it, then put it in the baby’s room. What do you think?”
I look at my friend, whose smile is positively lovely. Her shining blonde hair brushes the tops of her shoulders and she looks…happy. As much as I dislike the circumstances, I can’t help joining her. The chair is in rough shape, but with a little work, I know she’ll make it great. If anyone can do it, it’s Annie.
“I think it’s perfect. You could even make a little cushion to tie to the spindles, so your butt doesn’t fall asleep when you sit in it,” I add.
“That’s a great idea,” she says, clapping her hands together beneath her chin. Then she aims two fingers at me like a gun. “Hey, maybe you can come with me to pick out the fabric?”
My reply is instant. “Absolutely. We can make a day of it.”
“Want to go right now?”
Her exuberance says I don’t have much of a choice, so I nod just as eagerly. “What are we still standing here for? Let’s go!”
We end up spending the rest of the day out shopping. By the time we make it back to her apartment, it’s dusk. We made out well. Maybe a little too well. Both of our arms are loaded up to the elbow with goodies, and I help Annie carry the bags up the two flights of stairs, complaining the whole way about her only asking me along because she needed a pack mule. Her tinkling laughter carries through the hallway all the way to her door and is replaced by a warm smile when the door to her apartment swings open.
Jason is standing on the other side, his semi-muscled shoulders tensed and his cold stare trained on me. My good mood instantly evaporates. As he reaches out to take Annie’s bags, he leans down and gives her a lingering kiss.
Giving them their privacy, I look away. Now that the mood is significantly subdued, it’s time for me to leave. Jason holds the door and I shuffle inside, laying the rest of the bags on the dining room table.
“Okay, lady, I had fun today, but you wore me out,” I tell Annie as I stretch my fingers and arms, which are marked with deep grooves and tinged a deep shade of red from holding the bags. “I’m going to head home and veg out on some Mafia Wives.”
“Are you sure?” Annie looks disappointed as she returns my hug. “We’re ordering pizza tonight. You’re welcome to stay and eat dinner with us.”
She means it, but one look at Jason and I know that invitation is one-sided. I wouldn’t have accepted anyway. “No, thanks. I need to keep my figure up,” I say, patting my flat stomach. “Eat an extra slice for me?”
“You know it. Hey,” Annie says as she sees me to the door. “I know I already said it, but I think it bears repeating. If by the end of this class you’re still hung up on this guy, you need to give him another chance. It’s a tough situation, but it sounds like he really liked you.”
I almost regret telling her what happened between me and Ransom. Almost. The fact is, she’s good at dishing out advice, and I’d be stupid not to eat at her table. I take her words to heart, but I can’t be sure what, if anything, I will do with them. Only time will tell. “I’ll think about it.”
I wave as I slip past Jason, flashing him a tight smile on my way out. He mumbles a very unenthusiastic goodbye and I hear the door click closed before I reach the top of the stairs.
What she sees in him, I don’t know, but if she’s happy, then I’m willing to pretend I’m happy, too. Lord knows, I’m great at lying. What must it be like, looking at life through a pair of rose-colored glasses? And where can I find a pair?
***
The last few weeks of the semester fly by. Between work and school and spending time with my friends, I hardly notice it. Keeping busy is the secret to maintaining any level of sanity, especially during the tough times life hands out.
That’s how I got through my mother’s passing: I threw myself into soccer and friends and adopting the role of daughter and homemaker. It’s also how I got past my father’s death. Before you know it, time has skated by you and wounds that used to ache are beginning to scab over.
Ransom has shown up at the club a few times. He’s watched me dance, but I don’t watch him. He’s asked for me personally, but I decline. Then he left a number for me with Bernice—I assume, out of desperation—and even though I have no intention of calling it, it sits buried in my purse.
It’s a small source of comfort to know that I could hear his voice anytime with just the push of a few buttons. It’s also a big source of stress because each day that passes makes me wonder how much longer I can prevent myself from picking up the phone.
The problem has only grown deeper as my impending show approaches, and now that it’s finally here, I find my hand searching for that scrap of paper. I won’t call it, but I desperately want to. I spent a lot of time preparing myself for this night, but now that it’s here, all of my insecurities are jumping to the forefront of my mind.
Is this how I want people to see me? Is it really worth taking my clothes off for? Does this cheapen me somehow? It’s supposed to be art, that’s what Mrs. Jackson said, but blending nude art with education somehow feels wrong.
But it’s a paying gig, and that’s what ultimately has me walking into that room Wednesday night.
There are easels set up in a circle around the edges of the room, creating a stage for the table placed dead center. It’s draped with white fabric that I think was intended to make the space more inviting, when in reality it lends it a clinical feel. I hate it instantly and a voice inside my head whispers that it’s not too late to turn around. I’m the only one here, so they would just assume I never showed up, right?
The idea is blown to hell when I turn to find Mrs. Jackson approaching. She’s dressed in a long, flowing tie-dyed dress and she’s pushing a cart stacked with paint, brushes, and other supplies. And she’s looking right at me with a pleased smile. “Good, you’re here. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d show.”
As I move to the side to give her room to pass, I feel my brows pull down.
Even though she hasn’t seen my expression, she continues speaking. “You probably wouldn’t know it from the level of cockiness in your fellow classmates, but there are a lot of cold feet at this school, especially the boys. They’ll strip down and blaze a naked path through a football field on game day for a laugh, but they’re shaking in their sneakers if you ask them to get naked and take a load off so a few people can draw a picture.”
I laugh nervously as I set my purse down on a nearby table and follow her deeper into the room. She stops the cart midway and positions it near a large sink basin.
Before I forget, I fish the paper Ransom gave me from my pocket and hold it out. “I need you to fill this out. It’s a questionnaire and proof that I was here.”
She takes it, and unfolding the paper, gives it a once-over. “This is for your final project?”
“Yes, it is.”
She nods and reaches over to drop it on top of her desk, sighing wistfully. “What I wouldn’t have given to have such a cool assignment for my final exam when I was your age. I’ll have it back to you at the end of class.” Leaning back, she props herself on the edge of the desk, and her expression is all business. “Okay, here’s the drill,” she says as she eyes me. “I assume this is your first time?”
“Yes.” That single word reveals the nerves currently creating a maelstrom inside my stomach.
Her smile is kind, but her words are frank. “You think you’re nervous now? Just wait until my class shows up. That’s the true test for everyone.” Pointing to the table in the center of the room, she says, “That’s your stage tonight. Once everyone is seated and ready to go, I’ll have you start by lying down on your side, facing my desk.”
Crap. I have to walk into a crowded room and get naked. I don’t suppose she has a stripper pole that I can warm up on. “That’s it? I just lie down and they draw me?”
“To start. The class is expected to draw three images tonight from three different angles. So we’ll get you lying down facing one direction, then have you flip over so they can draw you from a new perspective, and we’ll finish with a sitting portrait.”
I gulp. “How long is the class again?”
“Only an hour, and don’t worry, you’ll survive,” she says, her voice ringing with laughter. Clasping my shoulder, she looks me in the eye with utmost sincerity. “I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but everyone is nervous the first time. I can tell just standing here that you have a gorgeous figure and most important, you’re confident in your looks. Don’t let a little case of the nerves run you off. I am a firm believer that facing the things that strike fear in you is a great way to build character.”
I’m sure she’s right, but that doesn’t dull the churning feeling gripping me right now. Retrieving a white fluffy robe from cabinet near her desk, Mrs. Jackson directs me to a room that looks to be a teacher’s lounge that she claims all the models use and is completely secure. There are textbooks littering a small circular table at its center, and a short row of cabinets along the wall behind it that house an overlarge coffee maker, stacks of Styrofoam cups and stirrers, various creamers, and a microwave. It’s exactly what I imagined a teacher’s lounge to look like.
Glimpsing a mini fridge humming off to the side, I steal a bottle of water and gulp it down, hoping it will give me enough distraction to calm down.
Then I realize what a total mistake I just made, because I’ll end up having to use the bathroom a dozen times, so I spend the next ten minutes in the adjacent bathroom trying to evacuate my bladder.
Twenty minutes later, and I am standing outside a closed door completely naked but for the robe clenched around me. The blue and cream speckled linoleum is cool under my bare feet. Through a long, rectangular window, I can see Mrs. Jackson lecturing her students. There’s a mix of men and women, all roughly my age, seated on their stools in front of the canvasses they will be immortalizing my image on.
It strikes me all over again that I go to school with these people. If they didn’t know me before, they will now. I’ll be the-girl-who-took-her-clothes-off.
Before I can freak myself out more, Mrs. Jackson notices my presence and her burgundy painted lips split into a wide grin. She says something to the class, and they all turn their heads to look at me.
God, I should run now. But I don’t.
Mrs. Jackson walks over and opens the door. “Come in, come in. We were just talking about you.” She waves me inside with a flip of her hand, and I follow her into the room. My focus is on her back, on the way the fabric ripples like soft ocean waves with each step she takes. If I look up, I’ll bolt. It’s that simple.
“Please drop your robe and stretch out on the table,” she directs.
My fingers tighten on the plush fabric for a brief instant before I shove it away. I climb onto the table, feeling the slight chill of the wood seep through thin cotton sheet against my buttocks. Turning onto my side, I allow Mrs. Jackson to manipulate my limbs how she wants them. My right arm stretches out, is bent at the elbow with my hand opened wide to support my head. My left arm is brought forward on the table to steady me. My legs, which are clamped tight together and stretched long, are separated. She brings one knee forward, and I tense as the air touches between my thighs.
My mind goes wild imagining what the students positioned directly south of me must see. What will they draw? Do they like what they see? Are they turned on, or just as embarrassed as I am? I may take off my clothes for a living, but that doesn’t make me an exhibitionist. I don’t enjoy showing off my body to anyone willing to look at it. At least, not in this context. Even in a strip club, there are boundaries, limitations.
After I am positioned just how Mrs. Jackson wants me, she leaves the circle, taking on the role of an observer. “Okay, class. As you know, you have twenty minutes to perform your first sketch. Try to capture the form as you see it. Focus on light and shadow and use it to create depth in the drawing. I will be walking around the room to take a peek at everyone’s work. If you have a question for me, just raise your hand and I will come over. Clock starts now.”
With the exception of the light scratching of pencils on canvas and the dull clack of Mrs. Jackson’s pumps as she moves around the room, everything is silent. At first it makes me even more aware of all the eyes on me, but as the minutes tick by, I begin to relax and I find my thoughts drifting inward.
I’m in a nearly sleep-like state by the time we’re halfway into the second pose, when I hear the knock on the door. It’s a faint rap, and my gaze flicks up, following Mrs. Jackson’s back as she walks over to answer it.
She opens the door a crack and sticks her head out—murmurs follow, the words unintelligible. Although curious, I retreat back into myself.
I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve been using this time to reflect on my relationship with Ransom. Annie’s suggestion is still fresh in my mind and with the end of class looming on the horizon, I’ve come to realize that I am not over him. Not in the slightest. Severing ties hasn’t worked. Having to see him every day, in fact, has only made the distance worse.
Seeing but no touching. The detached way we speak to each other. The longing looks and denial that nothing is going on between us. All of it keeps the wounds fresh.
Without that clean break, it’s impossible to close the door. Instead, the smallest look or spoken word sends it flying wide open again.
The memories are inescapable, and so is he.
That point is only solidified when Mrs. Jackson steps back and I see Ransom enter the room.
TWENTY-ONE
My heart stops dead in my chest and my gaze skates down Ransom’s body. He’s dressed in simple black slacks and a pale pink button-down shirt, and I can’t help drinking him. It’s like he was plucked right out of my thoughts and dropped into the room just to torture me.
What is he doing here? I communicate the question with a firm look, one that Ransom returns with a cool, even face that reveals absolutely nothing.
Defiance. That’s what I’m labeling that look. He knows this is the last place he should be, the last place I would want him to be, but he showed up anyway. Annie once said he was a man abusing his power, and I have to admit, right now I agree with her. I wonder what he told himself to defy all of his rules and risk being here tonight.
Mrs. Jackson is giving him a guided tour of her students’ work, pointing to certain aspects that she finds notable. He nods and murmurs a reply at all the right times, but each time he looks away from me, his gaze returns a heartbeat later.
The more it happens, the more my insides flare with heat. It’s a demanding ache that starts in my chest as a flicker of nerves and travels lower until it’s a burning desire for so much more. He scans my body, and to the casual observer, it’s a clinical assessment. Just a professor observing art in progress. To me, though, this is foreplay. Annie may have been right, but I find that I don’t really mind.
He’s teasing me with his constant looks. And that hint of a smile teasing his thick, firm lips? He slays me. I can’t stop the memories of him looking at me like that when he was inside of me.
It’s impossible to miss the desire in his eyes, just as it’s impossible to deny the mounting need in my belly as he moves beyond my peripheral vision. Unable to see him, my breathing grows deeper, heavier, and I have to double my efforts to concentrate on maintaining my pose.
“She’s doing very well,” Mrs. Jackson comments, and my ears perk up.
“I can see that.” Ransom’s voice is soft and husky. Unobtrusive in the otherwise quiet room, but like a pin drop, I hear every word.
“If only all of my models were as poised as this one. I’m tempted to bribe her into dropping your class and joining mine.” There’s a teasing lilt to Mrs. Jackson’s voice, but I suspect she’s partially serious.
“The semester ends in two weeks, Celeste. You’re free to scoop up whoever you want then.”
“Indeed I will.”
“Do you mind if I sit in on the rest of the class? I’d love to see the finished products.”
“Absolutely,” Mrs. Jackson says wholeheartedly. “You can have my chair if you’d like.”
I want so badly to turn and look at him. I can feel Ransom’s eyes on me, staring at the slope of my back, the curve of my butt. The place between my thighs that begs for his attention.
When Mrs. Jackson calls for the final round of sketches to begin, I stand on unsteady legs and try not to focus too much on the moisture pooled between my legs. A fact that becomes impossible to ignore when she draws up a chair and tells me to straddle it.
I’m facing Ransom this time, unable to escape from that penetrating gaze. With as much brazenness as I can muster, I ease down onto the hard wood and prop my arms on the back of the chair, folding them one over the other. The air touches my exposed clit, and with my thighs split open, I am painfully aware of how aroused I am.
Mrs. Jackson artfully arranges my hair over my shoulders, so it cascades down my back, and then she gives me a perfunctory nod, pleased with her work, and disappears to resume her walk around the room.
I am out of my element. Ransom’s eyes study mine, his dark gaze narrowed slightly as if he recognizes this about me. I refuse to look away first. Confidence, that’s the image I want to project. I’m also hoping that my actions will inform him that this thing between us isn’t over. If there were any hope of ending things between us, it ended the moment he walked through that door.
As his eyes drop lower, lingering on my breasts, which have firmed in the air-conditioned room, I don’t think that will be a problem. Ransom doesn’t appear to have given up either. As his gaze lands at the gap created by the chair between my legs, I see his nostrils flare and his lips part and something inside me just…snaps.
Between one breath and the next, I have decided that I won’t be leaving here tonight alone. I made a mistake when I sent him away, and now I fully intend to rectify the situation.
Despite the cool air skating down my spine from overhead, beads of perspiration form around my hairline and under my arms, making me feel damp all over. By the time the class ends and the robe is returned to me, my mouth feels like I’ve stuffed it with cotton balls. It doesn’t matter that I downed an entire bottle of water before coming in here. I’m dehydrated, and it’s all Ransom’s fault.
He makes me crazy. Needy. Desperate.
I’m directed back to the teacher’s lounge, where I change back into my street clothes. When I return the robe to Mrs. Jackson, Ransom is nowhere to be seen.
My shoulders drop and my mood deflates. I can’t deny that I am disappointed by this. I had plans. Plans that involved signaling him to meet me outside. Where the dark sky would provide the perfect backdrop for our reunion. Was I confident that I would win him back? Not even remotely, but sometimes a girl has to lie to herself to find the courage she needs to press forward.
“You did great tonight,” Mrs. Jackson praises as she signs my form and hands it back. Her golden eyes twinkle as she looks up at me from behind her desk. “How did you enjoy the experience?”
I feel my cheeks heat as I think about just how much I enjoyed it once Ransom walked in. “It was different. Once I relaxed, it wasn’t too bad.”
“Good, then I hope you’ll consider coming back. I could always use a few more willing victims.”
I shake her hand, not giving her a response, and she wishes me a good evening. Despite the disappointment I feel, I walk out of the building with my head held high. Tonight I feel like I’ve overcome something. I don’t know what it is, but I feel good, and I’m glad that I chose to see it through.
The path I take is winding and framed by arching utility lights which create a swath of salmon colored light that’s a little hard on the eyes. Because it’s after dark, and I am alone but for a few people off in the distance, the campus takes on an eerie atmosphere. I can almost imagine a serial killer lurking in the shadows.
Kicking up my pace, I hurry to reach the nearly vacant parking lot. My car is one of a handful left, and as I notice the figure standing in wait, my heart skips a beat and my steps falter.
Until I realize who it is.
My heart skips before redoubling its effort and my blood quickens, pounding in my ears as I close the distance between us. When he hears my footsteps approaching, his dark head lifts and he steps into the light.
“Ransom.” My voice is breathy, relieved and excited and so many things I can’t begin to name, and as he meets me halfway and I leap into his waiting arms, into his fervent kiss, everything seems to click into place.
This is where I want to be. Where I should have been all along. None of the problems that faced us are gone, yet they cease to matter anymore. I wrap my arms and legs around his sturdy frame and kiss him with abandon. There is no care for the world around us. At this moment, only the two of us exist.
“You taste so good,” Ransom says against my mouth. His hands cup my butt, squeezing the soft globes and pressing me against his erection.
I lick his lips, wanting to taste him everywhere. There is no time to think, only act, and as I am the one driving this train, I issue the directions. “Keys. In my purse.” That’s all the information I give him, but being the intelligent man he is, Ransom doesn’t need anything more.
In a matter of moments, he has the door open and is shoving our entwined bodies into the spacious backseat of my Camry. My hands dive between our heaving bodies and begin working on his belt as he grasps both halves of my collared polo. With a vicious yank, the fabric tears easily from collar to belly button.
I look at him with what I imagine to be a mix of horror, anger, and lust. The latter emotion wins out. “That’s just about the hottest thing I have ever witnessed.”
He grins, and in the dark, it makes him look sinister. I like it. No, scratch that. I fucking love that.
My hands can’t move fast enough. Once his belt is undone, I shimmy the loose fabric over his firm ass. His cock springs out, standing like an arrow pointing to home base.
The throbbing between my legs increases and I whimper and arch my back as Ransom licks my nipples through my lacy bra. His hands slip between the stretchy waistband on my pants and guide them over my hips along with my underwear. When the material bunches up at my knees, he doesn’t stop to remove my shoes so he can finish the task.
No. Ransom is too impatient for that.
Instead, he lifts both legs up setting them on his right shoulder, ankles crossed, and leans forward, crushing my knees to my chest. The toes of my Keds scrape the fabric of the car’s ceiling as he gets into position.
Like this, our faces are only inches apart and with the way the light from the parking lot shines through the back window, all I see is him.
He’s all I ever see.
His cockhead presses into me, and I struggle for breath as I look into his eyes. “You feel it too don’t you, Joe? You feel that tightness in your chest. The kind that steals your breath and makes you feel like you might die even as everything in your world feels like it’s finally fallen into place.” His voice is thick and raspy, causing tendrils of heat to coil between my legs where his cock threatens to split me wide open.
“This is where I belong, Josephine. Between your silky thighs, buried so deep that you feel me inside your chest. That’s where I live, Joe, right here.” His hot palm covers the space between my breasts, directly over my pounding heart. “Don’t try to send me away again, because I’m not leaving.”
Hot tears leak from the corners of my eyes and spill into the hair at my temples. My reply is simple. “I won’t.” Two words, and it’s done. We’re together again. Sometimes that’s all it takes.
My lungs constrict as his hips surge forward. My eyes burn as he stretches me, making good on his promise—I feel him, all the way to my heart.
***
Sometime later, I rouse from the light sleep I’ve fallen into. The windows are fogged up and the air inside the car is cold but heavy. My skin prickles with goosebumps, the fine hairs on my arms standing on end. I burrow deeper into Ransom’s arms, trying to soak up as much of his heat as I can. Like all men, he’s a furnace, almost too hot to touch, but too tempting to stay away. My fingers travel across his chest, playing with the fine hairs that dust it.
“Why did you stick around?” The question spills from my mouth before it’s a conscious thought.
His answer is a long time coming. Covering my hand with his, he says, “How could I not? You’re special to me, Joesphine. You give me something I haven’t had in a long time. Hell, I’m not sure I’ve ever had it, but it feels right.”
“What’s that?” I ask, angling my head back to look at him.
He tilts his head down and kisses my mouth. “Feelings, Joe. You make me feel things I know I shouldn’t, but that I can’t stop. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
I know what he means. Although, I don’t think either of us has really tried all that hard. Lust—it’s one of the deadliest sins. “Feelings don’t always make sense.”
“I don’t think they’re supposed to.” He pauses, his hand tightening around mine. “I want you to come back to my place, spend the night.”
“I thought…” Surprised, my words trail off. It feels like we’re in a bubble right now. A bubble that’s in danger of bursting if I don’t choose my words carefully.
“That I didn’t want you there,” Ransom finishes for me, and I nod. Easing me off of him, he sits up and rakes a hand through his damp hair. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I huddle into myself as I wait for him to continue.
Sex looks good on him. His skin is flushed, his lips a deeper shade of red and plumped from my kisses, and his clothes are rumpled and twisted in a way that makes me want to ravage him all over again.
