Chapter 45 Amara
AMARA
Ransome’s biceps flex as he reaches up over his head and his torso elongates, defining every muscle of his eighteen-pack.
Okay, there aren’t actually eighteen. But there’s definitely a hard eight, followed by a hard V that tapers down into his slacks.
Why the man decided to take his shirt off before climbing the ladder, I couldn’t tell you exactly.
I’m also not complaining.
“I swear to God, if you ever tape colored tissue paper to my ceiling again, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I ask with a grin. Despite the fact he brought in cleaners to take care of things after the party, Ransome has legit spent the last two hours getting the last of the streamers off of the beams on the ceiling.
I almost feel bad. But I’d also be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying the gun show.
Honestly, the view from the couch where I am lounging in flannel pants (and a hoodie one of the yoga girls gave me that reads BOY MOM) is pretty damn good.
Ransome comes down from the ladder, showing off the rest of his muscles while he saunters over to me. He braces his hands on the arm and back of the couch, hovering over me. “I’ll remind you who’s boss.”
My lips curl in a smile. “Oh yeah? And what would you do?”
Ransome pauses long enough to smirk before his lips crash into mine. His tongue searches my mouth, teasing me, making me smile and moan into the kiss. My hands roam over his shoulders, down his chest and over his abs, and I giggle.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Apparently, cussing at the rafters was a workout. You’re dripping in sweat.”
“You’re right,” he says, tugging me off the ouch. “We need a shower.”
“Wait,” I laugh. “I showered this morning. I’m comfy.”
“Yeah?” he asks, reaching down and cupping his palm over me. Then he teases me with his thumb until my panties and even my fuzzy flannel pants are wet. “Looks like you need to change. And if you’re going to get naked, you might as well join me.”
“You’re terrible,” I gasp.
“You have no idea.”
Once we are in the bathroom, Ransome turns on the water and strips down the rest of the way, then proceeds to undress me. The second I’m fully naked in front of him, he sucks in a sharp breath.
“God, you’re gorgeous.”
“I’m huge.” My reflection in the full body mirror, soon clouded over by the steam, seems to agree with me.
“You’re pregnant,” he corrects me. “With my child.” He pulls me into the shower. “With the future Rozanov pakhan.”
“With the only pakhan,” I say as the water runs over both of us. Ransome’s eyes ignite at my words, and his hands run from my cheeks to my neck, down to the swell of my belly.
“Yes. The entire legacy of my family right here.” His eyebrows raise in surprise. “What was that? What just happened?” He stares at my belly like I’m about to pop the xenomorph from Alien. “Is something wrong?”
Oh my God. For the first time ever, Ransome Rozanov is actually panicking.
I barely keep myself from bursting into laughter.
“Nothing is wrong.” I place my hands on his. “The baby is moving.”
“He’s so strong,” Ransome says, dropping to his knees.
“He is.” I smile. “Just like his daddy.”
Ransome’s eyes dart up to mine. The hot water is dancing like rainfall on my back, and the air is thick with swirling steam and the heat of our own breaths.
“Say that again,” he growls, raw with want.
“Just like his daddy.”
“Only the last part.”
“His daddy…?”
“The last word,” he demands.
“… Daddy.”
“Now tell me what you want.”
“I want you to make me come,” I gasp.
His mouth covers my mound.
He suckles and licks. I whimper at the sensation, hands braced on the tile and glass. Ransome lifts one of my legs up, draping my knee over his shoulder and tugging my hips closer to his mouth.
“Ransome,” I whine as my thighs catch fire.
“Wrong.”
“I meant Daddy.”
“Good girl,” he rumbles.
“Oh, don’t stop—”
“Not until you come fucking undone.”
His tongue finds my clit and trashes against it.
“Yes!” I cry out. “Fuck, yes…”
“You taste so fucking good,” he groans into me. “So sweet. So wet. So mine…”
“I don’t know how much longer I can stand,” I tell him as my knees begin to shake.
And as much as he loves to torture me, he also loves to hear me scream. He finds the spot that he knows will do it and licks violently until I am doing just that: screaming.
I come hard, dripping down his face with no control of myself. But as I’m starting to learn, he likes me that way. It means he is in control.
After the shower, he pampers me with a lotion massage before dressing me in another pair of cozy pajama pants and one of his t-shirts.
“I have plenty of shirts here,” I tell him as he pulls it over my head. Not that I’m actually protesting. It smells like him, musky but clean, and I actually love it. “I don’t need to steal one of yours.”
“I like the way it looks on you,” he says as he pulls it over my head. He’s standing in front of me, looking down at me with wild blue eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you,” I echo.
“And I’m never going to let anything happen to you,” he says before cupping my face in his palms and kissing me softly.
As we lay down, he pulls me into him. The only comfortable position for either of us at this point is spooning, but it works for me because, as he drifts off into sleep, I can pretend that I’m sleeping too.
Really, I am wide awake. It’s not that the day wasn’t good. It was perfect. Everything from the shower to the other shower and everything in the shower.
But my mind is still on Electra. While she said she was fine going home, I could tell she was unnerved. Whoever this Sean guy is, he has her scared. And that has me worried.
For some reason, everything feels a little off. Despite Ransome softening up to me, telling me multiple times that he loves me and then filing for divorce knowing it could start a civil war just to prove it, something doesn’t feel right.
I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. Something is coming. Something that none of us are going to be able to stop.
I cover Ransome’s hand with mine. Because that’s all I can do—hold on tight.