Page 122 of Ramsey & Emerson

“I know you do,” he said, his arms coming around my waist. “I know that I’m the only one for you, Emerson. Nonetheless, that doesn’t mean that you’re not worth still chasing. That doesn’t mean that I’m allowed to take you for granted, regardless of what happened back in high school.” Ramsey reached up to push some random strands of hair behind my ear. “Baby, you’re the single most important thing in my life, and I think that it’s time that you finally realize that.”

I quickly reached back to wipe away the wayward tears, but they were happy tears. “Okay.”

His dark gaze searched my silver one. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Ramsey smiled at me for the first time in days, and it hit me hard how much I’d been missing that from him. “So, do we really need to wait for this weekend to go away?”

“I have some home visits that I can’t put off,” I chuckled.

“Well, I do recall you saying something about having a date with your husband tonight,” he said wickedly. “I say we start that date right now.”

I could already feel him getting hard beneath me. “Oh, really?”

He nodded. “In fact, it’s the best idea I’ve had all day.”

“I’ve got a better one,” I replied, my hips already beginning to run back and forth over his lap.

“I bet you do, baby,” he chuckled darkly.

Removing my arms from around his neck, I slid down over his knees until I was nestled perfectly between his spread legs. Ramsey’s eyes were burning down at me as I unbuckled his belt, his hard length already pressing desperately against the fabric of his slacks, and this was my favorite part of making up.

“Tell me what you want, Ramsey,” I ordered as I freed him, then wrapped my hand around his hot need for me.

“I want your mouth wrapped around my cock until you choke on it,” he replied huskily, his eyes blazing with a love and lust that belonged all to me.

I also planned on keeping it forever.

Epilogue

Ramsey – (Six Months Later)~

“You know, you didn’t have to do this.”

“It was either this or put out a full-page ad to celebrate Adrian Cossacks going to prison for a long time,” I replied candidly, because it was the truth.

My wife shot me a look. “You need help.”

“You knew this when you married me,” I stated flippantly.

When I’d gotten wind that Cossacks had been staring down the barrel at only six years in federal prison for the embezzlement, I’d been pissed. Because of all the reasons that were wrong in this world, he’d been offered the six years in prison for a plea of guilty, and in return, they’d been willing to drop the underage sex charges because they ‘hadn’t wanted to traumatize the girls’.

Yeah, right.

Whether people believed it or not, money was a more valuable commodity than human beings, and the courts had seen the money laundering as a bigger offense because people worshipped the dollar more than they did God. In fact, it was rather ironic that we had ‘In God We Trust’ printed on something that brought out the worst in humanity.

At any rate, once I’d gotten wind of the deal, I had publicized two more victims of Adrian Cossacks’ grooming proclivities, then had contacted a couple of advocate groups to make the roars for justice a little louder. So, with the power of the internet and it also being an election year, Adrian Cossacks had been arrested for the additional cases of statutory misconduct, and those charges had been separated from his original charges.

Now, deciding which side of the coin you were on, it was lucky or unlucky that one of the victims from his second set of charges had been willing to testify, and that had been the nudge that Cossacks had needed to plead guilty without the new cases going to trial. He’d been given an additional twenty years inregularprison after he served his six years for the embezzlement, and so I’d naturallydonatedfive-million dollars to the named victims, to which they had divided evenly.

“I’m just saying that they might get used to this if you’re not careful,” she said, ignoring the truth about the choices in her life.

“It’s just lunch, baby,” I pointed out as I wrapped my arm around her waist, hauling her to me.

“To us overworked underlings, it’s more than lunch,” she replied primly.

“Hey, it’s your own fault that you’re still just an overworked underling.”

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