Chapter 34 Amara #2
“Eleven. My siblings were six, four, and two.” Ransome sucks his teeth in response. “I had to be the grown-up, especially to Bella. She was still in diapers.”
He nods, face hard. “And where are they now?”
“Eliza is working. She wanted to go to art school, but she’s a hair stylist, barely making enough. Gianni and Bella are still in high school, living with him.”
It’s not easy—talking about this. I don’t usually go into this much detail about my family with anyone. I’m too protective.
He nods. “Are they making it okay?”
I snort at that. “They aren’t thriving, if that’s what you mean. He’s a mean drunk. But he’s passed out half the time. They need somewhere to live, so it works for now. I’d let them live with me, but the commute to their school is too far. I send money.”
I look over at Ransome. There’s a hint of something in his expression. When he doesn’t say anything else, I sigh, the exhaustion of, well, everything catching up to me. Then I pull the pins from my hair, letting it fall down around my shoulders.
I can see Ransome watching me. I can also see something in his face change again. He sets his glass down and just stares.
I stare back, not breathing. The look in his eyes is a look I’ve never seen before. He walks around the counter, standing in front of me. I’m still holding my breath as he snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me against him.
And then next thing I know, his lips are pressed to mine.
I don’t know which part of the contract this is. But honestly, I don’t give a fuck. He hasn’t kissed me like this before. It’s not for show, but it’s also not pushy. That’s new for him, since everything Ransome Rozanov does is pushy and dominating.
I arch my back and lean into him, wanting more. Wanting it to go deeper. Ransome’s hand tightens on me, fists the fabric of my shirt. I let out a moan as his jaw works my lips apart. His tongue finds mine and teases it.
“Ransome…” I murmur.
“You want more, dorogoya?”
“Mhmm.”
“You need more?” he asks into my mouth.
I nod. My eyes are closed as his palm cups my cheek, his thumb tracing my jawline.
Then, with both hands suddenly clasping my thighs, he picks me up.
A moment later, I am on the counter.
Oh my God.
He’s going to fuck me on his kitchen counter.
Anticipation explodes as he drops to his knees in front of me and I lay back waiting. He grabs my knees and pushes them apart. My skirt hikes up with the motion.
Then his tongue finds me. At first, he only wets my panties. That alone is enough to send me into orbit. Because this is Ransome Rozanov, licking me through my underwear.
Then he yanks it aside and kisses my pussy.
“Fuck,” I cry out. I wasn’t expecting it. I also didn’t know that a simple kiss on the clit could feel so fucking good.
I grab his shoulders and feel the muscle through his shirt as he teases me mercilessly, one flick of the tongue at a time.
Most men will tell you they enjoy eating a girl out, but I think they just like the idea of it. Ransome, however, goes down on me like I’m parfait and he’s the spoon. Like it’s a fucking Olympic sport.
“Right there,” I moan.
“You like that, baby?” he asks, his voice the same texture as gravel.
“Yes. Fuck yes.”
I lean back on the counter, gripping the edges in my hands behind me as Ransome’s tongue runs up and down the length of me, trailing over every nerve with killer precision.
As he finds my slit, he presses into the most sensitive spots and teases my clit.
It sends liquid fire to my pussy, making me gush, making me moan, making me need to come.
“Ransome,” I murmur.
“You’re impatient, dorogoya.” The rough whisper of his words makes me shudder at the change of sensations. “You need to be patient.”
“No. I need more. Make me come, Ransome, I need to fucking come—”
“You want to come, you little brat?”
“Yes!”
“Alright…”
With that, he nips me. It’s hard enough to make me yip, but fucking God does it feel amazing. Euphoric, even. Apparently, being Bratva girlfriend material means being a little bit of a masochist.
Which, turns out, I am.
His mouth flattens against me as his tongue flickers across my clit, hard and fast. It’s making me wet enough to soak the counter, but he doesn’t stop.
“Ransome,” I whine again, but he doesn’t care. He’s going to make me come more than once, no matter how much it destroys me.
With his tongue pressed flat to my skin, he sucks, lapping the sweet spot that no other man has taken the time to find.
My muscles tense tighter and tighter, until I am writhing on the granite counter. Still he presses on, his hands tight on my thighs, holding me up to his mouth while he unravels me with every flick of his tongue.
Like a freight train, I can see the edge coming. I let go of the counter and grab him by the shirt. My fingers dig into the hard muscle of his shoulders as the orgasm rips through me.
After I go limp, Ransome lifts me off the counter and takes me to the bedroom, laying me on his bed.
“Are you staying?” I ask, but when he starts to fix his hair and shirt in the wall mirror, ironing out the wrinkles with his hands from where I nearly ripped it off him, I know the answer.
“I have to work,” he tells me.
Then he walks out, leaving me hot and fuzzy and dizzy and exhausted on his bed.
Holy shit.