Page 112 of Double Bucked

He keeps me hungry for it. He dusts the tips of his fingers down the center of my body. He circles my navel.

“Or do you want me to touch you here?” He dances over the elasticity of my panties. My abdomen clenches, and my core throbs.

“Yes,” I say, breathless.

“Your fiancé is expecting you downstairs,” Ransom says. “You think it’s nice to keep him waiting?”

Oh.

Here, I thought mentioning Everett would make Ransom jealous.

I didn’t consider that, maybe, Ransom likes sharing.

No—Ransom likes stealing.

When I was eight, a stray cat wandered onto our property. It was an ugly, feral thing. I called it Horatio and left a bowl of water and food for it every morning, trying to lure it inside.

The cat never took the bait. He stole from the barn instead, helping himself to the horse’s troughs and feed bags.

Feeling like I’d done something wrong, I cried about it to my father. He hoisted me in his lap and told me, “It’s a wild animal. Wild animals have never been loved properly. They don’t trust it. They’re thieves. They steal.” He touched me under my chin so he could look me in the eyes. “If you want that cat to love you, you have to make it work for it.”

Which, in retrospect, is a strange thing to say to an eight-year-old.

But now I have to wonder…

Is Ransom too wild to accept my love from an open palm?

Does the water only taste good when it’s forbidden?

If the erection in his briefs is any litmus test, I’d say he likes stealing.

And if the way I’m drenching my panties means anything, I think I like being stolen.

I twist. The binds hold tightly against my wrists. “I need you.”

“Naughty girl.” He slips his hand underneath the blanket. He invites himself between my legs, dipping underneath my panties, feeling the wetness that’s collected at my core.

He slides two fingers on either side of my nether lips and pinches them. It sends a sharp, pleasurable pain through me, and I gasp. “Do you think you can come before he notices you’re getting up to no good?”

My throat is dry with want. I don’t want to tell him that I’m burning so hot I feel like I might explode from just the right amount of pressure.

“I think I can try.”

He growls in my ear. That sound sends a shiver through me. His fingers dip against the crease of my slit, pushing my wetness around. He curls his two fingers, strumming one after the other against my clit. “Go ahead,” he grunts in my ear. “Give me my bad girl.”

The pleasure is almost blinding. My thighs ache being held apart like this, and I can feel my feet going numb, but I don’t want it to stop. My toes curl, and everything in me focuses on the steady, unceasing drumbeat of his fingers. It only takes seconds. I tremble apart, unable to stop the cry that escapes me as I come on his hand. My body clenches, and he moans darkly in my ear, a sound that makes me hot.

“There she is.” His breath is hot on my cheek. “You’re flooding me, princess.”

I whimper. My thighs try to shut, but they can’t, pinned apart by his strong legs. I crumple forward instead, my forehead resting on his shoulder, as his tickling strokes draw out each hot pulse.

“Good girl.” He kisses the top of my head. “That’s my girl. You’re my girl, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” I murmur, drowsy with pleasure. “Yours.”

He removes his touch. I whimper in his absence.

I lift my head and watch as Ransom lifts his hand. His fingers are shiny and wet with me. He sticks them in his mouth, and the way he works his tongue around the digits makes me weak.

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