Page 41 of Bull Rush

I feel the kind of used and dirty only he can give me as he bends over me, draining the last of himself over my ribs and stomach. He stares down at his work, highly amused at the mess he’s made of me. He grabs my panties to wipe himself off and his self-satisfied grin grows wider as he tosses them to the floor.

He looks back down at my stomach and slips the tip of his finger through the mess, drawing letters on my skin with his come. An “M” first, and then an “I.” He pauses to admire them before he continues with an “N,” and then finishes with a flourished “E.” He stares at it for a long moment while Curtis grunts through the phone, clearly frustrated at a lack of progress.

“Baby? I think I need to hear you say it again. You know how much it helps.” Curtis breaks the silence that’s starting to grow.

I blink, remembering that I started this and asked him for more. But Ramsey’s eyes lift from admiring his work, and his eyebrow arches in a threat as I unmute the phone again.

“Yes, Daddy. I’m here. I need more,” I say, softly defiant even as he looms over me. Ramsey’s expression darkens, and his jaw goes tight. “I need you inside me,” I add for good measure. I might be weak for him, but it doesn’t mean he owns me.

Ramsey’s teeth clench, and a muted growl rumbles from hischest. He reaches over me and hits the button to kill the call before his eyes return to mine.

“Enough,” he roars.

“He’ll just call back,” I say, whisper-quiet in my response.

Ramsey’s fingertips trace up my arm, over my shoulder, and slide between my neck and the pillow I’m resting against. His fingers thread through my hair, and he tightens his grip until my jaw tilts back, and my neck is exposed. His teeth scrape against my skin, and then he sinks them in, biting me hard in a way that’s going to leave a mark. Only letting up when I finally yield and cry out his name. Then his head draws up again, his lips against my ear.

“Mine,” he growls. “Every single inch for the next two months. You fuck with me like this again, I’ll make you pay for it. When he calls back, you can tellDaddyyou have a husband you’re busy worshiping now.”

He releases me, and he’s off the bed and out the doorway in record time. The door slams shut in his wake, and he storms down the hall while his come is still warm on my stomach. My jaw is still on the floor as I try to process what he’s just said, what he’s just done.

The sound of my phone ringing echoes on the walls, jolting me out of my daze, and I hit the answer button. It’s Curtis again, as predicted, asking me what happened and if I want to keep trying for a second round.

“I have to go. Ramsey’s home and I don’t want him to hear us.”

“Oh. Okay,” Curtis whispers in return. “Have a good night then. Love you, baby.”

“Night,” I mumble and hang up, only realizing when I put my phone on my nightstand that I didn’t tell him I love him back.

I grab some tissues from my drawer and wipe the scrawledword from my abdomen, slowly and deliberately so that I’m not getting it on the comforter when I stand. He’d already made of mess of me, but I didn’t have to let him make a mess of everything.

I knew Ramsey had this side in him, but I’d never seen it in quite this way before. The brilliant sort of rage that leaves him completely unchecked. I have concerns about my sanity—because I think I like it, enough that I want more.

EIGHTEEN

Ramsey

I stopshort when the smell from the kitchen hits me. It’s my mom’s casserole. My favorite thing she used to make, and I haven’t had it in years. No one makes it the way she did. I tried once or twice. But I swear I’m about to round the corner and see her standing there in her apron. She always did her best for us, trying to make it feel like we grew up in a normal home with a normal life and had a Susie homemaker for a mom.

I kick off my boots, careful not to get the mud on her floors, and set them in the tray. Another scent wafts around the edge. Apples and cinnamon. I get my answer a second later when I see my favorite apple pie cookies cooling on the counter, caramel dripping over the edge and steam still rising from the top. My girl has a lot of good qualities, but baking and cooking has never been a thing she’s eagerly embraced. The last thing I thought she’d do is break into my mom’s old cookbooks. So I’mcurious if she made the food or if she’s just brought it over from Kit’s kitchen to ours.

But a couple more steps, and I see Haze standing in front of an open oven, pulling a casserole out with oven mitts and an apron on. She’s concentrating so hard on not dropping it or burning herself, I don’t want to say a thing to distract her. The look of relief on her face when she sets it on the stove and checks it, finding it unburnt, makes me grin.

Not that I should smile at her. She’s done everything she can in the last few days to drive me off, and it was damn close to working last night. Except for the fact that I’m every fucking bit as stubborn as she is when I want to be. I watch her exhale as she takes off her oven mitts one by one and stacks them on top of each other next to the stove. She glances over at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and sighs, looking exhausted.

“What’s all this?” I ask, startling her in the process. She presses her hand to her chest and turns around.

“I thought…” She takes in my sweat-soaked, dirty appearance for a moment, and then her eyes snap back up to mine. “I thought you’d be hungry after all the work you did today. So I cooked dinner.”

“I could’ve just had Kit make something.”

“I know, but I…” she trails off, looking into the distance, then shaking her head and looking at the floor. “I’m sorry about the last few days. I wanted to make a point, but I took it too far last night.”

“Since when can you cook?” I change the subject. I’m not in the mood for discussing last night. Not until I’m showered and fed. Until then, I’m gonna be too fucking cranky not to say shit I don’t mean. Like telling her what a little bitch her boyfriend is for needing her toys to be shaped like his shriveled dick when he isn’t around.

“I’ve been learning. Kit has been teaching me a few things.”

“She into my mom’s recipe book now?” I nod at the casserole.

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