Chapter 20 Willow #2
“Yeah,” I answer, even though good isn’t the right word. I still haven’t found the right word for how perfect it feels to be fucked by this man, but that one doesn’t even come close.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “Now hold on.”
The first press inside was slow, but when he draws out and slams back in again, I realize exactly what he meant when he told me I was about to get fucked like I deserved.
This is what he was talking about.
The pace he sets is hard and fast, and all I have to hold on to is the fabric of my dress, so I grip it hard, fighting to keep my head up as my eyes roll back.
He digs his fingers into the soft flesh of my hips, holding me up and keeping me steady.
Each time he bottoms out in me, it’s with an almost punishing snap of his hips, and it sends sparks cascading down my spine.
When Malice made me come in front of a crowd of people at that museum opening, it felt filthy and wrong and somehow arousing to know that anyone could look up and see us.
This isn’t like that. We’re more hidden away up here, no chance of prying eyes catching sight of us.
But it still feels illicit in the best way, a stolen moment just for the two of us, so removed from the elegant facade downstairs.
“Touch yourself,” Ransom pants. “Touch that pretty little clit.”
I obey him, holding my dress with one hand and sliding the other between my legs and circling my clit. It draws a little whimper of pleasure out of me, and I bite my lip hard to hold back my noises. I know the fan is louder than we are, but I still don’t want to risk getting caught.
“Slide your hand lower,” he groans, pulling me into another hard thrust. “Can you feel the way your body takes me in? Feel how fucking perfect that is, and then tell me you weren’t made for me.”
My legs feel like jelly, my head spinning from the rush of blood in this position, and when I move my fingers downward, spreading them around the place where my pussy swallows up Ransom’s cock with each drive of his hips, a shuddering breath escapes me.
I’ve never done this before, never felt the connection between us so viscerally, and it makes something tighten in my chest even as it turns me on.
“I was made for you,” I whisper. “For you and Malice and Vic. No one else.”
“We were made for you too, angel,” Ransom groans. “We’re yours. You fucking own me, you understand? I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”
Wrapping one arm around my waist to steady me, he shoves my hand away with the other, taking over, pressing down on my clit and rubbing it in hard circles.
I buck against him, not sure if I should be grinding back against his cock or grinding into his hand.
He slaps my clit lightly, and I whimper for him, my toes curling inside my fancy heels.
He stops thrusting suddenly, and my eyes widen when I feel him working a finger into my pussy along with his cock. It hurts, the additional stretch pushing my body to its limits, and my moan is half pain, half pleasure.
“Oh my god,” I gasp. “Ransom—”
“You can take it,” he whispers, his upper body leaning over mine. “You want me to stop?”
“No!” I choke out, clutching at the arm that’s holding me up. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
My core throbs, caught on the edge of pleasure and pain, and it’s almost too much. My head is spinning, and even though he’s barely thrusting inside me, every small movement of his cock and that thick finger adds to the sensations spiraling through me.
“Put your fist in your mouth, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing my ear as he rolls his hips again. “Because when you come, I want you to scream my name, even if I’m the only one who gets to hear it.”
His palm grinds against my clit as he presses his finger deeper, and I barely have time to press my fist to my mouth, biting down on my knuckle as a garbled, muffled scream gets trapped behind my lips.
It feels like the orgasm is ripped out of me, my knees wobbling so hard that I’m almost afraid Ransom won’t be able to hold me up.
He does though, and as pleasure ricochets through my body, he drags his finger out of me and settles his hands on my hips again, pounding into me with choppy strokes. His thrusts lose all measuredness, and he groans low in his throat as his cock pulses inside me.
He drags out and then presses back in one more time, sending a trickle of cum spilling down my leg.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “Fucking hell.”
There’s a moment of silence between us, broken only by the sound of the fan and our harsh breathing, and then he pulls me upright, withdrawing his cock as I keep my dress hiked up around my waist.
“Let’s get you all cleaned up,” he murmurs softly, dropping to his knees behind me.
He uses two fingers to gather up his cum and stuff it back inside me, and I suck in a breath as my still sensitive clit throbs.
Carefully and tenderly, Ransom pulls my panties back up my legs, dragging them over my hips.
He runs a hand between my legs again, pressing the fabric of the crotch against my opening and letting it soak up the extra cum.
He makes a noise in his throat, then drops a kiss to the back of my upper thigh just below my ass before standing up.
He takes the skirt of my dress back from me and smooths it down, fluffing it out and making sure it hangs okay. Then he turns me around to face him, dropping his head a little and running his thumbs beneath my eyes to wipe away the tear tracks.
The soft care he takes with me makes me want to cry, but I hold it back. I can’t afford to streak my makeup any more.
“Are you gonna be okay?” he asks, searching my face in the dim light of the equipment room.
“Yeah,” I whisper back, forcing myself to nod. “Yeah, I’ll be okay. The party can’t go on for that much longer, right?”
“Right,” he agrees, although we both know that the awfulness of this situation won’t end just because the party does.
Unable to help myself, I lean into him and hold on for a moment, not wanting to let go. I breathe him in, closing my eyes, trying to pretend that we’re back in the garage at their place, or on his bike going somewhere—anywhere—else.
We separate after a moment, and he tells me that he’ll hang back for a few minutes so that we won’t be seen going back downstairs together. I slip out of the equipment room, letting the night air cool my heated cheeks a little before I go back inside.
When I get back down to the party, it only takes a few minutes for me to find Troy again. He has a glass of champagne in his hand and is holding court with a group of people who seem to be hanging on his every word.
“Ah. There she is. My lovely wife-to-be,” he says, greeting me with a cool smile. “Willow, let me introduce you to some of the board members of the Copeland Corporation.”
I put on my fake smile and barely pay attention as he introduces me to the people he’s talking to.
I won’t remember any of their names, so I don’t bother trying to retain them now.
I let the conversation wash over me as they shift from talking about the upcoming wedding to discussing some new development in the business world.
As they speak, Troy drapes an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer against his side.
His head drops as if he’s about to press a kiss to my hair, a performative gesture of possessiveness—but then he suddenly freezes.
His body goes stiff next to mine, and he shifts his attention back to the group in front of us.
“I’m sorry, will you excuse us for a moment?” he asks.
They all nod, and Troy’s arm stays around me like a vise as he pulls me away from them, steering me across the room. He drops his champagne glass on a tray as a server passes by, then releases his hold on my waist and grabs my wrist instead, tugging me after him with a grip tight enough to bruise.
“What are you doing? We need to get back to the par—”
My breathless words break off as he yanks sharply on my wrist, dragging me into a little side room where the extra crates of wine and champagne are stored. The second we’re inside it, he shoves me against a wall and looms over me, his hand shooting out and gripping my chin tightly.
“Get off me,” I hiss, not wanting to draw attention but desperate to get him away from me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I could ask you the same question,” he fires back. “Where were you just now? I lost track of you in the crowd for a while, and then you suddenly reappeared.”
“I went to get some air,” I snap. “I was on the terrace upstairs, okay? Let me go.”
Troy snorts, and there’s a harsh light in his eyes. “Right. Sure. Then would you care to explain why you came back from the terrace smelling like sex?”
My stomach drops all the way down to my shoes, fear skittering through my veins and making me feel sick.
Fuck. Oh no. Dammit, we were too reckless.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say thickly, pressing against his chest and trying to turn my face away as he lowers his head and inhales deeply.
A harsh, knowing smile spreads over his features as he draws back. “Oh really? Tell me, was it just one of them who fucked you, or all three?”
His free hand roams over my body as he speaks, skating up my side and then down to my ass where he gropes me. He uses that hold to haul me closer to his body, and he grinds against me, pinning me tighter against the wall.
“I know what you’ve been up to, you little bitch,” he murmurs in my ear.
“Running around with those three criminals. I thought the big tattooed one looked familiar when he fought in the ring, and now I know why. He and his buddies were at that museum gala. I couldn’t figure out why the fuck they showed up here tonight too, when they clearly don’t belong in either place, but I finally put it together.
They were on your side of the guest list, weren’t they?
Do they work for your family or something?
You doing a little slumming with the help? Huh?”
I blink, my mind racing as I try to figure out what to say.
I’m shocked that he’s guessed so much, but he’s clearly more observant—and more jealous—than I gave him credit for.
There’s no way Olivia would have straight-out told him about the brothers working for her, and I doubt anyone else here thinks much of Malice, Ransom and Vic’s presence.
To most people, the three of them probably just look like random guests, but Troy saw through that.
“It’s none of your business,” I finally say, shaking my head as he drops his grip on my chin.
“Oh, it’s every bit my fucking business,” he bites out.
“You’re mine now, and if you’ve got a thing for those lowlifes, then I should know about it, shouldn’t I?
Should’ve figured that’s what does it for you.
Getting railed by three fucking criminals—at the same time, probably.
Is that what you like? You like it rough?
You like it filthy? Well, I’m not scum like them, but I can make it rough for you. ”
He grabs my shoulder and spins me around, forcing me against the wall. My breath catches, and I struggle against him, but he crowds me in, pinning me there with the weight of his body.
“Fuck you,” I hiss, jabbing my elbow back and managing to catch him in the side. It's enough to make him grunt and pull away, and I slip away from the wall, breathing hard as I put distance between us.
His eyes narrow, and he starts to lunge for me again—but before he can reach me, the door opens.
All three of the Voronin brothers step inside, fury flashing in their eyes.
“Lay a fucking hand on her, and you’ll pay for it,” Malice snarls, his hands curling into fists.
Troy scoffs, his lip curling. “You can’t touch me. I know you’re under Olivia’s thumb. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you don’t get to tell me what to do with my fiancée. She belongs to me now.”
He moves toward me again, but Malice is faster, putting himself between me and Troy.
Vic and Ransom follow, forming a wall with their bodies that keeps him away from me.
The tension cranks up another notch, and if I felt sick before, it’s nothing compared to the pure terror that shoots through me now.
Oh god. We’re so fucked.