Chapter 12 #2
Whatever he was going to say is eaten up by a low groan as he moves his mouth to my neck. He drags his tongue over the sensitive skin, making goosebumps pop out, and I can feel my heart racing in my chest.
My pussy is getting wet, and I spread my legs automatically, wanting more. Needing this.
If I could start every morning before I had to see Olivia like this, then maybe it would be less terrible. Just a little.
Ransom seems determined to make sure I can’t think about Troy or Olivia or the engagement at all. He grabs a handful of my breast again, squeezing hard before giving me a sly smirk.
His mouth moves down further, kissing a trail along my neck and collarbones until he gets right to the valley between my breasts.
It feels like a jolt of electricity when he licks his way down that stretch of skin and then moves to take one of my nipples into his mouth.
The heat is incredible, and I hear myself whimper as I writhe on the bed, clutching at him with desperate fingers.
Ransom licks and sucks at that sensitive little bud until I’m practically dripping between my legs, arching and squirming under him, needy and on fire with it.
Then he switches to the other side, giving the other nipple the same treatment. He worries at it with his teeth a bit, and the pricks of pain mingle with the pleasure in the way I like, and I can feel myself getting closer and closer to falling apart. Just from this.
“Ransom,” I moan. “Fuck, Ransom. I’m—”
“Not yet,” he rasps, glancing up at me. “Hold on for a bit, angel. I want you to come, but I want it to be with my cock buried so deep in you that you can’t feel anything else.”
“Fuck,” I whimper, bucking my hips up. “Yes. God, yes.”
He grabs the base of his cock, flushed and jutting out from his body, and then lines it up with my pussy.
As soon as the head touches my sensitive flesh, I gasp, arching up, urging him closer.
When he drives himself into me hard and fast, I rake my nails against his back and wrap my legs around his waist like I’m trying to bind us together.
“Perfect,” Ransom pants. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
I don’t have the breath to respond, so I just hold on for dear life as he sets a hard, punishing pace. I know I won’t last long, and from the way he’s fucking me like it’s his entire purpose in life, I doubt he will either.
He fucks into me with wild abandon, the sound of skin on skin echoing in my room. The bed creaks, shuddering under the force of our movements and providing a counterpoint to our breathless groans.
“Keep going,” I choke out as tingling warmth starts to spread through me. “I’m gonna come. Oh god, Ransom, I’m so close.”
“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s it, pretty girl. Come on my cock. I wanna feel it.”
I nod frantically, and when he thrusts again, he hits something inside me that sends my climax bursting through me like a firework. I bury my face against his neck, muffling my cry of pleasure against his warm skin.
Ransom keeps thrusting, chasing his own pleasure, and when his orgasm hits, he slams inside to the hilt, pouring his cum deep into my pussy.
I pant for breath, my heart racing and my head spinning, arms and legs still locked around him. When Ransom kisses me again, it’s softer this time, and I melt into it as our bodies soften together.
“Now you have something to remember our night together by,” he murmurs against my lips. “I want you to go to this stupid dress fitting with my cum inside you, so you can remember that your grandma can never truly keep you from us. From the men you belong to.”
I shiver at the words and the sentiment, and it does make me feel better. I grin and lean up to kiss him, feeling filthy and cherished and happier than I have in a while.
We both get out of bed not long after, and I don’t shower, just putting on clothes and some makeup and brushing my hair. Ransom kisses me one more time and then slips out of my apartment—and hopefully out of the building without being seen.
I give it a few minutes and then meet Jerome downstairs so that he can take me to meet Olivia.
Of course, the place we pull up to is lavish and fancy.
The name of it is in French, and I don’t even try to parse out the elegant script of the sign above the door.
Jerome drops me off at the front and then goes to park, and I push my way inside, immediately intercepted by a blonde sales woman with a blinding smile.
“Hello,” she greets me. “Can I help you?”
“This is my granddaughter,” Olivia says, coming around a corner.
“Oh!” the woman replies. She turns her smile up another few watts. “It’s fantastic to meet you. Your grandmother says you’re shopping for a dress for your engagement party. Congratulations.”
For a second, I don’t even know what to say to that, but Olivia gives me a sharp look, and I blink and try to contort my features into something that looks like excitement. “Oh, um, thank you.”
“Please, let me know if you need anything, Mrs. Stanton,” the sales woman says and rushes away.
Olivia gives me an analytical once-over and then leads the way to the sales floor proper. There are racks and racks of dresses, in every shade imaginable. Different cuts, different necklines, different sleeves.
Once upon a time, shopping in a place like this would have been exciting, a new thrill for someone like me, but now it means nothing.
I know all this lavish fanciness just hides ugliness underneath.
The sales woman, whose name is Juliette according to her name tag, comes back with glasses of champagne and delicate little cookies on a tray. She rambles a bit about the new fall line that’s just arrived, and Olivia listens for a while before sending her away with a little wave of her hand.
I just stand there, letting my grandmother direct everything. It’s easier that way, and I wouldn’t even know where to start in a place like this.
Olivia walks along the racks with a critical eye, picking out dresses and putting most of them back. She has Juliette gather a few after a while, all in neutral, elegant colors, and then comes back to me.
“Try these on,” she says. “Come out between each one so I can see.”
I take the dresses and step into the fitting room. There are mirrors on every wall, which is a little disorienting, but I quickly strip out of the clothes I came in and start putting on dresses.
I come out in the first one, a dusty rose number with a scooped neckline and long sleeves.
Olivia makes me turn for her and then shakes her head. “No, too frumpy. Next.”
“Why are we buying a dress off the rack anyway?” I ask her as I step back into the large fitting room to put on the next dress. “I thought you would have had something custom made.” The disdain for her general snobbery is barely held back in my tone.
“This is faster, since we need it on short notice,” she says. “And it will still be custom. These dresses are just the base. Once we’ve picked one, it will be tailored to fit perfectly. One of a kind.”
I roll my eyes and slip into the next dress before coming out again.
Talking to my grandmother makes me cringe, and I’m tempted to try to get through the entire fitting in silence, but I still need to know more—about her, and about her world. I have to understand Olivia Stanton if I’m going to beat her.
“The color on this one is good,” Olivia says, walking around me after I emerge wearing the third dress.
It’s a dark green gown that does seem to make my pale skin almost glow.
“And it covers your unsightly scars. With a shorter hemline, and perhaps shortening the sleeves, it could work. You’ll need new shoes, obviously. And accessories.”
“I’ve never really accessorized before,” I tell her.
Olivia pins me with a stare, seeming annoyed by my lack of interest in fashion. “You do now. Your outfit will be impeccable, and it will be the same way whenever you go to a function where you are representing our family. Do you understand how important this engagement party is?”
“I guess,” I mutter quietly.
“Do not mumble at me,” she replies sharply. “This marriage is joining two very important, very influential families in Detroit. Everyone who matters in this city will want to come out to see the happy couple. So you will look as good as possible to make the right impression.”
“So we’re just showing off for your peers?”
“Exactly,” she says.
I shake my head, huffing out a breath. “All you people care about is appearances.”
My grandmother just gives me a hard look. “Yes,” she agrees. “We do. And you had better play your part well.”
She holds my gaze for a moment, as if she wants to make sure her threat is sinking in well. Then she waves me back into the dressing room to try on another dress.
“At least it won’t be as bad as the last time I took you out into society,” she says, speaking quietly almost like she’s talking to herself. “Misty can’t show up and cause another disturbance.”
I narrow my eyes, pausing in hanging up the green dress. Something about Olivia’s tone makes my stomach twist, a strange sort of tension spreading through my limbs. She sounds self-satisfied. Almost… smug. Like the reason Misty isn’t around anymore to embarrass her is because…
My hand flies to my mouth, stifling a choked gasp.
Nausea rises up immediately after, and I clamp my palm tight over my lips, bending over a little as I close my eyes.
Olivia killed my birth mother. She openly admitted it to me and talks about it like it’s something she’s proud of. She saw my birth mother as an impediment to the success of the Stanton family legacy, so she took care of it in the way only a sociopath would think to do.
And she saw Misty the same way.
Misty embarrassed her by causing a scene at the art museum gala. And my adoptive mother also had the audacity to show up and demand money from Olivia.
So Olivia… took care of the problem.
“The overdose,” I whisper, my words slightly muffled by my hand. “That was… that was you. It wasn’t an accident.”
There’s a moment of silence, and I’m not sure if Olivia heard my words with the dressing room door between us.
Then she sniffs, and I can almost picture her lifting her chin.
“She was an addict who’d ruined her life.
She was beyond saving, and it was only a matter of time before she overdosed on her own. ”
“But she didn’t.” I shake my head, horror ricocheting through me. “She didn’t do it on her own. You were the one who—”
“I did what I had to.” Olivia’s voice is closer now, as if she’s stepped nearer to the dressing room door.
“Which is what I always do. Misty couldn’t be allowed to disgrace you anymore.
She was trash, and she was disposed of accordingly.
It’s not as if the world will miss her.” She exhales sharply, a breath that sounds almost like a little laugh. “Even you won’t miss her.”
My throat goes tight, my heart hammering in my chest. Her words cut through me like poisoned knives, sending pain lancing through me.
This hurts even worse than learning about the murder of my birth mother.
Because Olivia took both of them from me.
And because… Olivia is partly right. Misty and I had a complicated relationship, to say the least, and there were times when I wanted her out of my life.
I was ready to cut ties with her entirely by the end, but that doesn’t mean I wanted her dead.
I step out of the dressing room, tears stinging my eyes as my hands shake.
“You’re vile,” I snap. I know I shouldn’t give in to the anger coursing through me, and that poking at Olivia could be dangerous, but I can’t help it.
The words just keep coming. “You play with people’s lives like you think you’re some kind of god.
Just because you don’t like someone or you think they’re an embarrassment, you think you can just…
just get rid of them. Who the fuck do you think you are? How could you just—”
Before I can finish the sentence, Olivia’s arm snaps out. Moving so fast that I barely see it coming, she backhands me across the face. The blow is hard enough to cut me off, the sudden burst of pain making stars dance before my eyes as I rock back on my heels in shock.
Her cold hazel eyes narrow, her delicate features pulled tight as she stares at me. For a moment, a look of venomous hatred passes through her expression. Then she squares her shoulders, her face smoothing out as she steps back.
“The green dress will do for the engagement party,” she says. “For the wedding, we will be having a dress custom made. It will have to be completely one of a kind if we want to make the right impression.”
I blink, my cheek throbbing dully as I stare at her.
The way she just shifted so quickly between psycho bitch and elegant society woman leaves me reeling.
It’s like there are two completely different versions of her, the mask she wears so perfectly refined that I’m finally starting to understand how she fooled me for all those weeks after we first met.
She really is a fucking sociopath.
That thought sends a wash of fear through me, chilling my skin. I already know that she’s killed at least two people who stood in the way of what she wanted, and that makes the threat she’s holding over the Voronin brothers feel all the more real.
“Troy and I have gotten hung up on a few points in the negotiations for the terms of this arrangement,” my grandmother continues, still talking in that calm, neutral tone, as if she didn’t just admit to murder and then slap me. “But it will all be worked out soon.”
I nod, still massaging my aching cheek as fear curls in my belly. I have no idea what she means about them getting ‘hung up on a few points of the negotiations.’
But judging from what I know of my grandmother, it can’t be anything good.