Chapter 45 Amara
AMARA
Waking up with sunshine across my face and my bones feeling rested always means one thing.
“Shit!”
I slept through my alarm.
I wouldn’t say it happens often. When I first started working for Ransome, it literally never happened. Half the time, I woke up early, anxious about the day and wanting to make sure I didn’t miss a beat.
That, of course, was before there were so many beats. So many details. And an underworld to my job.
I leap out of bed and throw on the first thing I find, a black dress with a frilly waistline, and a pair of heels. In less than three minutes, I manage to make my face look presentable, grab my bags, and fly out the door.
As I drive I haphazardly text Annette.
AMARA: I’m on my way. Did Ransome get his coffee yet?
ANNETTE: He sent me for it. I think I got it wrong though because when I handed it to him he looked disgusted.
She didn’t put it in a black mug. Knowing her, the drink order was wrong too. I stop at the coffee house and get both our drinks to go. Mine, I get iced so I can chug it on the way inside the building. When I reach his office, I knock twice before entering a moment later.
Ransome is at his desk, looking over some paperwork.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him as I pour his coffee into a mug and set it in front of him. “Alarm didn't go off and I didn’t sleep well and—”
“Is that your excuse?” he cuts me off, slowly looking up at me. His eyes meet mine for only half a second before trailing down my body. “Also, is that the dress you wore yesterday?”
“I…” I stutter, looking down. Fuck. It is. And he would notice a sloppy detail like that. “I’m just…”
“Just what?” he asks. Then he gets up and I watch as he rounds the desk and closes the door and walks back over to me.
Fuck. Nothing about that could be good.
“What is your excuse for being late, Miss Parker?”
My heart is beating so loud I am sure he can hear it. I’m surprised the coffee in his cup isn’t rattling, Jurassic Park style.
Then my lips press together and my chin starts to shake.
“It’s just… a lot,” I admit.
“What is a lot?” he asks.
“All of it. The job. The second job. Taking care of my siblings still. Work-life balance.” I stop because I am expecting him to cut me off. To reprimand me.
But he doesn’t, so I go on. “I miss my apartment. I miss feeling like I can clock out and not worrying about anything. I miss going out with my friends and not feeling like I’m doing something wrong.
” I feel like a leaking valve that’s got too much pressure behind it.
It’s going to blow. “I miss… normal life.”
I’m crying now and I don’t even care. I hardly put on any makeup anyways. I think I forgot deodorant too while I’m at it. But I just don’t give a flying fuck.
I’m tired.
Ransome takes a step closer and puts his arms around me, a gesture that catches me off guard enough I actually gasp.
“You never need to worry,” he tells me. “Because I won’t let anything happen to you. Or your brother and sisters. Danger might be part of the job, but the bigger part of my jobs is protecting people from it.”
He gives me a small peck on the lips, something he’s never done before, and then pulls away to grab his coffee. “Get your things. We aren’t working today.”
“I don’t want to go to the penthouse, Ransome,” I fight him. “I don’t want to be alone. I want—” I stop. “Wait. Did you say we?”
Ransome gathers his things. “I did.”
“But where are we going?” I ask as he ushers me towards the door.
“You’ll see.”
“What are we doing here?” I duck my head so I can look out the window at the giant building in front of me.
“We are going shopping,” he says.
“Here?”
“Yes. Here.” Ransome unbuckles his seat belt and gets out of the car. Then he rounds to my side and opens my door too. I step out like a kitten stepping out of a cage for the first time, unsure if the new ground is safe. It’s a strange new world.
“This is… fancy.” My head turns to follow a valet guy as he takes the key from Ransome to park the car.
He places a hand on my back. “Let’s go.”
We walk inside the first store, a designer place with icy chandeliers and glass cases. Racks pepper the store holding only one or two items each, all fur and sequins. Everyone around us is dressed as if they go here and only here, and I have no idea what to do.
“I’m not sure if this place is me,” I tell him hesitantly, but Ransome is ushering me over to a jewelry counter.
“I don’t know. I think those diamond studs are very you.” Ransome motions to a sales associate.
“If I had to guess, the price tag is more than my rent.”
“Probably,” he says as they hand them to him. Ransome eyes them, checking the clarity and quality, and then just nods one single time. The woman smiles at him and boxes them up.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-yell.
“I noticed you never wear jewelry at work. And I think you should. I think you should wear it all the time, really.”
“I mean, I’d love to. But I can’t really afford it,” I snort. Then the smile drops as he gives me a look. “Okay, let me rephrase that. I don’t prioritize it.”
“Clearly,” he says dryly. Then he pulls me a couple inches closer and looks right at me. His eyes are stark blue and icier than the diamonds in the case. “But I can prioritize you.”
Before I can say anything else, the lady comes back with the little black box and a card reader. She presses a few buttons and Ransome hands her a card without even looking at her or the tag. Then his lips tip in a momentary smirk, and I have to blink to make sure this is real.
We leave the store and go into another one like it, and another. By the end of it, I have the earrings, a fur coat—I’ve never worn fur in my life—and a set of crystal glasses for “my occasional glass of tequila”.
“I’m going to call for the car. We need to look at furniture,” he says, typing a text into his phone for the valet retrieval.
“Furniture?” I parrot.
“For the penthouse.” He helps me into the car as it pulls up. Once he is inside next to me and the car is pulling back away from the curb, I ask the next question.
“Your penthouse is furnished. Why do we need—”
“Because it’s my stuff.”
“I like your stuff,” I lie.
He knows. “No you don’t. I don’t even like it. It’s cold and impersonal.”
“Stagey.” I add.
“Exactly.”
I smile and he almost does. Then I get an idea. “Can I pick where we go?”
Ransome arches an eyebrow but I go on.
“If you want me to pick new things, we have to shop where I like to shop.”
He’s hesitant, but finally breaks. “Alright. You lead the way.”
I connect my Bluetooth to the car and reroute.
Ransome looks suspicious of the name of the store—The Freckly Walrus—but says nothing. Good man. He’d never go if he knew where I was taking him.
We pull up to the warehouse-esque building, and this time, Ransome is the one looking out the windshield suspiciously. But I copy his movements and get out, a smile on my face and a giddy skip in my step. Ransome joins me.
“Is this a consignment place?” he asks.
“Yes! Sort of. Come on, it’s the best, I swear to God.”
I tug him in before he can say anything. It’s more of a drag, really. Like his heels are practically skidding on the floor.
He stops dead once we are inside, his face doing its best to stay slack but losing the battle and screwing into a look of disgust.
“It… smells funny.”
“That’s because it’s all handmade or gently used.”
I say it like it’s a good thing. He hears it like I said everything is infested with scarlet fever.
I laugh.
We pursue around and his face doesn’t change. Meanwhile, I find some artwork, some metal chimes, a vase, macrame, and then stop in front of an orange vintage couch.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks, uncomfortably rubbing the nape of his neck. “We don’t have to shop cheap, you know.”
A lady gives him an ugly once-over before mumbling something about him being a prick. We both ignore her.
“It’s not about the cost for me, Ransome. It’s about the character. If you hate it, we won’t decorate your penthouse with it.”
“I didn’t mean that. I just mean… I don’t know. I assumed you liked this stuff because it’s all you could have.”
I giggle and flop down on the orange couch. “I like this stuff because it’s unique and fun and has a story. I like it because it connects you to people. And if it costs less, that works too.”
Ransome stares at the couch with narrow eyes.
I bite my lips with a smirk.
Then, after tangibly hating the words that are coming out of his mouth, he says, “Alright. You can have the couch. If we get some disinfectant.”
Even as the couch is being wheeled into the penthouse, Ransome looks miserable. He tips the guys moving it and they leave.
“I think I tipped them more than the couch was worth,” he mutters.
“You are such a pessimist,” I say as I place the vase on the table.
“I’m a realist,” he says. “And this couch is… difficult.”
“How so?” I ask, rounding the table. He’s still just staring at it like it’s a stray dog and he doesn’t know how to get it out of the house.
“It doesn’t go with anything,” he starts.
“It’s boho. It’s not supposed to go with anything. That’s the point.”
He arches an eyebrow as his skeptical eyes dart over to me. “The point is for it to be ugly?”
I shove him playfully, surprising both of us. I immediately wonder if it was a mistake, but as he loses his balance and lands on the couch, I can’t help but laugh.
“It’s comfy, right?”
Ransome’s back is rigid, like he can’t believe he’s even touching it, let alone sitting on it.
“About as comfortable as the chairs in a dentist’s office,” he mutters, and I laugh again. “Also, what even is this material?”
“It’s velvet! Isn’t it fancy?” I clap my hands together.
“Leather is fancy. Diamond studs are fancy. This is… scratchy.” His nose crinkles as he says the word.
I roll my eyes. “Jesus Christ. You know what? Here…” I say as I drop to my knees.
Then I undo his belt.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Convincing you that this couch can be very comfortable. Satisfyingly so.”
Before he can say anything else, I have his hard cock in my hand, already pulsing with anticipation. I smile to myself. As disgruntled as he is, he’s turned on.
Of course he is.
“Amara,” he starts but I shush him. Then, while looking up at him through my eyelashes, I open my mouth and slowly take him in. My tongue slides over the tip, down the shaft, until he is deep in my throat.
His own throat rumbles with a groan.
“Fuck me,” he lets out, spanning his arms out across the couch to grip the back of it in his fists.
“Yes sir,” I purr.
I run my tongue up and down the length of him softly, then with more intention, until his abs flex under his shirt. Even beneath the fabric, I can see the ripples.
I flatten my tongue, adding friction to each swoop, then point the tip and tease him in all the spots that make him growl.
“You are driving me crazy, dorogoya.”
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, but I know the answer.
“Don’t you fucking dare.” He grabs me by the hair and forces me to look up at him. “You are going to make me come. And I am going to fill that pretty little mouth of yours with my thick, hot desire for you. Like a good girl.”
I manage a nod. My heart is flipping wildly in my chest at his ability to dominate even in this situation.
He thrusts between my lips and pulls my hair, filling my mouth with him and then freeing me. He starts to go faster, harder. My pussy is soaked from the eroticism of it all, and I moan a little.
“Too much, dorogoya?”
“No,” I say around the dick in my mouth, as drool and precum run down my chin.
It earns me a rare, gritty smirk from him. “Goddamn, baby. You look so sexy right now.”
As he moves my head up and down, pumping my mouth over him again and again, I suck on the tip. It drags a hot, low grunt from Ransome.
“Yes. Fuck yes, baby. Just like that. Keep going. Oh, fuck…”
I can feel the heat rising up through him. I brace myself, angling my mouth as he shoots to the back of my throat, hot and tangy. His muscles quiver as he grinds into me, until every last drop empties down my throat.
When he releases my hair and melts into the couch, I sit back, wiping my lip.
“Well?” I ask.
Ransome’s head is tipped back as he comes back to earth.
“I don’t know about comfortable,” he says after a minute. “But it’s christened.”