Finally, he releases a hissed answer between his teeth. “Yes.”
Yes.
He said yes.
He wants this. Maybe just as much as I do.
Ransom nods once before turning his attention back to the heated space between my thighs. “What do you want me to do to her first?” he asks my husband, hiking up my arousal by ten more notches.
Tucker clears his throat, yet his voice still comes out husky. “Kiss the inside of her thighs. She’s ticklish there but she loves it.”
Without further preamble, Ransom sinks to his knees. It starts as a soft brush up my left thigh. Then my right. Sweet, sucking kisses run along the sensitive skin until I’m squirming at the sensation. Tucker was right—I am ticklish. But knowing that Ransom’s head is between my legs—just centimeters from my swollen clit—creates a different type of tingle.
Just as I am adjusting to the foreign feeling of a stranger’s lips on me, he bites me. Hard enough to make me yelp, yet gentle enough not to break the skin. I jerk reflexively but Ransom roughly holds my legs open. He bites me again, this time on the opposite thigh, then again, and again. I’m reeling, completely befuddled in my haze of violent passion, when he begins to kiss me again. His soft lips and tongue are such a vast contrast from the sting of his teeth that the change makes me cry out.
He’s tonguing the edge of my thong when he asks, “What’s next?” I’m not even sure what he means until I hear Tucker answer, “Her breasts. She loves to have her nipples sucked and played with.”
Slowly, like a vicious jungle cat crawling over its scared prey, Ransom climbs onto the bed to hover over me. He’s still fully dressed, but with him at this angle, I can see hard planes of ripped muscle down his shirt. He dips his head to take a pink-tipped nipple into his mouth and I moan loudly, arching my back to offer him more. He answers my proposition by sucking harder, so hard that it nearly hurts. His fingers find my other nipple and he pinches it with the same ferocity, eliciting downright disgraceful sounds from my mouth. Then he switches, laving its twin with teeth and tongue.
“Next,” he groans, my nipple still in his mouth. He then pushes the two petite mounds together to suckle them simultaneously. He’s so hungry; I can feel his growls rumbling from his chest.
“Taste her,” Tucker pants. I can’t even look at him. I’m too lost to Ransom. Too lost to the pleasure he’s giving me. “Taste how fucking good her pussy is.”
Without wasting a second, Ransom drops to his knees and rips my thong from my body. Then he’s slipping his tongue between my folds with a frenzied hunger, claiming my orgasm within the first few minutes. I’m clawing at the comforter, calling for God, Jesus, and all the disciples, yet he doesn’t relent. He doesn’t give me a second to breathe before he sinks a long finger inside me.
Ransom’s teeth pinch my clit ever so gently as he slowly fingers me. He pauses to insert another finger and the soft nibbling turns into a hard suck. When he adds a third, speeding up the tempo, he licks me to the rhythm of each thrust.
I reach between my legs, searching for my captor, the man who binds me with such pleasure. My fingers run over the rugged knit of his slouchy beanie just as he thrusts his tongue inside me to join his fingers, causing me to crush the hat in my tight grip. Silken, dark brown hair tickles the inside of my thighs, only heightening the intense sensation.
Just as I am on the cusp of another orgasm, he asks Tucker what he should do next.
“Fuck her. Fuck her now.”
We’re in motion again, as Ransom rises and flips me over onto my stomach in one swift movement. My head is spinning, and I’m dizzy with the remnants of my first orgasm. I hear the clink of a belt buckle, the rustle of clothing and then the undeniable crinkling of a small, foil wrapper. Oh my God. Am I really doing this? Can I truly live with knowing that another man other than my husband has been inside me? And Tucker . . . will he be able to accept this—accept me? How will he ever look at me the same? I mean . . . why wouldn’t he? He told Ransom to touch me. He told Ransom to taste me. And, shit, he told Ransom to fuck me. He damn near demanded it.
I don’t get a second more to ruminate the dozen what-ifs and regrets jumbling my head before I feel his hands on my hips, pulling me up to rest on my knees so that my ass is fully on display for him. He pivots my body and places a hand on the back of my neck to position me just how he wants me. And how he wants me is cheek pressed into the mattress, my head turned to the side so I have a full view of Tucker. So I can watch my husband watch me being fucked by another man.
I whimper, feeling completely helpless and weak. The look on his face tells me that he feels the same. He’s helpless to stop this—we both are. Because as uncomfortable as this should make us, as downright disgraceful as this is, we’re both too invested to turn back now.
I feel Ransom’s hands palming my ass as he spreads me wider, revealing my wet, swollen sex. He runs his fingers down the seam, stopping at my entrance to dip into my slickness. My eyes widen with horror as I realize what he’s doing. He’s prepping me. He’s feeling how ready I am for him . . . how badly I want him. How desperately I need him to fill me and make me whole. I don’t want to moan, but I can’t help it. I don’t want my body to ache for him, but it does.
I find that I’m not the only one who is aching for relief. To my surprise, Tucker is fully erect inside his slacks as his palm runs along the strain, seeking release from its wool captivity. His blue eyes sparkle like angry fireworks, and his mouth is fixed in a hard line. But the way he’s touching himself—grasping the thick base and sliding his fingers along the swollen tip, growing more and more frantic with every stroke—is 100 percent, unadulterated desire.
Sin-slickened hardness presses at my entrance, opening me, stretching me like a rubber band that clasps around him greedily. We both groan as he pushes inside, and I let my eyes close in ecstasy, just relishing the feel of complete fullness. When he’s completely submerged within my walls, Ransom grasps my chin roughly, leaning over to press his chest to my back.
“Open your eyes, love. Look at him. Let him see what I can do to you.”
And then he really performs for me—for us. Long fingers dig into my hips, holding me to meet every single hard thrust. He isn’t gentle or tender. He’s not loving or romantic. Ransom is proving to be exactly what I’ve learned of him thus far—severe, harsh, and undeniably sexual. And I am loving every second of it.
My hazy eyes find Tucker and I see that he has unsheathed his rock-hard erection from his slacks and fists it in time to the rhythm of Ransom’s strokes. It’s as if the three of us are one—one panting, moaning, fucking entity.
With one hand on my hip and the other gripping the back of my neck, Ransom plows into me, grunting with every forceful surge of lust. The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and our indecent groans of pleasure, creating a personalized soundtrack of sex that completely drowns out Jay-Z’s “American Gangster.” Even the noises hissing between Tucker’s lips are explicitly erotic, as he coaches Ransom in the art of claiming me.
That’s right. Fuck her hard. Harder.
Pull her hair. He does, causing my scalp to prickle with the pain of a thousand tiny daggers.
Slap her ass. He does that too, stealing my breath. Again . . . slap it again. This time make it hurt.
It’s all so much. All so overwhelming. And all so different from what I’m used to feeling. Tucker has never expressed himself this way during sex with me. No, everything is so sweet and romantic, as he murmurs words of endearment, telling me he loves me, adores me. Telling me I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. And I love that too. But this . . . this is taking me higher than I’ve ever been, awakening a beast inside me that I never even knew existed.