Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
Hazel
I stare at the box he holds out for me. It looks distinctly like it contains jewelry, and my hand shakes as I take it from him. I’m not sure what it means—if he’s still mad, if he’s accepted that I’m getting married to someone else, if it’s just meant to be another taunt… the possibilities are endless with him, and right now, his face is a mask.
“I figured you’ve let me help with everything else—the honeymoon, the cake, the invitations. Gotta let me in on the last bit.” There’s a small reassuring smile.
I open it carefully and inhale sharply when I see what’s inside.
It’s a stunning pear-shaped sapphire necklace. I pull it out of its container and hold it up in the light, biting my lower lip as I stare at how beautiful it is. I look at him with a silent question, but he’s lost in his own thoughts, staring at it with me before he realizes .
“I figured it could be your something blue.” There’s a sad smile on his face. “To match your hair.”
“Ramsey…” I’m lost for words. I have to take a long deep breath to keep from crying. Whatever mood he’s in tonight, I’m not prepared for any of it.
“Please?” He asks to see the dress again, and I can’t bring myself to tell him no. Even though it’s the last thing I want to do right now.
“Okay,” I agree, setting the necklace back in its box on the bed next to him.
When I re-emerge in the dress, it’s not zipped up in the back, so I have to clutch the front of it to my chest.
“Can you zip it? I need help with it.” I turn my back to him, and the train drags with my movement, making me look like a statue standing in the midst of a giant pedestal of champagne-colored marble.
His fingers move deftly up the back of the dress, pulling the zipper and leading with one finger to make sure it doesn’t catch my skin. The bodice is skintight and perfectly tailored. It makes my breasts look like they did when I was nineteen and my waist the hourglass figure that I can never quite achieve in my usual T-shirts and jeans. He doesn’t say a word as his fingers slip under the necklace I wear every day.
“I know you usually wear this one. I figured you need something special for the wedding though.” He undoes the fastener from my neck, pulling it away and then moves to rejoin it, his large fingers still managing to skillfully work the clasp. He sets it gently on the dresser, next to my ring holder and perfume. “Did he get this for you? You wear it all the time, but I don’t remember it. ”
“No. I had it made.”
“It’s pretty. Looks like you.”
“Well, you would know. You picked it out,” I confess softly.
“What do you mean?” He frowns at me. It’s another thing I shouldn’t be admitting to him. Another thing like the jersey and the games that tells the truth about the last five years.
“It’s my engagement ring. I just had the stones reset.” The way he looks at me, I feel like my heart might stop in my chest. Apparently, I’ve finally caught him off guard tonight with that information. “It was just… so pretty. I wanted to be able to still wear it.”
“Oh… well…” He’s lost for words for a moment and then practically chokes them out when he does speak again. “I’d rather not be your something old that day. Blue it is.” He puts the sapphire on me and takes a step back to admire his work.
“You look gorgeous,” he compliments me, but his eyes are distant, studying the dress, and I can tell his mind is a million miles away.
“Ramsey, it’s beautiful…” I hold the sapphire up to let it catch the light again.
“It’s a lot of dress,” he comments absently, studying the ornate detail on the bodice and following the line down to the long train. “Fancy as fuck compared to what you married me in.” I can hear his mood shift with his tone.
“Well, the wedding is in March, not the summer like ours was…” I don’t know why I’m explaining this. I should be getting out of the dress because I don’t think trying it on was wise, given the effect it’s having on him. “Could you unzip it now? I want to put the jersey back on.” I offer him a small smile.
“It’s gonna be hard to fuck you with all those skirts.” He grabs the train and pulls it back around, lifting it and letting it catch the air to fall to the floor again.
“Ramsey…” I try to use my most placating tone, but it fails .
“I think we should try. Give it a test run to make sure it’ll work on the big day. What do you think?” He paces in my direction, his knuckles brushing over the back of my cheek when he reaches me.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I try to bargain with him, and he’s clearly disappointed, his eyes darkening as he looks over me.
“No? Why not? We already went through all the lingerie. The cake. The invitations. Seems likes we should do this one too. That’s what I’m good at, right? Giving you a chance to try it all out first.” His hand wraps around one side of my throat, and he kisses his way up the other. “You know I’ll make sure you get it exactly the way you want.”
The heavy breath that escapes when he nips my neck is the only confirmation he needs that I’m still on the verge of no return for him.
“That’s my girl. One more thing we can check off your wedding planning list.”
He walks me to the edge of the bed and gently presses up my spine until I’m bent over it, face down, ass in the air as he starts to pull up my skirts. There’s a mound of them, and it’s not light work, but he’s dedicated to the task. His fingers slip between my thighs when he’s finished, and he tests me through the cotton, groaning when he finds me still ready for him.
“Am I making you wet, sugar? You want me to fuck you in his dress?” His fingers gently massage me through the fabric, just enough to give his taunt a physical presence too. I grind down on the edge of the bed, desperate for more friction, and not even a little bit embarrassed, even though I should be. “This way, when you say your vows to him, I can be right there with you. My collar around your neck, the smell of me on your skin. That’s how you like it, isn’t it?”
I bury the sound I make when his fingers slip under my panties, and it only serves to make him angrier. He tears them off, wrenching them down my hips and ripping the lace on one side in the process. He tosses what’s left next to me on the bed.
“Look how soaked you are, just from letting me come all over that pretty little face. I doubt you get that wet from sucking his cock. Do you?” he demands.
“No,” I answer quietly.
There’s a grim chuckle from him, and then he’s on his knees, his face buried in my pussy as he starts to lick and kiss and suck in earnest. He gives me just enough to tease and torment but not nearly enough to sate how much I need him. My fingers twist in the quilt as he lightly flicks his tongue over me for the hundredth time, and I let out a muted scream into the quilt I’ve bunched under my head.
“Ramsey, please,” I beg. “Please.”
“No, Haze, darlin’.” He chuckles as he pulls away. “We’re going to make sure you come hard tonight. As long as it takes. I want to make sure the memory sticks for you.”
I can feel how wet I am from how the air cools my skin in his absence, and I shift on my feet, grinding against the spot where my dress is bunched up on the edge of the bed. I want to put myself out of my misery and keep him from being able to torture me more than he already has. But I can’t seem to chase it, not like I need, and there’s too much fabric for it to do any real good.
His shadow falls over me before I hear him, and his hand comes down hard on my ass, my exposed cheek stinging with the crack of his palm. I gasp and turn back to glare at him. He answers me with an intimidating glower.
“Don’t take what’s mine to give.” He growls, and I feel the weight of several toys drop onto the bed at my hips.
“Then fuck me. Now.” My patience is wearing thin.
“I will. In good time,” he promises, and I hear the sheets rustle underneath the toys as he chooses one. “But first, I want to see what it’s gonna be like when he fucks you on your wedding day, listen to you make all those little mewling fake cries you make for him.”
I feel the press of Curtis’s toy as he slips it inside. I know which one it is by the feel of it, that sensation of being full but not full enough. The taunting awareness that I’ve had better, but without any of the man to make up for what’s lacking in the toy. Not that either compared to the man in the room with me. The one who owns my body, whether he’s there with me or not.
“Fuck, Ramsey. Don’t… I’ll lose it.” I’ll cry if he doesn’t let me come tonight after all this.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen. I’ve got other things to keep you sated, or at least on the edge.” I don’t like the soft devilish laugh that he has, and the dull buzz confirms my fear. It’s one of my clit vibrators, turned down to the lowest setting. The same style Ramsey always liked to torment me with. “Raise your hips.”
Stupidly, I comply because, for some reason, I crave this man tormenting me over everything else.
“Fuck,” I curse as I lower back down, his fingers coasting over my hip and the curve of my ass as he watches me rock forward against it.
“It shouldn’t be too high, but if it gets to be too much, tell me,” he whispers, sweeping some hair out of my face as he does it. He grins at my suffering and kisses my temple. I want to scowl at him, but I’m easily distracted. He’s peeled off the shirt he had on earlier, and I can barely stand to look at him. The man has an unfair advantage at almost every turn.
He uses Curtis’s toy on me again, teasing me with the tip and then taking it deeper. He changes his rhythm and depth until he finally has the perfect combination—the response he wants from my body and the soft curses of me not getting enough of what I need.
“I know he leaves you feeling empty, sugar, but I want to hear you try to fake it. I want to hear those little pretend gasps of awe you make for him while you fuck yourself with his cock again.”
“Ramsey…” I let out a frustrated sigh. “Fuck.”
“I don’t think he’ll want to hear my name on your wedding night,” he muses.
“Fuck off.”
“I’m trying… would it help if you call me ‘daddy’ too?” He snickers, and I let out a shrill little scream that I don’t bother to bury in the quilt, which only makes him laugh harder. I want to curse him. Tell him how much I hate him—that I’m never letting him touch me again, but those would all be lies. So I offer the truth instead.
“Please. I want you .”
Those are the magic words because the toy disappears, and his cock replaces it in one deep thrust. A loud gasp slips free, and I swallow hard as I adjust to the difference, burying my face in the quilt as I feel his piercing again. I want to thank whoever or whatever gave him that idea.
“Fuck me,” I curse, and there’s an amused half-groan as he slides out of me and back in again.
“That better?” he asks. It’s rhetorical. He knows it is, but I also know his ego likes to hear it.
“So much.” I moan when he hits a pace that finally starts to spark and bloom little currents through my body. He keeps it for a minute, letting me chase the edge and counter him with the roll of my hips. But then he slows again, and I hear the sound of him opening a bottle.
I feel the cool drip of lube against my ass, and then the tip of something silicone follows, barely brushing against my skin .
“I know we’re still working you back up to me, sugar, but you can take him. He’s so much smaller. Just the tip first. You can do it.” His voice is the perfect mix of raspy need and soothing comfort. I could drown in it—so distracted by it that I don’t have it in me to argue.
I pant as he teases me with it, starting to press in and then pulling back again, slowly and carefully warming me up to the sensation. I grip the bed, curling my fingers around the edge of it, and try to breathe.
“Not with you inside me. It’s too much.”
“Nah, darlin’, it’s gonna be perfect. You’re so close. This is gonna help take you over the edge.” He teases it along the seam again, and I take a deep breath to try to steel my nerves. “Besides, we’re practicing, right? Gotta get you ready for the big day… When he finally gets his turn to have you here, but you’re still imagining it’s me inside you instead.”
“Ramsey!” I protest, so distracted by scolding him that I don’t even notice him slipping the toy inside me at first. Not until the fullness of it starts to sink in, and I whimper his name a second time. “It’s so much,” I murmur. It’s good and too much all at the same time.
“You can take it. You’re a good little wife, Haze. So good for me. I’ll reward you with my mouth later, suck on that sweet clit of yours for hours on my knees if you give me this.”
He eases more of the toy inside me while he fucks me, and I roll my hips to try to get more of the vibration on my clit. I need it to help me stay focused while I adjust to how overwhelmingly full it feels. Especially when Ramsey’s already taking up so much room that I feel like I can barely breathe.
“You good, sugar?” he asks once he has it in as far as he planned.
I take a breath and a quick inventory. I’m full, tormented, and dying to fucking get off, but I’m good.
“Yes,” I say softly.
“That’s my girl. I knew you could do it.” He starts to ease in and out of me with slow thrusts of his cock while he holds the toy still, and the vibrator hums on a low setting. It’s torture—pure and simple, but the kind that’s so good I can only manage to moan and mutter out a curse against his name in reply. “Fuck… You’re being so good for me. You feel so good, tightening around me like this. Fuck, Haze.”
He groans when he takes me deeper before he does the unthinkable and uses the toy to counter his next thrust, sliding himself in as he slides the toy out. He continues until I’m just a moaning mess being fucked from all angles, all of them in his control and me at his mercy. Then he presses me further, closer and closer to the precipice, syncing them back up again until I can barely use words. Every inch of me is on edge, so near to the release I need I can almost feel the feather’s edge of it.
“Fuck, listen to you. So sweet when you’re all filled up like this. Trying to take both of us at the same time without falling apart. You’re a mess, sugar. Such a beautiful fucking mess like this. I wish you could see how good you look with both of us inside you. Fuck Look at you.” He rubs my hip with his free hand. I glance back over my shoulder. It’s not a perfect view, not the one I really want, but it’s enough. The sight of us—him all muscles and tattoos, and me spread out in front of him in a pile of satin and tulle while he takes what he wants.
I shift to get a better look, and it brings my clit flush against the vibrator. I gasp and murmur how close I am before I try to rock back to take more of him and bring myself over the edge.
“You gonna come for me?” he asks, slowing down his rhythm to force me to answer him when I try to fight for control.
“Yes.” I gasp for my next breath. “Fuck. Please . Please make me come.”
“Please make me come, who?” He stills inside of me, and I’m stuck on the edge, hanging by a thread and desperate for the fall.
“Please. Please, Mr. Stockton, make me come. Please!” The last please is more of a demand than a request, but it appeases him all the same.
“That’s better.” He gives my ass cheek a playful squeeze.
He fucks me with the toy slowly for a few more slow thrusts of his cock before he takes it away in favor of gripping both my hips, taking full control, and fucking me fast and deep. I feel it start to surface at last, my nerve endings blooming with the sensation, and his piercing hits every spot perfectly in the rhythm I need.
I start coming so hard I almost see all the colors of the aurora in the blackout. I cry out his name and curse him at intervals. It’s one wave after another, and every nerve ending in my body feels like it’s rushing to its own end.
I can feel him follow, coming hard inside me. I watch him in the mirror in the corner of the room as his arm wraps around my middle, and he bends over, fucking me through his own release. His jaw tightens, and he comes loudly, moaning so loud it vibrates through me.
I’m lost, staring at him in the mirror. He looks fucking gorgeous and unbroken and powerful. I wish I always got to watch him reflected like this—see him at his best—when he knows just how much he’s desperately needed.
He groans as he pulls out, and the last of him spills onto the backs of my thighs, hot against my already warm skin. He looks down and surveys his work, kneeling and disappearing behind my skirts.
“Fuck, sugar. You’re leaking.” He kisses the inside of my thigh and uses his fingers to push his come back inside me as his tongue teases me softly. I raise my hips in response, trying to cant myself up and out of his reach—still too close to my orgasm to be able to take the torment he’s giving. He licks me one last time and stands. “The only thing better than seeing you in this dress with him will be getting to watch you have to pick a new one because this one’s too small.” He flashes a roguish grin at me in the mirror and then helps me stand, turning me around to face him.
“Ramsey,” I chide.
“You want it too. Don’t lie. The number of times you begged me to fuck you bare in the last few weeks… I know, darlin’.” His fingers trace their way down my jaw. “You aren’t ready to admit it yet, but I know. You will.”
I ignore his accusation. If it’s true, he’s right. I’m not about to divulge those kinds of secrets, so there’s no use in discussing it. His self-satisfied smirk is endearing and irritating in equal measure, though, so I do what I do best.
“So I did a good job faking it that whole time?” I ask, and his eyes snap to mine, his brow darkening. I laugh when he realizes I’m teasing him.
“Turn around,” he instructs, unzipping the dress for me. “Get in the shower, brat. I’ll be right in after I clean up.” He nods over his shoulder to the bathroom and then starts to pick up the toys.
“Yes, sir.” I smirk, and he flashes a look at me that tells me to watch my mouth.
“Don’t say that. I might like it so much I’ll make you use it everywhere.” He gives my ass a gentle push, and I hurry my way across the room. “What would Grace and Kit think?”
“I don’t think they’d be nearly as scandalized as Albert.” We both devolve into snickering, and I kiss his cheek on the way out.
I turn the knob on the shower and jump out of the way of the stream. I’m thankful it doesn’t take long for the water to heat up. I want a hot shower and a fresh, fluffy towel, and then I want to sprawl out on the bed and sleep for a year. My body’s exhausted from being so thoroughly worked over, and this dress has me so overly heated I’m ready to peel my way out of it.
He joins me a short while later, after he washes off the toys and puts the lube away. Grinning at me as he steps in through the shower door; a boyish one that wraps around my heart. I wish I could keep him like this, always have him this happy and free.
“Bed’s ready to crawl in,” he whispers against my forehead before he kisses me there.
Ramsey makes light work of the shower for me, sudsing and rinsing every inch of my skin and then slowly lathering my hair while he massages my scalp. His fingers run circles over my temples and down behind my ears, making soft strokes up and down my spine before he starts over again. He repeats the process until I’m melting in his hands, and then he rinses me off.
For a man as coarse as he is, he’s always been good about this part—making sure I felt completely safe and cared for in the wake of whatever rough sex we had. It’s more meaningful on this night, too, when we can’t seem to decide which side of the fence we want to stay on with each other—love or hate, rough or gentle, facing the truth or more of us avoiding it. But I’ll take as many more nights like this with him as I can get.