Freed (26 page)

Not questioning what pops into my mind as my next move, I move closer to him, lower my eyes from his, and beg, “Please let it be me, John,” before sinking to my knees in the position he’d taught me. Supplicating, wanting, craving … I pray he understands what I want and he lets me have it.

I maintain my position as I hear the water cut off and movements indicating he’s drying off. Stifling my curiosity, I don’t look up. He steps out of the shower and around me, leaving me there to stew in my own desire.

Death by anticipation—what a way to go
, I muse.

I feel him hovering over me, and then his hand rests on my head. “I do like it when you beg, Denver.” A whimper of relief spills over my lips. Offering me his hand, he helps me rise from the floor and leads me back into his bedroom.

Obviously, I’ve done this before, but here and now and with Ransom, the act feels sacred, feels like forever. Like, I can’t imagine it ever ending, ever being without him and if it did, I would be devastated. And isn’t that a terrifying thought?

Ransom slips a finger under my chin and brings my gaze to his, a small smile playing at the edges of those all-encompassing eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want? I’m what you want?”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure,” I promise. And I am. More sure about him than anything or anyone.

The kiss he brands me with leaves me fighting for air and patience, but as Ransom has proved to me time and again, rushing him will only result in more delay. “What do you want, Denver?”

I tamp down my desire to scream—everything—and try to make my intentions clear. “I want to taste you. To make you feel as treasured as you make me feel. I want you inside me. I want you to be the first person to make love to me.”

A sultry smile tugs at his lips before they crash down on mine. Taking that as a
yes
to all the above, I finally move. I run my hands around the towel at his hips, my fingers warming the few drops left behind from his shower. He feels so good. As his tongue tangles with mine and scraps along my teeth, I slide my hands under the towel and pull, tossing it aside and palming his cheeks. His hands mirror mine and slip inside my panties. When he squeezes the still-tender flesh, I moan into his mouth and push my hips into his, grinding against his front.

He pulls back and drops onto the bed, arranging himself at the top. I stand silent and look my fill. I’m about to get everything I ever wanted. The thought makes me bite my lip in anticipation, so I ease on the bed and kneel between his legs.

Looking down at his hard length, I can’t help the fissures of nerves that tingle everywhere, setting off a rippling shiver throughout my entire body.

“Don’t be nervous. Do what feels right.”

“I’ve never …” He already knows this, but I feel the need to remind him so that he doesn’t judge me too harshly.

“If it helps,” he rasps, “neither have I. Had it done, that is.”

What? But …
“What?”

“Never,” he says.

Alarm bells go off in my head. That can’t be right. I mean,
his reputation
. Why would he not? I don’t ask out loud. Instead, I stare at him in confusion, and it’s like he can read my mind anyway.

“Control, remember. Giving pleasure, holding mine back. That’s what it’s always been for me … until now.”

Oh God!
I feel like a rare and valuable gift has been bestowed upon me, and I can’t decide if I want to open it and enjoy it, or admire it still locked away—untouched, untainted.

“Touch me,” he commands in that husky voice that never fails to have me doing exactly what he wants, which is exactly what I need.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I run my hands over the planes of his stomach and down the enticing lines of muscle leading to hips. I lean forward and alternate swiping my tongue across him and planting little kisses while brushing my knuckles on the sensitive underside of his length. I shift a little more, and then I have my mouth on him. And he tastes incredible. Warm. Hard. Pulsing. And then he moves, and I open and take him in. A guttural sound shatters the almost-silence, ramping up my need to make him feel good. I know enough to know that a little teeth is good, so I gently bear them on an upward movement, my efforts earning a hiss and a fist in my hair.

“Fuck, Denver,” he groans. “Don’t ever stop.”

I moan around him, in complete agreement, and it’s safe to say I go a little wild on him. It seems I finally understand the benefit of delayed gratification, of making him feel amazing as long as I possibly can. When he pushes, I pull back. When he relaxes, I attack.
What a rush!

And on that thought, gentle hands clasp my jaw and draw my head up as he whispers, “I want to be inside you when I come.” Suddenly, that’s exactly what I want too. Ransom moves with me so that are we both on our knees in the middle of the bed, staring at each other like there’ll be no moment after this one. This is it. This moment. And nothing else matters.

“I never wanted to push you into this,” he begins, and I shake my head vigorously. He’s not.
You’re not!
“Wait, hear me out. I’ve always known what this moment would mean to me. To connect with someone on this level … it’s everything. In the past, you didn’t allow that connection, and it nearly destroyed you—your self-worth, your self-respect, your perspective. I need to know that you feel this connection as deeply as I do. That when I do this for the first time, you are mine. Totally and completely. Mine. Just like I am utterly yours.”

And the girl who’s never belonged to anyone, never felt good enough to belong to anyone, wants to shout,
Yes. Oh, yes. I’m yours.
But something he’s just said resonates and stops me short. “What do you mean ‘do this for the first time?’”

“Exactly what I said,” he says. “I’ve never done this, and it means something to me. Tell me it means something to you too.”

My mind whirls around and around, and dizziness threatens to lay me out flat. The things we’ve done and things we haven’t done finally start to make sense. The way he’s always talked about his previous experiences—fooling around, pleasuring others, never having anyone in his bed. God, this really means everything to him, and he wants to share that with me. Share this moment with me. I focus on his gaze again and struggle with what to say—realize I’ve been here before. I’ve been the center of someone’s world, and I’d imploded it from within. I’ve measured myself in the depths of someone’s soul and came up seriously lacking. “Red,” I whisper harshly. His brow furrows like he doesn’t understand me. “Red,” I cry. “Red, red!”

Chapter Twenty

Ransom

“
I
T’S NOT LIKE
I’m some innocent virgin you were about to deflower, Denver,” Ransom seethes. “These things I’ve done for you, I’ve done for other girls. And it’s all sex—just a different kind. There is absolutely no reason for you to freak out over that. Which now leads me to consider a hundred different possibilities, all of which have me about to go out of my damn mind. I need you to give it to me straight.”

Narrowing my eyes, I fold my arms tightly across my chest. I drop my head back on the couch, like it’s suddenly too heavy to hold up. I let out a deep breath and focus on the ceiling. No, I don’t think the answers lie up there, I just need a minute. A minute to understand why I freaked out. I need a recap. I’m not a slut. Ransom’s not a manwhore. He’s in love with me. I’m in love him. He wants me to be with him. I
want
to be with him. He’s everything to me. And I want to be everything to him. He even tells me that I am, but once again, I find myself doubting what I can be to anyone. I haven’t even been able to return his words, and after all this time of holding out for the right girl, Ransom was willing to settle for less than what he deserved—that doesn’t sit right with me.

Rolling my head to the side, I give him a onceover. What does someone like him see in someone like me? After I sobbingly called out my “safe word,” we’d gotten dressed silently and stoically. Like, if we pretended that debacle hadn’t just happened, the memory would just vanish into the ether.

Once he sat me down on the couch to talk, the gloves came off, so to speak. I dwelled on the fact that he didn’t tell me he’s never had sex with anyone and that it meant that much to him. Considering he demanded full-disclosure from me, I railed on about turnabout being fair play, and blah, blah, blah. I know that’s not the real issue, but I’m having a hard time knowing what the issue truly
is
. So I’m … deflecting.

Ransom slides across the couch toward me, brushing hair out of my face and ghosting his fingertips across my temple. His eyes shine with love for me, even through his confusion and anguish. This is Ransom—rock steady, always listening to me, getting me when I don’t even understand myself, finding me when I get lost, and loving me in spite of it. In just a few short months, he’s become all that to me, and I don’t want to lose it.

He must see something encouraging in my expression, because he leans in and kisses on me the forehead. I release a sigh, rest my eyelids, and breathe him in. If I could just absorb his strength, his determination, and his confidence through my pores, I could be the perfect girl for him. “Denver, talk to me. Please,” he breathes against my skin.

“It isn’t
just
sex for you,” I begin. He sits back and drapes his arm around me on the back of the couch. I pull my legs up and turn toward him, showing him I’m not shutting down or shutting him out. “Don’t downplay it because I’m freaking out. Don’t settle because I’ve given all I can seem to give. I know a lot of people don’t put much value in the act these days, but
you
do. And you’re the only person
I
value like that, so I have to as well. If you’ve been ‘waiting to go all the way’—” His chuckle interrupts me, and I can’t help my resulting grin. “God, who knew you’d be old-fashioned like that? I guess my first clue should’ve been that truck with those damn eight-tracks.”

“Old-fashioned?” he asks with wide eyes before leaning in to whisper, “I’d like to hear you call me old-fashioned when I’m making you squirm from nothing more than my tongue, or when I have you on your knees begging to please me.” He punctuates those thoughts by nipping at my ear. And just like that, he has me keening and fidgeting in my seat.

“No,” I protest, pushing him back a little. “You don’t get to distract me by frying my brain with your words. OK … so not entirely old-fashioned, I’ll admit. More like old-fashioned with a twist.”

“That’s better, I guess,” he concedes.

“You said yourself, it’s everything to you—that connection. I only want to make sure that it’s everything to me to. When we make love, not if,
when
,” I stress, “I don’t want there to be any doubts in my mind. And I don’t mean doubts about you. I mean doubts about me. About me being enough. Unfortunately, you can’t be the one to tell me that.
I
have to know.” I hesitate, running my hand over my heart, as if I can massage it out of me. “
I
have to believe it.”

“You’re not running away?”

“No, I’m not running away. I’m doing the smart thing here. Something you tried to tell me, but I ignored it and pushed anyway. It was like déjà vu, except I know I’ve been there before and don’t ever want to be there again.”

The oddest set of conflicting emotions play out in Ransom’s expression, and I’m just about to ask him what I said wrong, because nothing I said should make him look like that. He jumps off the couch, like someone just a set a match to it. “Please tell me this is not about Greer.”

“What?”

“You not wanting to be with me? You not feeling good enough for me? You pressing to take things further? All of those things? All done with Greer.” He throws his arms wide, shaking them. “It’s like I have giant, fucking caution signs flashing before me. And all signs point to Greer. Please tell me that’s not true.”

“No, Ransom. Of course, not. I’m not hung up on Greer. I don’t want to be with him.”

“But you love him? And part of you is still with him, which is why you can’t ever be mine.” I spring to my feet, but I can’t stand still like he does. I need to move.

When he puts it like that, I realize that’s the kind of crazy shit that’s been cycling in my head since he told me he loved me, but just because it’s there, doesn’t make it right or true, as I’ve learned so many times. “A part of me will always love Greer,” I whisper softly, not wanting to hurt him, but needing to be truthful. “But that’s not something you didn’t already know, and it doesn’t mean I’m hung up on him.”

His fists clench and unclench at his sides, and I can see he’s trying to calm himself, yet failing. “Do you love me, Denver?” he demands.

“I … ” The words get lodged in my throat.

He strides to stand in front of me, clouding my vision just by his mere presence. He taps a finger on my temple. “Get out of your head, and tell me what you feel. What
you
want.”

Pressing my eyes shut tightly, I will myself to say what I feel without hesitation, without reservation. I want to, I just …