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He sits upright and continues to explore my body with his hands, giving me so little yet successfully driving me wild with craving. A tiny smirk appears on his lips as if he knows just how much he affects me. As if he can literally smell the arousal pooling between my thighs, staining my lacey strip of underwear. Maybe he can. Considering how turned on I am right now, maybe my husband can too.

  When his fingers meet my breasts, I can’t hold back the moan that rumbles from my chest. He touches me like I’m delicate. Like I’m merely made of silken butterfly wings. And while I love it—while his control is maddening and alluring—I want him to break me. I need him to tear me in two, rip me apart until I’m raw and ruined. I don’t want delicate and sweet. I’ve had enough of that. It’s all I’ve had for years, leaving that shameful, carnal part of me neglected.

  Without warning, Ransom turns our bodies and flips me over so I am on my back on the bed and he is looming over me. The look on his face is a mix of desire and corruption, his smile just as vicious. He grasps my hips with rough hands and pulls me to the edge of the bed until my aching, lace-covered flesh hits the coarseness of his denim-clad legs.

  “Tell me, Heidi,” he rasps, standing between my open legs. I struggle with the need to squirm against him in a quest to create friction. “Do you want me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And if I want to fuck you right now, would you let me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And would you let me do it right here in front of your husband? Do you want him to watch me fuck you?”

  “Yes.” I can’t even tell if the word is audible through the moan in my throat.

  He looks over at Tucker and raises a brow. “What do you say, Tuck? Do you want to watch me fuck your wife?”

  I swallow, letting the guilt and shame slide down my throat like warm butter, and look to my husband with timid eyes. His gaze is already fixed on me, his jaw clenched with tension. Every second that he stares at me, I feel dirtier and dirtier. I want to run and hide from him, but not as much as I want to stay.

  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, Ranso
m 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.

  I’ve never been this wet before. Never been this vocal.

  I’ve never felt anything this . . . good. Because Ransom is so fucking good.

  The little monster in me thrashes, coaxing me to buck against him and meet him punishing thrust for punishing thrust. I feel an intrusion in my belly, sparking a sharp stab of pain, but I keep going, needing more. The ache just spurns me on and I spread my thighs wider, welcoming him to crawl in deeper and never leave.

  My knees begin to quiver under me with the first signs of climax. Ransom places a hand on my bare belly, and—surprisingly gentle—eases me down flat onto the mattress. He keeps moving inside me, but he slows his pace, focusing on the depth this angle allows. In this position, where his body is wholly pressed against mine, I can feel every solid, sweat-slickened inch of him. The hard planes of muscle straining with every languid stroke. His soft hair tickling my cheek and shoulder. His warm, ragged breath fanning over my face. It’s so much more intimate than I expected from him, and although I can do intimate, I just don’t know if I should do intimate with him.

  I think I hear him whisper something in my ear, yet I don’t hear him. Before I have a chance to ponder it further, he does it again, and I realize . . . he’s not whispering.

  He’s singing.

  His voice is breathy and light, yet I’d know that sultry rasp anywhere. And I’ve heard those lyrics before. Hell, I heard them just hours ago.

  Shatter me with lies

  You beautiful monster

  Feel like I could die

  Let you pull me under

  Holy shit.

  Ransom Reed, founder and lead singer of the Grammy-nominated band Ransom, is singing to me while fucking me.

  Even with him nine inches deep inside me, I feel like a line has been crossed with those hypnotic words of surrender. He said he wanted to make me sing when I came for him. Maybe I misunderstood the meaning behind those words. Maybe it was he who wanted to sing for me.

  I look to Tucker, wondering if he feels it too, yet his eyes are half closed as he strokes himself eagerly. With a pained groan, milky white droplets spurt from the head of his cock. Yet, he doesn’t stop, rubbing his hot release into his still hardened, jerking flesh.

  God, that’s fucking hot. Hotter than anything I’ve ever seen. The sight brings me back into the moment, and I give in to the pressure between my thighs that now pulses out of control as those lyrics replay in my head on repeat.

  Shatter me with lies

  You beautiful monster

  Feel like I could die

  Let you pull me under

  I’m breathing erratically, feeling like I may pass out from the Category 5 orgasm that’s creeping up my thighs. I begin to shiver despite Ransom’s hot body pressed into mine, and he somehow wraps me in his arms even tighter. His hand snakes under me and cradles my face, tilting my head up toward him, gazing at me lovingly through hooded eyes, caressing the edge of my mouth with the pad of his thumb . . .

  He kisses me.

  It’s soft, almost timid at first, but even more intimate than his whispered song in my ear. At first I don’t know what to do, but then hunger and craving set in, and I realize I am kissing him back just as eagerly, savoring his taste of sin and salvation. I reach back to thread my fingers through his sweat-dampened locks and open my mouth wider to give him full access to my tongue.

  I’m drowning in him, eyes closed, breath stolen, utterly dying as this man fills me up and drains my very soul. I tremble around him, growing wetter, hotter. He feels it too, and responds with swift, jerky thrusts that nearly break me in half. Ransom releases my lips and sinks his teeth into my shoulder as his orgasm pours out of him. Hearing that erotic grunt of surrender and feeling him pulse wildly inside me as his seed spills into the thin barrier of latex is my undoing, and I cry out with my own climax, sobbing as my body quakes in beautiful agony.

  We lay there together, utterly spent and broken. We breathe the same breath, our chests moving in tandem. He releases my shoulder from his teeth and tenderly kisses the stinging skin with swollen lips. I turn my face as far as it will go in hopes of basking in one of those kisses. That’s when I see him.

  My husband. Staring at us.

  His lips are merely a thin, white slash across his hard face, and his shrewd eyes are made of sapphire. Although his erection is long gone, he still hasn’t bothered to redress. I open my mouth to explain, but quickly snap it shut when I realize I have nothing to explain. He wanted this. He asked for this, just as much as I did. And now he’s looking at me like he just caught me cheating on him.

  Ransom eases off and out of me, causing me to wince. My whole body hurts—the back of my neck where he held me down, my hips where his fingers dug into the soft flesh, my ass that he slapped without remorse, my shoulder where he bit down as he rode out his orgasm. My joints are pure mush, and I struggle to roll over, taking the comforter with me to cover myself. Suddenly, I feel too exposed, too vulnerable. Even the room seems too quiet.

  Without a word, Ransom dresses hastily. He doesn’t even look at me or Tucker. His expression is blank, and it drives me positively mad not to know what he’s thinking.

  After he’s secured his gray beanie over messy locks, he finally looks down at me and says, “Caleb knows how to find me.” Then he walks out of the room and out of the suite. I wouldn’t be surprised if he left the hotel altogether.

  Reluctantly, I look over at my husband. He stares at me with such unrelenting coldness that I physically shiver, even though my skin is burning up.

  I swallow.

  Shit.

  What have we done?

  Chapter Seven

  TEN YEARS AGO . . .

  It’s Thursday.

  I always look forward to Thursdays.

  Not because I love spilling my guts about shit that I really don’t want to talk about—I hate that part. But because I get to see him.

  Dr. DuCane. He told me I could call him Tucker.

  Tucker is way too young to be a shrink. And way too handsome. I know he’s got a few years on me, but he honestly doesn’t look it. Who am I kidding? The man is fucking hotter than sin. Although he doesn’t act like it. If anythin
g, he acts like he doesn’t realize he’s the walking epitome of sexy. And if he does, the news doesn’t seem important to him.

  No. What are important to Tucker is his work and his patients. And I happen to be one of his patients. Of course, none of that was truly my decision.

  I was only three weeks into my second year at Indiana State, and I was already failing Econ. I didn’t get it—I loved money. Making it, spending it, stashing some away for a rainy day. So I should’ve been totally acing the hell out of this class, right? Well, not according to Professor Geldman.

  So in a quest to save my stellar GPA, I sought out help—something that was just as difficult for me to do as admitting I was failing. There was this guy in class . . . Patrick Keller. He had taken an interest in me since the first day I strolled into the lecture hall, and while he was nice and not bad to look at, I really wasn’t interested. I busted my ass to score a scholarship there, and I wasn’t about to get blindsided by a pretty face in khakis. However, Patrick was killing it in that class, and lucky for me, agreed to tutor me. So twice a week, we’d meet up for a study session at the library or Starbucks or anywhere else we could find a vacant table. But never in our dorms. I made it clear that our relationship was strictly platonic.

  I thought Patrick was a pretty cool guy. I could always count on him to have candy, especially Starburst. Once he realized that I would steal every piece he had on him, he started bringing more so we could share. Super considerate. So I didn’t begrudge him the pining glances he shot me whenever he thought I wasn’t looking.

  After weeks of working side by side over cups of cold coffee and Patrick’s candy stash, I was finally making strides in Econ. Midterms were approaching, which meant longer hours hitting the books in preparation for the killer exam that Professor Geldman was sure to throw at us. The woman was a sadist.

  We stayed later than usual at the library that evening, and when we finally looked up, the place was empty. I gathered my things as quickly as I could in hopes of making it across campus to my dorm before it got too late. However, Patrick said that he would drive me to ensure I got in safely.