Ramsay closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and unzipped her jacket. Her mother would have never let her leave the apartment had she seen how her daughter was dressed. The snug, low-cut camisole didn't quite conceal her lacy black bra; the hem of her plaid skirt fell several inches above her knees. Her black patent stilettos were decidedly of the "fuck me" variety. Ramsay peered down at her ample cleavage, watched it rise and fall as she struggled to catch her breath. She had kept her jacket zipped up to her chin on the walk over to Seth's apartment, and yet several men had leered at her. The memory of their lascivious gazes turned her stomach.
She slowly climbed the stairs to Seth's floor. He entirely deserved what she had in store for him. She would taunt him with her scantily clad body and then abruptly leave him high and dry. She could just imagine him practically grinding his teeth in frustration, his eyes glassy with thwarted desire. Yes, he deserved every bit of it.
She stopped short of his apartment door and tried once more to calm her racing heart. God, what an awful day it had been. Had someone told her it would end with her standing outside her sister's 26-year-old ex-boyfriend's door dressed like a tart, she would have laughed. But then again, she mused as she tugged at her camisole to reveal more of her bra, if her affair with Seth had taught her anything, it was that her days would never again be predictable as long as he was around.
And, God help her, she wanted him around. Ever since he had, at her urging, relieved her of the burden of her virginity on her eighteenth birthday, Seth had made her life completely terrible and wonderful. Well, no, she supposed it had really started the day Gaby, her 22-year-old sister, brought Seth home to meet her and her mother. The air had changed—had suddenly grown thick and hot—as she watched him step into her mother's living room. She'd been mesmerized by his muscled arms, his artfully rumpled hair. He had reached out his hand in greeting, and as she'd clasped it, she had felt his finger brush lightly across the inside of her wrist. The intimacy of the gesture had sent an electric shiver down her spine. Months later, as they lay in bed, Ramsay had worked up the courage to ask what he'd thought of her the day they met. His answer had made her blush. "It's not my fault," he'd teased, stroking her hip through the sheet, "that you're so fucking hot."
"Fucking hot," she whispered to herself as she steeled herself to knock on Seth's apartment door. He thought she was fucking hot. She closed her eyes again and conjured the image of his sensual lips, his slow-blinking eyes, the dark brown stubble that left light abrasions on her inner thighs every time he went down on her. Her nipples tightened inside her bra as she recalled the way he liked to suckle them just a bit too aggressively and then soothe them with his tongue. He was entirely too sexy, and he couldn't get enough of her body—at least if his demands to see her nearly every day were any indication. Her first lover would undoubtedly prove to be her best; any man she met in the future would surely suffer the comparison.
But now it was time to let him go. God, the mere thought of never touching him again was almost nauseating. She began to understand how her sister felt when Seth ended their relationship. Gaby had cried for days on end, never imagining that Seth's new inamorata was her own sister. Ramsay rolled her eyes at her own shamelessness. She'd been so selfish, so thoughtless. Well, as heart-rending as ending this affair would be, it would at least lighten the burden of her guilt.
And she'd be damned if he beat her to the punch, she thought, looking sullenly down at her stilettos. He could have that tattooed blond she'd seen him chatting up in the street. Her pride wouldn't let her wait around long enough to get jilted.
But her pride, as it turned out, couldn't quite stem the tide of her tears. Images of Seth flirting with that woman—the one with the pierced lip and the "tramp stamp"—flickered inexorably through her mind: Seth laughing at her joke, Seth touching her arm gently as he spoke, Seth smiling at her as she leaned in to the flame he held and lit her cigarette. She had watched the whole scene unfold from the window of the coffee shop across the street. Thank heavens that blond hadn't kissed him; Ramsay might have gotten sick right then and there.
"Seriously now," she hissed to herself as she wiped her eyes, "there will be time for this later." She peered down once more to make sure her show of cleavage was generous, threw her shoulders back, and knocked on Seth's door. Her heart was officially pounding now.
The next few seconds dragged on endlessly; by the time she heard the deadbolt turn, she'd already formulated a plan to make a frantic run for the exit. But it was too late. Seth was standing before her—and looking unbearably sexy in his fitted black t-shirt and jeans.
It seemed she had rendered him speechless. He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed and mouth slightly agape, and looked her up and down. Ramsay held her breath. She thought she read amusement in his expression.
"Well, I'll be god-damned," he drawled, still not meeting her eyes. "Here you are."
"Here I am." She hoped her tone was sufficiently chilly.
His gaze traveled back to her breasts and lingered there. Ramsay felt her cheeks burn.
"How did you get over here?" he asked, still distracted by her cleavage. "And don't tell me you walked." His appraising gaze slid over her body once more before returning to her face. He beckoned her into his apartment with a tilt of his head.
"I walked." She didn't move. "What does it matter?"
"It's fucking dangerous, especially with your tits hanging out like that." When she didn't respond, he took a deep breath and reached for her. "Come inside before you get raped in the hallway."
Ramsay stepped out of his grasp. This wasn't at all going the way she'd planned. Seth wasn't drooling helplessly over her shameless display; in fact, he seemed almost offended by it. She suddenly felt rather embarrassed—and resented him for it.
"I've got to go." She spoke with a forced nonchalance. "I really just came by to—"
"You're not going anywhere dressed like that."
God, he was starting to sound like her mother. "Fuck you," she snapped. Her heart thumped as she heard the words echo through the hallway. Seth had a temper, and she was brazenly provoking him.
"Fuck me? I'm not the one who's asking for it, sweetheart," he retorted, looking once again at her breasts.
She crossed her arms, conscious that doing so only created more cleavage, and glared at him.
"I'm not going to beg. That's clearly your job." His voice was gravelly, his face smug—and maddeningly handsome. "Get in here, Ramsay."
She rammed her hands in her jacket pockets and looked down at her shoes, which had started to pinch her toes. The urge to bury her face against Seth's chest, to breathe in the intoxicating muskiness of his skin, was so overwhelming she wanted to cry. But then she remembered that blond woman—imagined her savoring Seth's scent—and the thought bolstered her willpower. She would never let herself become that woman—the woman who's so pathetically lovestruck that she tolerates infidelity.
With a disdainful toss of her head, Ramsay turned on her heel and started down the hallway. Her shattered nerves told her to break out in a run, but her pride demanded that she stride away from him casually, deliberately. Tears stung the rims of her eyes. Her plan had fallen apart at the seams: instead of driving Seth mad with desire and then promptly ending their liaison with a calculated nonchalance, she had only irked him and completely embarrassed herself. How could she have been so stupid? And now she had to walk back home in her slutty getup and pray that she didn't encounter any amorous drunks on the sidewalk.
The glowing exit sign leading to the stairs was only a few steps away when she felt his hard grip on her shoulders. He spun her to face him. She could scarcely decide whether she was thrilled or indignant. Seth was holding her, but his eyes were nearly opaque with anger. She suspected she was in for another round of castigation at Seth's hands...and his tongue...and his.... God, the thought made her toes curl inside her tight shoes. And yet she found his fury insulting. He was the guilty one; he had forfeited his right to be possessive the minute he started flirting with that blond.
"Let me go," she seethed.
He tightened his grip in response. "I don't know what the fuck is going on or why you came here dressed like a god-damned streetwalker, but I'm not letting you leave here looking like you're waiting to get raped."
"You don't like my outfit?" she purred, a tinge of mockery in her voice.
His eyes narrowed; his breath quickened almost imperceptibly.
"If you ask me," she continued, her lips quirking into a self-satisfied smile, "I'm safer out there than I am here. Now let me go," she said, her gaze wandering almost reflexively to his mouth, "or I'll scream."
He'd backed her against the wall and pinned her hands over her head before she could even register the sensations. Her wrists were bound by one of his rough, sun-reddened hands. His other hand was roving shamelessly over her breasts, alternating rough squeezes with light pinches of her nipples, which had popped out of her lacy bra as he wrenched her arms over her head. She bit back a moan.
"Yeah, you'll scream," he growled in her ear as he stroked her right nipple between his knuckles. Ramsay hated herself for arching her back into the caress. "You always scream when I lick that slutty pussy of yours." He ran his tongue along the side of her neck and chuckled as she shivered. Then he licked his thumb and teased her nipple with it until she was practically writhing against the wall.
"I hate you," she spat. But she punctuated the sentiment with a loud moan as Seth started flicking her nipple with his thumb. Her hips were bucking and wriggling of their own volition. Her body was, she realized with no small degree of shame, desperate to rub against his.
He released her hands. "Yeah, I can tell," he muttered against her skin as his mouth trailed kisses from her neck down to her breast. She shivered again, this time out of sheer anticipation; the thought of his tongue lathing her nipples never failed to arouse her. As his lips closed over one rosy tip, she let out a guttural groan and pounded his shoulders with her fists.
He had won.
Had she really believed herself capable of jilting Seth so casually? Had she really expected him not to dominate her with rough caresses the minute she ignited his temper? He didn't even know why she was mad at him, for God's sake, and here she was moaning and clutching at him in the hallway of his apartment building. Her plan had failed before it even began. And the most shameful part of the whole mess was that she no longer cared. She just wanted him to fuck her.
She looked down and watched Seth's tongue swirl around her nipple. His hands had found their way to her ass; he shoved her body hard against his and she fought to keep her balance, hissing lightly as she felt Seth suck her nipple between his teeth. His mouth was always her undoing. She closed her eyes and moaned, savoring the sound of his lips working wetly over her breasts.
A door slammed somewhere in the building. It sounded alarmingly close. Ramsay's eyes flew open, and she began pounding Seth's back again, this time out of absolute panic.
"Seth, stop!" she hissed.
He raised himself to his full height and looked insolently down at her as his hand insinuated itself between her thighs.
"Someone's coming, Seth!"
"Already?" He grinned at her as she struggled to push his hand away. "I've barely even started."
"Seth, please." But the "please" came out as a moan; his fingers were teasing her slit through her damp panties. His other hand snaked behind her neck, and before she knew it, his mouth was crushed against hers.
She listened for approaching footsteps, but it was hard: Seth was groaning as his tongue urged her lips open and plundered her mouth, and the heel of his hand was grinding insistently against her clit. There were too many sensations; she'd never know whether they were being watched until it was too late. Her tits were out, her nipples wet with his saliva. His hand was up her skirt. She silently prayed they were alone.
Seth kept kissing her. It seemed she was physically incapable of not responding to his kiss; her tongue pushed gingerly against his, her hands clawed at his broad back through his t-shirt. His fingers had begun prodding her pussy through the wet silk of her panties. She suddenly ached to feel his fingers fully inside her.
But as she writhed against his hand, silently urging him inside, he broke off the kiss. His fingers stopped moving. She blinked helplessly up at him.
"Still hate me?" His grin was nothing short of devilish.
"Seth, take me inside." She looked frantically down the hallway and was relieved to find it deserted. No one had seen them as far as she could tell.
"Answer the fucking question." His fingers remained maddeningly still.
"Yes." Her eyes wandered again to his mouth. "No."
He laughed, although she saw very little amusement in his eyes. His hand slid nimbly inside her panties, and she spread her legs as she felt his finger run slickly along her slit. "Fucking soaked," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You're always so fucking wet for me, aren't you?"
Ramsay nodded, breathlessly waiting for him to pleasure her. She bucked involuntarily against his hand.
"And now here you are," he said thickly, thrusting two fingers easily into her, "dressed like the little slut you are."
She closed her eyes and bit back a loud moan. Why on earth did she find Seth's insults so arousing? When had she become such a degenerate?
"I should take you right here," he continued, pumping his fingers in and out. "You want it so bad, don't you?" He was breathing hard. "Huh? Why else would you come to my door dressed like a fucking cum-whore, huh?"
She opened her mouth to speak but was abruptly silenced by another kiss—if one could call it that. His lips all but devoured hers, his tongue moving lewdly in and out in tandem with his fingers. It was more an assault than a kiss, and the sensations his fingers and tongue were creating were almost more than she could bear. A few more minutes and she'd be ready to let him take her right there in the hallway.
She moaned plaintively as he tore his lips away from hers. "Tell me why you came to me like this," he rasped, looking opaquely at her.
It was hard to think. He was teasing her G-spot with his fingers, and she felt the first stirrings of an orgasm as she noticed the tiny beads of sweat collecting along his forehead. She wondered if she'd begun to sweat, too.
He lowered his mouth to her ear. "Say it, slut." His fingers were pumping faster now.
She closed her eyes. God, he was going to make her come right here, right now. A few more rough words from his lips, and she'd feel her pussy start to convulse around his hand. "Please," she whispered.
She could feel his breath coming thick and fast against her neck. "Please what?" His voice was a low growl. "Please take you inside and fuck your slutty pussy until you come?" He paused to run his tongue along her earlobe. "Please shove you up against this wall and make you come on my tongue? Is that what you came here for, Ramsay?"
"I—I don't know," she gasped, hardly knowing what he was asking. All she knew was that if he stopped fingering her and groaning lewdly in her ear, she would burst into tears.
"Oh, I think you do." She could hear the slow smirk in his voice. "I think you came here because you want my cock all the god-damned fucking time." He bit her neck gently. "You gonna come right here, slut? You gonna come all over my fingers?"
She heard a door open nearby. But it was too late. She was going to come hard, unwelcome onlookers notwithstanding. She buried her face against his t-shirt in an attempt to muffle her cries. Seth held her head against his chest as she came.
"Did—did anyone s-see us?" she breathed, struggling the keep her balance as the last few tremors shook her.
"Come on." He grasped her hand and started for his apartment door.
"Seth, did anyone...." Her legs trembled as she followed him. She frantically scanned the hallway, terrified of meeting a stranger's shocked—or, worse, aroused—gaze. "Did anyone see us?" she whispered.
He turned and put his hand over her mouth. "No, baby." He looked at her so intently that her cheeks managed to turn an even darker shade of pink. Then he slid his hand from her mouth and ran his thumb along her bottom lip. She found herself opening her mouth almost involuntarily; he immediately pushed his thumb between her lips.
"Come on," he said gruffly. "Let's go inside and do this properly."
Ramsay studied Seth's profile in the dimness of his bedroom. His eyes were closed, but she doubted he was asleep. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him actually sleep. When on earth did he rest, she wondered, pulling the sheets more closely about her shoulders. God knew he had reason to be tired: after finger-fucking her in the hallway, he'd laid her on his kitchen table, knelt down, and licked her pussy until she was literally begging him to enter her. Then he'd fucked her right there on the table, against his living room wall, in his bed.... She shivered with pleasure as she recalled the sensation of being held down by his well-muscled arms, the scent of his skin as he panted and sweated above her. Her moans had echoed off the exposed brick walls. Ramsay suspected any other man would have fallen into a contented sleep after such exertion. But Seth's breathing had yet to fall into an even, shallow rhythm; his face remained alert.
She watched his chest rise and fall for a few moments before tentatively kissing his shoulder. His eyes snapped open.
"Baby," he said quietly, "what was that all about?" His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling.
Ramsay briefly considered asking what he meant in the most ingenuous voice she could muster but decided not to play coy. "I was mad at you." She pulled the sheets even higher around her shoulders. "I'm still mad at you."
Seth's laugh shook the mattress slightly. "Do you always dress like a whore when you're mad?"
"I think," he drawled, turning to his side and yanking the sheet down to expose more of her body, "I should start pissing you off every day."
She rolled her eyes and reached for the sheet, but it was clutched firmly in his fist. She covered her breasts with her hands.
"No, no," he said with a low chuckle, "you don't hide these from me." Her grip tightened, but he pried her hands away as if she hadn't even been resisting. He leaned in and gave both nipples a teasing lick. It was enough to make a small moan escape her lips. He looked like the cat that got the cream.
Damn his smile! And damn her body's responsiveness whenever Seth was within a half-mile radius. She closed her eyes and sighed.
"Come on, Ramsay." His finger traced the line of her jaw with uncharacteristic delicacy.
She opened her eyes reluctantly. His face was just inches from hers. She wanted to kiss him—God, she always wanted to kiss him—but she struggled to arrange her thoughts instead. "I saw you with someone." She looked at the ceiling as she spoke. "A blond woman with a tattoo."
"Where were you?"
"I was in my usual coffee shop downtown, and I saw you across the street with her." She turned to face him.