Chapter 51 Ransome
RANSOME
The dress lying on the floor is made of sequins.
It looks like something out of a mobster movie. Something from the prohibition area. The reason those girls burned their bras is because flapper dresses were too tight to hold a decent set of tits.
I pick it up and hold it out. There is no way her ass wasn’t hanging out. When I look over at the bed where Amara is still passed out, I can’t decide if I am angry or turned on. Those two emotions have a tendency to go hand in hand for me.
She went out with Electra last night. To a speakeasy. I can only imagine how many men had to tuck it in their belts when they saw her.
Crazily enough, I don’t question her loyalty.
But I do question her choices. And I absolutely question this dress’s ability to hide her juicy little ass.
I’m going to let it slide that she was out with her friend, though.
If this is going to work, I need to allow her a certain level of trust as well.
And I guess, if I can trust her with the El Paso Deal intel, I can trust her nightlife choices.
I don’t, however, condone sloppiness. And the hint of tequila wafting through the air as she mouth breathes in a coma tells me she is very much hungover.
I rip the curtains open and the sunlight pours in, assaulting her mercilessly.
“No…” Amara moans, rolling onto her stomach. “Turn the lights off.”
“That’s the sun,” I say flatly.
“Well, turn that off, then!” She mumbles into the pillow. “It’s too early for it.”
“It’s noon.”
“Do I have to work today?”
“Not at the office, but you’re still getting up.”
“Ransome…” she begs.
I walk over to the bed and rip off the covers. She’s in her bra and underwear and nothing else. If I wasn’t worried about being puked on, I’d crawl into bed with her.
“You have to shower,” I tell her.
“Do I though?” Amara rolls to look at me.
I set coffee and Tylenol next to her on the bedside table. “Yes. We have a lunch to go to.”
She moans.
“It’s formal,” I add.
Another moan.
Amara drags herself upright, takes a sip of coffee, and pops the pain killers. Then she stumbles her way to the bathroom, where I turn the shower on and strip her down.
“Who’s this lunch with anyways?” she asks.
“Family. So you need to be sober.”
“I am sober,” she huffs. “I’m just hungover.”
“Clearly,” I say before shoving her into the shower.
Amara shrieks and hugs herself. “It’s not even warm yet!”
“Oops,” I answer with zero empathy. Considering the string of questions I could be asking right now, she’s lucky a cold shower and black coffee are her only punishment.
“Are you just going to stand there and watch me?”
She’s getting a little salty now. It’s a good sign. It means she’s coming around.
“Yep.” I cross my arms and lean against the glass on the outside.
Amara reaches out, grabs me by the shirt, and yanks me into the shower with her.
“Oops…” she echoes with a sassy little smile.
I am not amused.
I am, however, hard as a fucking statue.
I wrap my arm around her and pull her against me hard. The water is hot now and steam is swirling in the air around us.
“Do you think you’re cute?”
“Do you think I’m cute?”
I reach down and press my finger hard against her clit. Amara gasps, arching into me.
“Fuck,” she lets out.
“You are a pain in my ass.” I slide my finger down the length of her and stop at her slit. “And you will be taught a lesson.”
“Ransome—” Amara starts to protest, but when I shove my finger up inside her, the only thing that comes out of her mouth is a gasp.
“Jesus…”
“Can’t save you,” I finish the sentence. Then I drive my finger deeper. “You went out last night,”
“Yes…” she moans as I thrust in and out.
“You wore that skanky little dress.” I curl my finger inside her.
“Ahh… Yes. Yes I did.”
“Who were you trying to impress?”
“No one.”
I stop moving my fingers. With my free hand, I grab one of her tits, hard.
“Who were you trying to impress?” I demand again. My thumb swirls around her nipple before flicking it.
“No one,” she gasps. “I just want to go out.”
I flick her nipple again, curling my finger inside her. “Do I not give you enough?”
“You do.”
“Do I not treat you well enough?” I ask with another flick to the nipple and finger-thrust.
“You do.”
“Are you going to be a good girl then?” I ask.
She nods violently. “Yes. Always.”
“Who do you belong to?” I let go of her breast and grab her face, forcing her to look up at me.
“You.”
“And whose pussy is this?” I press the heel of my hand into her pussy.
“Yours,” she breathes.
“Good girl. Now come for me.”
I shove another finger inside her and thrust, in and out, over and over until her knees start to buckle. I hold her up and make her come all over my hand. Her wetness drips down my wrist, but I don’t stop. Even when she cries out and her body goes limp, I don’t stop.
I thrust hard, deeper, faster, until I feel the wetness swell up and release again. The orgasm tears through her body in a violent storm of waves before she nearly collapses.
Then I step out of the shower.
“You have thirty minutes,” I say. “You better hurry.”