To See the Summer Sky is Poetry

But you stopped short when you got in the door and were met with that sonic wall of screaming. But as you looked around, there were no guests, no one unexpected, no source of the sound. The lower floor was empty aside from Ransom sitting on the couch, Lola held firmly on his lap as he gently petted her.

“What’s going on?” you shouted across the room.

Ransom jumped slightly, not having realized you were home, then scrambled for his phone. Immediately, the noise, blessedly, stopped. “Sorry,” he said, blushing a little, and for the first time you were pretty sure you were seeing Ransom self-conscious. “Lola and I have been working on getting used to the sounds of a baby when you aren’t around. Google says it’s a good way to prepare your dog.”

You didn’t try to stop the warm smile you felt taking over your face. “Oh yeah? How’s she doing?”

He let her off his lap, and she scampered over to you. “She’s doing good. Making a lot of progress. It isn’t so scary anymore, is it?”

Lola looked up at you and wagged her tail. “Good job, baby,” you said to her as you put down your bags and picked her up. “What else does Google say?”

“Uh,” Ransom scratched the back of his neck. He was embarrassed by how much work and thought he’d put into this. It made your heart melt. “We should be getting her used to the new smells too, so letting her sniff anything we buy for the baby. And we should introduce any new routines or patterns right now. Get her used to being taken care of by both of us, not just you.”

“You already do a good job of that,” you said sincerely.

He shrugged. “I’m trying.” He bent down to look through your bags. “Speaking of new smells, what did you get?”

“Oh, I passed by a little baby store on my way home, so I decided to stop in and see what I could find.”

Ransom took out a pretty lilac onesie and a soft sage blanket. He carefully held them up for Lola to smell. “It’s so tiny,” he said softly, reverently smoothing his thumb over the onesie.

“Yeah,” you answered, moving your free hand to your bump, which was big enough now that you felt like you could barely call it that. “I think she’s going to be even teenier than we realize.”

Ransom delicately put the baby’s things back in the bag and moved both of his hands to your stomach. You felt the baby shift in response, the way she did right before she was about to start punching you. Ransom had yet to feel her, and you knew it was bothering him, so you grabbed one of his wrists and moved it a few inches to where she’d started to press against you. “She’s right there,” you whispered.

Ransom pressed his lips together in concentration, and then his brow furrowed in frustration. “I still can’t-“ She moved again, and he froze. “Wait,” he said, so quietly like he didn’t want to spook her, and she kicked again, almost in response. “That’s her?” he asked, breathless.

“Yeah,” you grinned, “that’s her.” And then, feeling like your heart was cracking wide open, you added, “She’s saying hi to her daddy.”

You felt his breath hitch through his hands on you. He looked up, tears in his eyes and a scared, happy, joyful smile on his face. He moved one hand up to your cheek while the other stayed pressed to the spot where your daughter was, and kissed you, soft and slow and happy. So, so happy.

You were sharing the couch with Ransom, both reading quietly with Lola snuggled between you, when it washed over you. This had happened a few times now. Heat coursing through your whole body. Need. Out of nowhere. You knew it was normal. You’d read about it in your books. But that didn’t make it any easier.

The last time you’d tried to take care of it yourself while Ransom was at work, but you’d discovered that your belly was now too big for you to reach around and get to your core, even with your vibrator. So you’d cried alone in your bed until it finally passed. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do that again.

You looked over at Ransom over your book. God, he was so beautiful. It still kind of made you mad, even after all this time. The way your feet were pulled up onto the couch, your toes just barely grazed his thigh. You moved back quickly. As much as every part of your body was screaming at you to crawl onto his lap and make him fuck you, you couldn’t actually do that. You didn’t even know if he wanted it. Plus, you were pretty sure that if he touched you, you’d actually explode.

At your movement, he looked up at you. “You okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed the way it did anytime you displayed the slightest hint of discomfort or displeasure.

You smiled and hoped it didn’t come across as a grimace. “I’m fine, just a little uncomfortable.”

“Do you want me to go get you another pillow? Would that help?”

You shook your head vigorously. “Nope! I’m fine. It’s fine. Just ignore me.” You took a deep, slow breath as the need got even worse.

And the way he was pinning you down with his gaze wasn’t helping. “You don’t seem like you’re uncomfortable. You seem like you’re in pain.” He reached a hand out to you, and you shrank back, knowing that if he touched you, you’d lose all semblance of control.

“It’s not pain, Ransom, I promise. Please. Please just drop it.” You could feel the tears starting to gather in your eyes as your whole body felt like it was about to catch fire.

“I’m not going to drop it if there’s something I can do to help,” he said firmly, and you wanted to scream.

“No, it’s– It’s fine, I just–“ You closed your eyes as you struggled to breathe normally. Finally, you gave up. He was worse than Steve; you weren’t going to be able to keep hiding this from him. “It’s the hormones. I just get really horny sometimes. Out of nowhere. And it’s awful, but it’ll pass.”

You felt the way he went completely still and opened your eyes. He was staring at you, a smirk on his face. “Well,” he said, and his voice had dropped at least an octave. It shot right through you. “That sounds like the exact sort of thing I can help with.”

“Ransom–“You shook your head, not sure of what to say. Not trusting yourself to say anything.

The smirk dropped off his face, and his eyes got serious. “Do you want me to help you with this?” he asked. And it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t sexy. It was a real question, and you knew that if you said no, he would leave you alone. Or maybe make you some tea. Find another way to help, to make you comfortable. But he wouldn’t touch you. And he wouldn’t keep asking.

Your eyes slipped closed again. “You don’t have to,” you answered, your voice small.

“Hey, look at me,” he commanded gently. You forced yourself to open your eyes, and he continued. “I know exactly what I do and don’t have to do. Do you want me to help you with this?”

With one more deep breath, you tried not to whine as you answered, “Yes. Please.”

And before the words had even fully left your mouth, he’d lunged across the couch and captured your lips in a deep, passionate, hungry kiss. It felt like he might eat you alive, and you wanted it. You wanted everything he could give you.

He had you flat on the couch, his body covering yours, even with your bump in the way. You took the opportunity when he came up for air to whine, “More. I– I–“

A gentle hand on your cheek grounded you. “I know, I know. I need you in my bed. Think you can get upstairs?”

A bed sounded nice with the way you were sagging off the couch. But you were also pretty sure that if he stopped touching you, you’d die. You clutched onto his wrist. “I think, but–“

“Yeah, I know,” he said, even as he peppered your neck with kisses, “I’ve got you.”

He helped you off the couch, never letting go of you. And as he moved you up the stairs, some part of him was always touching you. A hand wrapped around your wrist, another on your hip, his lips on the back of your neck.

Once in his bedroom, he stopped you before you could climb onto the bed. He kissed you again, breaking for just long enough to lift your t-shirt over your head and fling it behind him. One more kiss and then he was kneeling down beside you, working your leggings down your legs to the point you could kick them off your feet. Then, his hands moved reverently up your body—your ankles, your calves, your thighs—to your panties, which he pulled down with equal reverence. Then he continued moving up, placing a gentle kiss on your belly and then working to undo your bra. Once he’d freed your breasts, he took them in both hands as he buried his face in your neck.

“Ransom,” you whined, tugging on his shirt, as he still somehow had all of his clothes on. You needed them off. You needed them off right now.

You felt him grin into your neck, and then he pulled away enough that you could get his shirt off. You ran both hands up his stomach and chest. How was he fair? How was he yours? (Because he was now. He was he was he was.) You dropped your hands to undo his pants, but he stopped you, lifting them so he could kiss your knuckles. Then he very carefully laid you down on his bed, moving a pillow to support your lower back. He trailed kisses down your entire body before he stood back up and took the rest of his clothes off as fast as he possibly could.

Once he was finally naked, he paused for a moment at the foot of the bed, and you both just stared at each other. Even as you’d gotten to know him, gotten used to him, you’d never get used to the way he seemed like he was carved from marble. Or how his skin glowed. Or how–

“God, look at you,” his whisper interrupted your thoughts. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” And then his hands were back on your body, spreading your legs so that he could slot himself between them. He hooked one ankle over his shoulder. “That feel okay?” he asked.

All you could do was nod, and he immediately returned his lips to you, working his way up your inner thigh. With a jolt, you realized what he meant to do, and you reached out an urgent hand to him. “You don’t have to–“ you started but were cut off when he turned back to you with a playful glare.

“What did I say about that?” he asked, his voice so low.

He’d gone back to kissing up your thigh, and you had to force yourself to take a breath, to unfog your mind, to remember what he said. “You said–” you paused with a gasp as his lips got so, so close to the center of you. “You said you already know what you do and don’t have to do.”

“That’s right,” he muttered into your thigh. “And I want to do this. I’m desperate to find out what you taste like.” Then he lifted his head to make eye contact with you. “But if you really don’t want me to, I won’t.” You took another breath and opened your mouth, even though you weren’t sure what your response would be. “But please, please, let me taste you, baby. I’ll stop if you hate it. I promise.”

“What if you hate it?” you asked, voice small, even as you were desperate to just finally say yes.

He laughed and sent you a dirty smirk. “I can guaran-fucking-tee that I won’t.”

Your body was burning up again, so with a small moan you finally let go. “Yes, please.”

And just like that, his mouth was on you. You threw your head back on a gasp, like all the air had been punched out of your body. Your hands bunched into the sheets on either side of your head as he lapped at you like a man starved. You felt his tongue moving between your folds, getting to know you, searching for your clit. The second he found it, your eyes slammed shut, your body spasmed, and you felt more than heard his pleased hum. He experimented with licks first, before he wrapped his tongue around it and gave it a hard suck. You couldn’t help the lewd moan you released, and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed.

You’d never felt anything like this. Not with the only other person you’d ever had sex with. And you’d certainly never let Ransom do anything like this before, not when getting pregnant had been the only goal and everything else had seemed like a waste of time. And definitely not by yourself. You’d never taken such care with yourself.

Your breaths were coming fast as you felt yourself climbing, climbing, climbing. A good, soft warmth was moving through your body as you felt his hands on your hips, firmly holding onto you. Keeping you from floating away. Your eyes slipped open; you weren’t sure why, but you were immediately met with Ransom’s intense gaze, locked on your face to take in every single nuance of your reaction. And the way he was looking at you, watching you…

That was what did it. That was what sent you over the edge. The way that he saw you. The look in his eyes. You came with a cry, your body shaking apart, only anchored by his hands on your hips, pinning you down to earth.

His mouth stayed on you through your whole orgasm and all the aftershocks. Drinking you up, like he couldn’t get enough. Then, slowly but surely, he began working his way back up you, his lips and hands moving in tandem as he traversed your whole body. Once he got to your neck, he nuzzled into you before meeting your eyes with a cocky smirk. “Feeling better?”

You tried to nod, but all of your bones were like jelly. And while the need inside of you was no longer so insistent, no longer hot enough to burn, there was still something simmering under the surface. Something that had made your legs clamp around Ransom at some point and now wouldn’t let him go. “I– I need–“ you tried to explain to him, but the words wouldn’t string together.

Ransom quirked an eyebrow, and his smirk turned dirty. “You need more, baby?” he asked, voice low. “It’s okay. You can tell me what you need, what you want.”

You felt your face heating up. Your eyes wanted to slip closed, to avoid the way he was looking at you, but you forced them to stay open. “I want–“ You tried to put what you were feeling into words, but everything just felt clumsy. You tried again, summing it up as best you could. “I want you.”

The smile that bloomed on Ransom’s face—you weren’t sure you’d ever seen it before. Cocky and hungry and happy, all rolled together. “I want you, too,” he said softly as he dipped his head down to kiss you, tender and eager with a thread of filth that you wanted to follow. But he broke it off too soon. “Do you want me inside you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed, and he kissed you again. His hand landed gently between your thighs, one and then two fingers working their way inside of you. They were big and thick as they spread you, but they weren’t enough. “Ransom,” you whined, “I need– That’s not–“

“Hey, I know,” he cooed softly, still working you open with his fingers, “I’m just making sure that orgasm got you ready to take me. I want it to feel good.”

Suddenly you felt self-conscious; he’d already done so much for and to you, and you hadn’t even offered to do anything for him in return. You reached for his length. “I can help get you ready, too,” you said, a little embarrassed.

Ransom laughed, his head thrown back, but it wasn’t mean; it wasn’t judging. It was warm and playful. “Babe, I’m harder than a fucking diamond right now. I don’t need a goddamn thing to get me ready for you.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said with a grin. “You’re so hot like this. Your taste on my lips and the thought of your warm pussy are all I need to get me going. You ready too? You comfortable?”

You flopped back down, giving in to your body and what it was telling you. “Yes, I– Yes.”

That was all it took for him to kiss you again, his body fully covering your own, taking special care to keep his weight off your stomach, as he carefully slid his fingers out of you. You whined at the emptiness, but the shortest moment later he was lining himself up and slowly filling you with his cock.

On instinct, or maybe out of habit, your eyes slammed closed, retreating inside yourself as you felt your insides stretch to try to accommodate him. But before you got very far, you were brought back by a hand, Ransom’s hand, squeezing yours gently.

“Hey, open your eyes,” he directed softly. You did, immediately, and found his blue gaze boring into you. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “You can be here, right now. I’ve got you. It’s okay. I promise. I’ve got you.”

You took a deep breath and nodded. You believed him. You trusted him. As he bottomed out inside of you, you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close. For a long moment neither of you moved, and all you could feel was his cock spreading you open and his stuttered breaths on your neck. And then he shifted so that his forehead touched yours and his lips brushed your lips as he said, “Fucking shit. You feel so fucking good. Tell me– Please tell me I can move. Goddamn.”

“Ransom, please, yes, please,” tumbled out of you as you felt so full you thought you might lose your mind. And it only got worse as he began to rock in and out of you. “Ransom, Ransom,” you chanted, your arms still wrapped around him. One of his hands came up to cup your cheek, and you felt electricity flow through you where he touched you.

He shifted his hips and hit a spot inside of you that had a cry suddenly tearing through you. “Yeah?” he asked with a proud grin. “Right there?”

“Please, yes, yes, yes,” you babbled as he kept hitting it and you were climbing again, up and up and up and–

“Let go,” he whispered in your ear, as his thumb began to press insistent circles on your clit, “go ahead. I’ve got you. I want to see it again.”

One more thrust and you did what he asked, sailing over the edge, shaking apart as you gripped him tightly to you.

“Goddammit, look at you, you’re so beautiful. You feel so fucking good,” he babbled as he fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own. “Holy fuck,” he growled as he joined you not long after, filling you up and holding you tight.

The two of you stayed collapsed on the bed in a heap, just breathing heavily into each other’s necks. After several long moments, Ransom tried to move, but you couldn’t figure out how to move your limbs to let him go. “Hey,” he assured you softly, “I just want to get us cleaned up.”

“Not yet,” you whispered. “Just– Not yet.”

“Yeah, okay. Okay,” he soothed you, dropping his body back down so that he blanketed you again.

Focused on Ransom’s breathing, you slowly came back to yourself. Once the high of your orgasms slowly ebbed away, you couldn’t explain the loss you felt. You knew, intellectually, that it was probably all hormones, but that didn’t stop you from feeling a profound grief for everything that may have been. You were crying, you realized, too late to try to be able to hide it. And it wouldn’t have made a difference. Ransom was watching you too closely to not pick up on every little nuance.

“What’s wrong?” he immediately asked. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head. “No, no, you didn’t do anything. I’m okay. I’m good.”

“But something’s wrong?” His hand was tentatively running up and down your arm now, doing what he could to soothe you without knowing the cause.

“No, not really. I– I just–“ You took a deep breath, trying to stop yourself from crying harder. “I just didn’t know it could be like that. I wish it had always been like that.”

“Oh,” he said softly, under his breath, shifting so that he was no longer on top of you but still touching you with as much of his body as he could.

“And I know, I know that that’s all my fault. I know that I pushed and I pushed and– But I didn’t know. I just didn’t know.” A fresh wave of tears came, and you didn’t object as Ransom pulled you closer to him so that you could bury your face in his chest.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re alright. There’s nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t your fault. You were very scared, and we didn’t know each other. It wasn’t your fault.” He didn’t say anything else as he rubbed your back and let you cry it out.

After a few minutes, you pulled away, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining the mood. It really was so good. You made me feel so good.”

That got the return of his cocky smirk. “Yeah? It sure seemed like you enjoyed it.” Then his smile softened significantly. “You made me feel good, too.”

“Oh?” You ducked your head, suddenly shy. “That’s, that’s good. I’m glad. I want to– I want to do more. Next time. I want to learn what you like.”

“Next time, huh?” he grinned. “Yeah, we’ve got lots of next times in front of us. If you want. Plenty of time to learn about each other.”

You scooted closer to him, to cuddle into his warmth. “Yeah? That sounds really nice.”

“It will be,” he said definitively, wrapping an arm around you.

You were both quiet for a long time, just enjoying this peace together, when he stiffened a little bit and shifted. You looked up at his face to find him looking thoughtful, hesitant. Without thinking, you reached up to smooth out the furrow between his brows with your thumb. “What are you thinking about?”

He grimaced, like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “I, uh– Shit. I’m not good at this.”

“Good at what?” you asked.

“Asking for something I want. Even admitting that I want something I don’t already have.”

“What are you talking about?” You felt like you’d missed part of a conversation he’d been having with himself.

He sighed, put out, then mumbled, “I want you to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured him, a little confused.

“No, I mean–“ he sighed again and then turned onto his back so that he was no longer looking you in the eye. “I want you to stay here, in this room. I want it to be ours. I don’t want you to sleep across the hall anymore. And when we move into the new house, I want us both to be in the primary suite. I want it to be ours. I want everything to be ours.”

You could feel how big and round your eyes had gotten. “Oh,” was all you could say. But really, why were you so surprised? The part of you that believed that people only kept you around because they had to, that Ransom would rather have his life go back to normal but was stuck with you, had been getting quieter and quieter every day. Your husband had shown you how untrue that was in countless ways. So why couldn’t this be true too?

But Ransom seemed to take your shocked silence as resistance, so he kept going. “I know you want your own space, and I’m not saying that room has to go back to my gym, or– Or– It can still be yours. But I just– I miss you in my bed. Lola too, the little blanket-hogging jerk. I’m tired of sleeping alone. I miss you.”

Tears were pricking at your eyes again, but this time they were good tears. They were tears of feeling so wanted, and wanting right back. They were tears of belonging.

“Please say something,” Ransom whispered, finally turning back to look at you. And he looked so scared. Scared of being vulnerable. Scared of being rejected. Scared of a life lived separately.

“Of course,” you whispered back. “Of course, I will, Ransom. I’d love to.”

And he seemed so young when he beamed at you in response. So hopeful. “Thank you,” he breathed, and kissed you on the forehead, because that was the part of you he could reach first. “Thank you,” he said again, and then pulled you into a soft, grateful kiss.

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 The Thrombey clan came into town the week before the wedding. Their time was mostly spent in meetings with Joseph and his team. Meeting the new extended family was to be left for the wedding festivities.

You hadn’t heard a word from Ransom. You’d thought of texting him a few times but couldn’t see the point in it. He’d made his feelings on you and your upcoming marriage clear. Any added effort would just be torturing yourself.

Then, suddenly, the rehearsal dinner was passing without incident. It was a catered affair, held at your parents’ house. Despite being one of the two nominal guests of honor, aside from the initial introductions, you were mostly ignored, as business remained the topic at the forefront of everyone’s minds. Ransom was there, of course, seated next to you, even, but he did his best to avoid you. You were torn between intense relief for the moment and absolute terror for what it meant for your future. When you noticed him quietly ducking out, you took the opportunity to leave as well, hoping most people would think you’d absconded together. The thought made you laugh bitterly.

You spent your last night of freedom snuggled up with Lola in Steve’s guest room. You barely slept.

Now, you sat in a plush robe in front of the vanity in the large hotel suite that sat several floors above the event hall you’d be getting married in in just over one hour. Steve sat sentinel in an armchair near you, already in his tux. People had been coming in and out all day – manicurists, aestheticians, makeup artists, hairstylists, your mother until she’d gotten called away for the pictures they didn't need you for. The female members of Ransom’s family too. His aunt, Joni, had only been in briefly, saying that the energy of the room was all wrong and she’d had to leave. Her daughter Meg had sat with you for a while, but she just kept complaining about how awful Ransom was and Steve eventually kicked her out, probably trying to spare you a panic attack. And then there was Ransom’s mother, Linda. She had been in a few times ‘to check on the progress.’ You’d tried very hard not to get stressed out by her, but she was very… severe, and you felt about a foot tall every time she looked at you. And now here she was, again.

“Darling,” she said, and you tried not to balk at the fact that you’d know this woman for less than 24 hours and she was already using endearments, “you’ll be needed for pictures soon and you aren’t dressed yet?”

You gestured to the two people at the rolling clothing rack who were carefully removing your dress from the garment bag. “We’re about to start putting it on. I’ll be ready soon.”

“Fantastic. Maybe it’s time for Steve to go then,” she cut a glance to your stepbrother.

“Not fucking likely,” he muttered. He’d been stuck to you like glue all day.

Linda’s eyebrows crawled up to her hairline. “I just think that some people might find it inappropriate for you to be in here while your sister gets dressed.”

He stood up and took a step toward her. “I’ll turn around,” he growled.

“Steve,” you sighed. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” It wasn’t. You wouldn’t be, but none of that could be helped.

He looked at you carefully, his eyes flitting over your face. Finally, he nodded, “OK. I’ll see you out there then.” With a quick, reassuring touch to your arm, he left. 

Linda watched him leave and once he was out the door, she turned to you and said, “You and your stepbrother are very close, aren’t you?”

Something about her tone made you incredibly wary. “Yes,” you said cautiously, “he’s my best friend.”

“Isn’t that lovely?” she said with a thin-lipped smile that made it clear she thought anything but. 

You noted her reaction as you returned her smile and removed your robe. You let the attendants help you step into the dress where they’d pooled it on the floor. They pulled it up around you and you stood still as they fastened and arranged the dress on you. All under Linda’s watchful eye, her arms crossed over her chest. When it was all done and you’d stepped into your heels, you turned to her so that she could give the approval you could feel she was dying to give.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” she said. Just as you were about to thank her, she added, “Although, I suppose it would be hard not to be, with all these people working on you, huh?” Her tone was warm and friendly, but you took it as the cut down you knew she meant it to be. 

Still, you smiled. “Well, we should probably get down there, shouldn’t we?”

Everyone oohed and aahed appropriately when you arrived at the courtyard space reserved for photographs. Your mother was crying again. Joseph smiled at you, possibly the warmest smile he’d ever given you, and said “Beautiful,” but it was less like a compliment and more confirmation that everything was the way he needed it to be, like he was commenting on furniture. You smiled anyway and thanked him, then moved where the photographers directed you. 

This round of pre-ceremony pictures was reserved for the families. Ransom had already done his and then been dismissed, to ‘preserve the big reveal’ you were told. You’d been asked earlier if you wanted to do first-look photos and declined. That had been interpreted as you wanting to have the big moment when you walked down the aisle to him. Instead, you just knew that he wouldn’t give them the reaction they were looking for. You’d rather spare yourself that embarrassment. 

The thing about these arrangements was that while they were all about business and everyone knew it, people still wanted the trappings of romance. The big wedding at a fancy venue, awe on the groom’s face when he saw the bride in her dress for the first time, a joyful reception with speeches about true love. It had made you roll your eyes when you’d gone to friends’ weddings, but now that it was your own, it all made you want to scream. 

You posed with Linda and Ransom’s father, Richard, a benign smile on your face. And then it was Harlan’s turn. “You look absolutely lovely,” he said to you, kindly. “You’re going to be so good for my grandson.” You responded with that same placid smile. You wondered if anyone had told Ransom that he was going to be good for you. You doubted it. That part didn’t seem to matter.

Next, it was time for your own family. Your mother and Joseph, together and then separately, and then Steve joined you for the full family. Once that was done, the photographers started to dismiss you, but you stopped them. “I want a few with just me and Steve.”

They looked at you and then Joseph and Linda, “That’s not on the list of required shots.”

“I don’t care,” you said, “I want them.”

“Darling,” Linda started, and you wanted to growl, “I’m not sure there’s time.”

“I don’t care,” you said again, “everyone can wait the five minutes this is going to take. I’m the bride, I doubt they’ll start without me. Isn’t today my day?”

Linda took a step back and nodded to the photographers but you could feel her watching you as Steve stepped up to you. “And people think I’m the troll,” he said, low enough for only you to hear. 

You smiled, possibly your first genuine smile all day. “You are the troll,” you said. “I’m the sweet one who does what she’s told without complaint.”

He snorted, “Sure,” and turned his head as the photographers directed. 

When it was all done, you took a deep breath and tried to prepare yourself as everyone but you and Steve began to make their way back inside.

“You ready?” he asked, concern all over his face.

You shook your head. “Not even remotely.”

He looked over your shoulder. “I know–” he began but stopped for a moment before he started again. “I know that if she had lived, we never would have met, but I still think, sometimes, about how much my mom would have loved you. Just as much as I do.”

“Steve,” you gasped.

He grabbed both of your hands. “You are the strongest, bravest person I know and you can do this.”

Your eyes welled up as you squeezed his hands, feeling like you’d completely fall apart if you let go. “I don’t know if I can,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he said, oh so gently, “all you have to do right now is get through the ceremony. That’s it. You don’t need to think about what comes after. Focus on what’s directly in front of you. Nothing else. Just walk down the aisle and say I do when it’s your turn. That’s it. You can do that. I know you can do that. I wish you didn’t have to, but you can.”

 You took a deep breath. And another. And then you nodded. “I can.”

He smiled, big and genuine and still more than a little sad. He pulled you in for a hug, exceedingly careful to not mess anything up, and said again, “You can. I know you can.”

Someone stepped out of the big French doors leading into the vestibule your party was gathering in and waved frantically at you. Another deep breath. “OK,” you said.

He just nodded and guided you back inside.

Joseph walked you down the aisle. It wasn’t your choice, but this day had always been more about him than it ever was about you, so of course he would be the one to walk you. You would have chosen Steve. But you also would have chosen not to do this at all. 

The walk was both agonizingly long and much, much too short. Ransom waited for you at the end of it, dressed in a designer tux and devastatingly handsome. You searched his face for anything, but he remained completely stoic, his eyes hard. You had to look away.

There were so many people gathered to watch your life change forever. As you gazed over the faces of the people seated on your side, you weren’t sure you recognized even half of them. You realized with a jolt that this was the most alone you’d ever felt, in this hall surrounded by hundreds of people, all eyes on you.

So much sooner than you were ready for, you’d arrived at the front, Joseph placing you in front of Ransom and joining your hands together. Ransom’s hands were soft and his grasp wasn’t nearly as harsh as you’d expected. You took a deep breath—every other thought since you’d stepped into the hall was to remind yourself to keep breathing—and met his gaze. It was still hard, but, maybe, maybe there wasn’t hate there.

Maybe you just didn’t know him well enough yet to be able to tell. 

The ceremony went quickly. You struggled to focus on the officiant’s words. It was like you were in a sort of fugue state. But you repeated after him when you were supposed to. You said ‘I do’ when you were prompted. You played your part.

Ransom did too. You’d half expected him to just not show up at all, or walk out part-way through, or something but he was under the same familial pressures as you, you reasoned. At the end of the day, you all just did what you were told.

Before you knew it, it was done. There was a ring on your finger and one on his. You barely remembered placing it there. You registered the officiant saying “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” and stared at Ransom. You expected him to swoop in and take what was his, but he paused. There was a clear question in his eyes. Shocked, you realized he was asking permission. As subtly as you could, you nodded. He gave a barely perceptible nod back and then he was kissing you. It wasn’t chaste, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t passionate either. Open-mouthed, but no tongue, and done quickly, the faintest taste of whiskey on his lips. Everyone applauded.

   The processional music started and you began to move without even realizing it, Ransom right beside you. And in that moment, when you had nothing else to focus on, no other immediate job to do, everything hit you. Holy fuck, you were married. This man beside you was your husband. One of your knees buckled and your steady leg caught the edge of your dress and just as you were sure you were about to go down, someone grabbed your hand and you felt another hand on your opposite hip, holding you up. “Wait to collapse in private, if you can,” Ransom murmured to you, dryly, then basically carried you the rest of the way down the aisle. 

You were both ushered into a small sitting room off the main hall for a moment of privacy as your guests were moved into the ballroom where the reception would take place and before you would take pictures with your new husband. Once the two of you were alone, you tried to steady your breathing and shove down the panic clawing its way up your throat. You were married. It had actually happened. It was real. You steadied yourself on the bookshelf beside you and tried to think about what Steve had said. Focus on what was directly in front of you. You’d gotten through the ceremony by doing that, so now it was just pictures and the reception. That was all you had to worry about. You could do that. You could.

“You good?” Ransom’s voice cut through your internal monologue and you turned back around to face him where he was standing on the other side of the small room, pasting that fucking smile on your face. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Today is just a lot. But I’m fine. Thank you for helping me, before.”

“Well,” he smirked, “I couldn’t have my new wife embarrass me thirty seconds in, could I?”

Your smile went brittle and a small voice in your head chanted fifty years of this but you tamped it down. Pictures and the reception. Pictures and the reception. That was all you had to get through right now.

There was a light knock and then the door opened. One of the photographers peeked in, a camera in their hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” they said. “Just wanted to get some intimate, candid shots, before we go outside for the formal pictures.” Their eyes moved between you and Ransom and you knew they were measuring the space between you.

You shook your head and tried to keep your tone friendly. “No need, just the formal ones are fine.” You didn’t need any more documentation of this day than was absolutely necessary. 

“Oh,” they said, surprised, “well, Mrs. Drysdale wanted–”

“Linda can fuck right off,” Ransom interrupted. “We’ll come outside now.” He shouldered his way past them and out the door. You just smiled and followed him, the photographer chasing after you both.

The pictures went quickly, you both seeming to want them over with as fast as possible. He didn’t say much to you, aside from the occasional exclamation like, “Jesus Christ, is this skirt big enough?” when he tried to move around you or pose behind you. The photographers kept trying to get you to look at each other, but when you did, it clearly didn’t give them the result they wanted, so they moved on quickly.

Afterward, you were escorted into the ballroom, where your entrance was met with applause. Your face was beginning to hurt from all the placid smiling you’d done all day. 

You blanched when you realized that you and Ransom were the only ones seated at the head table. You wouldn’t have anyone to talk to. 

There was still some time before dinner would be served. You could already see people beginning to make their way toward you to offer their congratulations to fill the time. A server appeared at your table and you asked for a glass of champagne. Ransom requested his usual scotch then added, “There’s an extra hundred in it for you if you make sure I’m never holding an empty glass tonight.”

You could see the disaster waiting to happen, so you tried a quiet “Ransom,” as the server left, not really thinking before you said something.

He let out a hollow chuckle. “If that’s the kind of wife you’re going to be, let me tell you right now, this marriage isn’t going to work. I don’t respond well to nagging.”

You took a breath, “I wasn’t trying to nag,” you said, “I just–”

“Ransom!” a loud voice interrupted you. You looked over to see Ransom’s uncle, Walt, approaching your table. You’d been introduced to him very briefly the night before. “Congratulations on finally growing up and settling down,” he said, once he stood in front of his nephew. You felt Ransom stiffen next to you, but his face just had an obnoxious smirk on it. Walt’s eyes briefly cut to you but then returned to Ransom. “Although, she’s pretty young, isn’t she?”

Ransom rolled his eyes, still smirking. “Well, it’s not like I picked her, is it Walt? You got a problem with it, go tell Mom or Grandad.” 

You bit your lip at being spoken about like you weren’t sitting right there. But you knew better than to cause a scene, so you quietly said, “Excuse me,” and left the table. Neither of them seemed to notice, locked in a hostile stare-down.

You’d only made it a few feet when someone you didn’t recognize was pulling you aside to offer their congratulations. You smiled and politely nodded through it and when it was done you were grabbed by someone else and then someone else. You crossed paths with Steve briefly before you were both pulled in other directions. You only got a break when they started serving dinner. You got back to your seat to find Ransom sitting alone, sipping his scotch as full plates of food were placed before you. You didn’t have much of an appetite.

You picked at your food and mostly moved it around the plate, while Ransom ate hungrily beside you. Neither of you said anything. After the second course was served, the speeches started. Joseph mostly spoke about the two families coming together and all the opportunities that represented. You wanted to stage whisper to him that it was customary to at least mention the couple at some point, but then he sprinkled Ransom’s name in. A brief mention of how proud he was to be gaining a son like him. You wanted to laugh. They barely knew each other. As if Joseph cared at all about what kind of man he was giving you to. You were finally mentioned at the very end as he toasted his “beautiful stepdaughter and her new husband. To a long and fruitful marriage!” You wanted to break something.

Harlan, for his part, was much more focused. He, of course, referenced all the new opportunities this would bring, it was why you were all here, after all. But he mostly talked about his grandson, how much he loved him, all the potential Ransom had, and once again, how good you were going to be for him. You wondered if you just started screaming right there, what people would do. 

As for Ransom, judging by his body language, he seemed to enjoy both speeches just as much as you had. You wondered if the rest of the guests could feel how miserable you both were and just chose to ignore it. Probably.

When the speeches were done and the tables were cleared, it was time for your first dance. Ransom made it clear by the way he stood up that this was the last thing he wanted to be doing. You tried not to let it bother you, it wasn’t like you were especially excited about this either, and kept your head held high as you came around the table to join him. He took your hand to lead you onto the dance floor and you were once again surprised by the way he held it gently when you’d half-expected him to drag you out there.

You hadn’t chosen whatever song you were about to dance to. You could’ve, probably, but you’d begged off of most of the decision-making for the day, unable to drum up an opinion on any of it. So you had no right to complain as the opening strains of “At Last” filled the ballroom, but you had to stifle an eye-roll anyway. Of course, they went for something that romantic, that cliche. They were all lucky you didn’t burst out laughing.

Ransom pulled you in close with a hand on your lower back, as you put one of yours on his shoulder and he took your other hand in his. It all felt strangely respectful, the way his hand didn’t wander from the small of your back and he held you close but not too close, with plenty of breathing room between you. You weren’t sure how to wrap your head around it, what it all meant.

He was a good dancer, most likely the product of formal dance lessons as a teenager, just like you’d had. It made it easy to keep your polite smile in place as all eyes in the room were on you.

“You’re good at that,” Ransom said.

You shrugged. “A variety of dance classes since I was seven.”

He chuckled. “No, I meant the smiling thing.” When you just looked at him, confused, he continued. “Unless you’re much dumber than I think, you hate this just as much as I do. But look at you, that smile hasn’t dropped all fucking day. You’re having such a nice time, aren’t you? Being the good girl they all expect you to be. Can’t ever let them know you’re upset. Oh no, that just isn’t done.”

You nearly tripped, but you had the good grace to keep going. You kept your face pleasant to everyone watching as you gritted out “And what am I supposed to do instead, huh? Glower and glare because I didn’t get what I wanted? Be an asshole to everyone? And where exactly would that get me? We’re both here, Ransom, stuck in this. At least my way of dealing with it doesn’t make anyone else’s life more difficult.”

He chuckled again. “No one’s but mine,” he said, but instead of just irritation, there was a glimmer in his eye, too, that you couldn’t begin to interpret. It was almost like part of him was having fun. 

The song ended, fading into the next, and more couples joined you on the dance floor. Keeping your hand in his, Ransom led you back to the table, depositing you there and grabbing his drink, before disappearing amongst the tables. 

Ransom didn’t come back. You'd stayed at the table for a bit, for want of anything else to do. When you got bored of that, you wandered through the crowd, accepting congratulations and trying to find familiar faces. You knew there were a few of your own friends in attendance, but you were afraid to face them, knowing you’d see pity on the faces of the luckily single and recognition on those who were already married. You wouldn’t see much of them anymore anyway, with you leaving for Boston the next day. You couldn’t think about that yet. Focus on what’s in front of you.

You were periodically offered champagne from a passing server and you accepted every time, leading to you now feeling pleasantly floaty. It was a nice break from just how very much you’d been feeling the rest of the day.

You arrived back at your seat, without really intending to, to find Steve waiting for you. He was staring into the corner of the room with a disgruntled expression. “I could fucking kill him,” he mumbled.

You followed his gaze and found Ransom with a group of Harvard-looking bros doing shots by the bar. You shrugged. “He’s getting drunk over there and I’m getting drunk over here,” you said as you downed your champagne and began looking around for a server. 

Steve sighed your name. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

He guided you to a chair and then sat down beside you. “Where’d you get off to?” you asked.

Steve rolled his eyes and groaned. “Dad,” was all he said. You nodded. For all that he wasn’t in your situation, as his father’s heir, he had many heavy responsibilities and obligations weighing on him. You were both caged in by this family.

“Does that mean you’re speaking to him again?” you asked, your voice free of judgment.

Even so, he grimaced. “Only when I have to.” He sighed and looked at you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Steve,” you said, sincerely.

He shook his head. “It’s not.” He paused, then, “I wish there’d been a way for me to stop this.”

“Steve,” you sighed. It wasn’t worth talking about again.

Over by the bar, Ransom let out a loud, hearty laugh that carried over to where you were sitting. Steve glared. “You don’t deserve this,”

You shrugged. “It’s what I have, I guess.” Then before he could continue the conversation, you added, “Can we please talk about anything else?”

He looked at you carefully and then nodded. “Sure,” he said, the sympathy in his eyes almost too much for you to bear, and then launched into a twenty-minute explanation of the painting he was working on. You didn’t think you’d ever been more grateful for him. And you hadn’t even thought to ask a server for more champagne. 

The conversation only ended when your mother appeared in front of you. Steve stood up to greet her, smiling warmly, and then excused himself, squeezing your hand as he went.

“Honey, we’re going to go. I just wanted to make sure I said goodbye to you first.”

You stood up and hugged her. “You’ll be there to send us off tomorrow, right?”

“Oh, honey, no. Joseph had something come up and you know how hard it is for me to get around by myself.”

You felt the bottom drop out of everything. “You’re not going to say goodbye?”

“Of course, I am, darling. That’s what I’m doing right now.”

Suddenly, only focusing on what was directly in front of you was impossible. You were married to a stranger who couldn’t stand you. Tomorrow, you would be leaving everything you knew to go to a new home where you didn’t have anything or anyone. And your mom wouldn’t even be there to say goodbye.

“Steve would come to get you, you know he would,” you tried desperately.

“Honey, no, I can’t,” she said firmly and it took everything in you not to burst into tears. “Now, come on,” she drew you into another hug. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Mom,” you whispered, your voice so thick. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Of course, you can,” she pulled back and looked you in the eye. “I know it seems hard, now, but it’ll be easier than you think to keep him happy.” She gently touched your cheek. “All you have to do is listen, and not argue too much. You’re going to be such a good wife and mother. I just know it.” 

She leaned forward to hug you again and you went stiff in her arms. Everything she’d gone through – two marriages that weren’t her choice, a husband that was so cold to her and her daughter, a lonely life. And here she was, offering you up for the same fate. You didn’t know how you were supposed to bear this.

“Have a safe flight,” she whispered in your ear and then she was gone. You didn’t watch her go. You just sank back into your chair, ready for the night to end. 

A while later, you heard someone call your name. You turned around to see Richard. “I think it’s time for Ransom to call it a night.” You followed Richard’s gaze to see Ransom slumped over in a chair. You almost asked him why he was telling you. Then you remembered that Ransom was your husband now. Your problem, your responsibility. You nodded to Richard and thanked him, smiling at him, of fucking course. 

When you got to Ransom, he looked up at you and laughed. “Well, if it isn’t the wife!” he slurred. “We were just talking about you.” You looked over at the men on either side of him, equally drunk, and tried not to feel too humiliated. 

The crowd was thinning, but there were still people around and you could feel their eyes on you, so you did your best to keep your tone and face calm. “Ransom, it’s time to go up to our room.” 

One of his companions snickered and you were suddenly struck by what might await you in that room. You’d been so focused on just getting through the next thing that you’d protected yourself from thinking about what he might want, what he might demand, once you were alone. But looking at him now, as he struggled to stand up or get any control over his body at all, you hoped that you might be safe for this night, at least. 

Steve appeared at your elbow. “Fucking ridiculous,” he mumbled, low enough that it didn’t seem to be for you. Then louder he asked, “You need help getting him up to the room?”

You turned to him to answer, but then you saw Linda over his shoulder, watching you both carefully. You shook your head. “No, you can’t. I’ll be fine. I’ll–” Ransom took that moment to fall loudly back into his chair. He was way too big for you to handle on your own. You sighed and looked around for anyone who might help. “I’ll get Richard to help me.”

Steve looked at you confused. “I can do it.”

“I know,” you said, “but I just can’t let you. It– The way it would look,” you shook your head again.

You could tell he still didn’t get it, but he let it drop. “Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow. And if you need anything between now and then,” he sent a scathing look to Ransom, “you call me.”

You nodded, knowing you wouldn’t, as he squeezed your wrist and left and you went to track down Richard.

After much struggle, you finally got Ransom into the honeymoon suite, Richard retreating as soon as his son was safely dumped into an armchair next to the bed. And then you were alone with him. You just stared at him for a moment, then asked, “Can you get yourself undressed?”

“ ‘fcourse,” he mumbled, then thrashed around in his tux jacket. You put a hand on his shoulder, trying to still his wild movements, then tugged off the jacket. You carefully began unbuttoning his shirt, trying to touch him no more than absolutely necessary, but he still smirked at you. “That desperate to get me naked?” he asked. You rolled your eyes and tried to keep going, but a hand on your wrist stopped you. “Hey,” he said, very seriously. He tried to lock eyes with you, but his kept drooping, as he continued. “We don’t have to do anything t’night. Not if you don’t want.”

You scoffed. “Yeah?” you asked. “Is that you or your whiskey dick talking?” You regretted it immediately, you were so tired. You waited for the insult to land, to see how he’d react, but he’d stopped paying attention, his head lolling against the back of the chair. You finished with the buttons and kneeled in front of him to take off his shoes. When that was done, you stood back up. “Please tell me you can get your own pants.”

He nodded, shrugging off his unbuttoned shirt, and stood up. He struggled with his belt for a few minutes, but eventually got it off, then pawed at his fly until he was able to undo that as well. As he moved to the bed, his pants slowly slid down his legs. You tried not to look at him, but you couldn’t help yourself. Under any other circumstances, you would find him so beautiful. It wasn’t fair. How dare he look like that and treat you like this. Just another aspect of this whole fucking mess that made you want to cry.

He stumbled to the edge of the bed and then threw himself forward, collapsing onto it face down, lying across it diagonally. Almost immediately, he started snoring. You just stood there a moment, watching him take up the entire bed. Fuck. It was fine. It’s not like you were going to sleep much anyway. You tugged his pants the rest of the way off his legs and threw them onto the pile of the rest of his clothes. 

You turned your attention back to yourself and stopped, suddenly gripped by panic. You tried to reach behind yourself and begin unfastening your dress, but the line of delicate hook and eye fastenings was too difficult to get without being able to see them. And you couldn’t reach all of them anyway. Oh god, you were going to be stuck in your dress all night. 

There was no one to help you. Ransom was out like a light and would be too drunk and clumsy even if he were conscious. Your mom had gone home. You couldn’t call Steve. He would come help at the drop of a hat, but if anyone saw him coming into your room… No. You were completely alone.

Every feeling you’d tried to push down and ignore this whole awful day came bubbling to the surface. You finally cried, your body wracked with sobs. You couldn’t control it. As you did, you still tried to wrestle with your dress, but your panic and sorrow made getting out of it impossible. So you sank down to the ground and just let the tears come. 

When you were finally all cried out, you stood up and moved to the bathroom. You took off your makeup and took down your hair, redoing it in the way you always slept in. You brushed your teeth and finished up with your skincare routine. Then you went back into the bedroom and grabbed a blanket off the bed. You moved into the adjoining living room and sank down onto the couch, arranging your giant dress around you. You turned on the TV and settled on a marathon of some procedural crime show you were pretty sure you’d seen before. You couldn’t decide whether or not you wanted the night to go quickly.

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But you stopped short when you got in the door and were met with that sonic wall of screaming. But as you looked around, there were no guests, no one unexpected, no source of the sound. The lower floor was empty aside from Ransom sitting on the couch, Lola held firmly on his lap as he gently petted her.

“What’s going on?” you shouted across the room.

Ransom jumped slightly, not having realized you were home, then scrambled for his phone. Immediately, the noise, blessedly, stopped. “Sorry,” he said, blushing a little, and for the first time you were pretty sure you were seeing Ransom self-conscious. “Lola and I have been working on getting used to the sounds of a baby when you aren’t around. Google says it’s a good way to prepare your dog.”

You didn’t try to stop the warm smile you felt taking over your face. “Oh yeah? How’s she doing?”

He let her off his lap, and she scampered over to you. “She’s doing good. Making a lot of progress. It isn’t so scary anymore, is it?”

Lola looked up at you and wagged her tail. “Good job, baby,” you said to her as you put down your bags and picked her up. “What else does Google say?”

“Uh,” Ransom scratched the back of his neck. He was embarrassed by how much work and thought he’d put into this. It made your heart melt. “We should be getting her used to the new smells too, so letting her sniff anything we buy for the baby. And we should introduce any new routines or patterns right now. Get her used to being taken care of by both of us, not just you.”

“You already do a good job of that,” you said sincerely.

He shrugged. “I’m trying.” He bent down to look through your bags. “Speaking of new smells, what did you get?”

“Oh, I passed by a little baby store on my way home, so I decided to stop in and see what I could find.”

Ransom took out a pretty lilac onesie and a soft sage blanket. He carefully held them up for Lola to smell. “It’s so tiny,” he said softly, reverently smoothing his thumb over the onesie.

“Yeah,” you answered, moving your free hand to your bump, which was big enough now that you felt like you could barely call it that. “I think she’s going to be even teenier than we realize.”

Ransom delicately put the baby’s things back in the bag and moved both of his hands to your stomach. You felt the baby shift in response, the way she did right before she was about to start punching you. Ransom had yet to feel her, and you knew it was bothering him, so you grabbed one of his wrists and moved it a few inches to where she’d started to press against you. “She’s right there,” you whispered.

Ransom pressed his lips together in concentration, and then his brow furrowed in frustration. “I still can’t-“ She moved again, and he froze. “Wait,” he said, so quietly like he didn’t want to spook her, and she kicked again, almost in response. “That’s her?” he asked, breathless.

“Yeah,” you grinned, “that’s her.” And then, feeling like your heart was cracking wide open, you added, “She’s saying hi to her daddy.”

You felt his breath hitch through his hands on you. He looked up, tears in his eyes and a scared, happy, joyful smile on his face. He moved one hand up to your cheek while the other stayed pressed to the spot where your daughter was, and kissed you, soft and slow and happy. So, so happy.

You were sharing the couch with Ransom, both reading quietly with Lola snuggled between you, when it washed over you. This had happened a few times now. Heat coursing through your whole body. Need. Out of nowhere. You knew it was normal. You’d read about it in your books. But that didn’t make it any easier.

The last time you’d tried to take care of it yourself while Ransom was at work, but you’d discovered that your belly was now too big for you to reach around and get to your core, even with your vibrator. So you’d cried alone in your bed until it finally passed. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do that again.

You looked over at Ransom over your book. God, he was so beautiful. It still kind of made you mad, even after all this time. The way your feet were pulled up onto the couch, your toes just barely grazed his thigh. You moved back quickly. As much as every part of your body was screaming at you to crawl onto his lap and make him fuck you, you couldn’t actually do that. You didn’t even know if he wanted it. Plus, you were pretty sure that if he touched you, you’d actually explode.

At your movement, he looked up at you. “You okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed the way it did anytime you displayed the slightest hint of discomfort or displeasure.

You smiled and hoped it didn’t come across as a grimace. “I’m fine, just a little uncomfortable.”

“Do you want me to go get you another pillow? Would that help?”

You shook your head vigorously. “Nope! I’m fine. It’s fine. Just ignore me.” You took a deep, slow breath as the need got even worse.

And the way he was pinning you down with his gaze wasn’t helping. “You don’t seem like you’re uncomfortable. You seem like you’re in pain.” He reached a hand out to you, and you shrank back, knowing that if he touched you, you’d lose all semblance of control.

“It’s not pain, Ransom, I promise. Please. Please just drop it.” You could feel the tears starting to gather in your eyes as your whole body felt like it was about to catch fire.

“I’m not going to drop it if there’s something I can do to help,” he said firmly, and you wanted to scream.

“No, it’s– It’s fine, I just–“ You closed your eyes as you struggled to breathe normally. Finally, you gave up. He was worse than Steve; you weren’t going to be able to keep hiding this from him. “It’s the hormones. I just get really horny sometimes. Out of nowhere. And it’s awful, but it’ll pass.”

You felt the way he went completely still and opened your eyes. He was staring at you, a smirk on his face. “Well,” he said, and his voice had dropped at least an octave. It shot right through you. “That sounds like the exact sort of thing I can help with.”

“Ransom–“You shook your head, not sure of what to say. Not trusting yourself to say anything.

The smirk dropped off his face, and his eyes got serious. “Do you want me to help you with this?” he asked. And it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t sexy. It was a real question, and you knew that if you said no, he would leave you alone. Or maybe make you some tea. Find another way to help, to make you comfortable. But he wouldn’t touch you. And he wouldn’t keep asking.

Your eyes slipped closed again. “You don’t have to,” you answered, your voice small.

“Hey, look at me,” he commanded gently. You forced yourself to open your eyes, and he continued. “I know exactly what I do and don’t have to do. Do you want me to help you with this?”

With one more deep breath, you tried not to whine as you answered, “Yes. Please.”

And before the words had even fully left your mouth, he’d lunged across the couch and captured your lips in a deep, passionate, hungry kiss. It felt like he might eat you alive, and you wanted it. You wanted everything he could give you.

He had you flat on the couch, his body covering yours, even with your bump in the way. You took the opportunity when he came up for air to whine, “More. I– I–“

A gentle hand on your cheek grounded you. “I know, I know. I need you in my bed. Think you can get upstairs?”

A bed sounded nice with the way you were sagging off the couch. But you were also pretty sure that if he stopped touching you, you’d die. You clutched onto his wrist. “I think, but–“

“Yeah, I know,” he said, even as he peppered your neck with kisses, “I’ve got you.”

He helped you off the couch, never letting go of you. And as he moved you up the stairs, some part of him was always touching you. A hand wrapped around your wrist, another on your hip, his lips on the back of your neck.

Once in his bedroom, he stopped you before you could climb onto the bed. He kissed you again, breaking for just long enough to lift your t-shirt over your head and fling it behind him. One more kiss and then he was kneeling down beside you, working your leggings down your legs to the point you could kick them off your feet. Then, his hands moved reverently up your body—your ankles, your calves, your thighs—to your panties, which he pulled down with equal reverence. Then he continued moving up, placing a gentle kiss on your belly and then working to undo your bra. Once he’d freed your breasts, he took them in both hands as he buried his face in your neck.

“Ransom,” you whined, tugging on his shirt, as he still somehow had all of his clothes on. You needed them off. You needed them off right now.

You felt him grin into your neck, and then he pulled away enough that you could get his shirt off. You ran both hands up his stomach and chest. How was he fair? How was he yours? (Because he was now. He was he was he was.) You dropped your hands to undo his pants, but he stopped you, lifting them so he could kiss your knuckles. Then he very carefully laid you down on his bed, moving a pillow to support your lower back. He trailed kisses down your entire body before he stood back up and took the rest of his clothes off as fast as he possibly could.

Once he was finally naked, he paused for a moment at the foot of the bed, and you both just stared at each other. Even as you’d gotten to know him, gotten used to him, you’d never get used to the way he seemed like he was carved from marble. Or how his skin glowed. Or how–

“God, look at you,” his whisper interrupted your thoughts. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” And then his hands were back on your body, spreading your legs so that he could slot himself between them. He hooked one ankle over his shoulder. “That feel okay?” he asked.

All you could do was nod, and he immediately returned his lips to you, working his way up your inner thigh. With a jolt, you realized what he meant to do, and you reached out an urgent hand to him. “You don’t have to–“ you started but were cut off when he turned back to you with a playful glare.

“What did I say about that?” he asked, his voice so low.

He’d gone back to kissing up your thigh, and you had to force yourself to take a breath, to unfog your mind, to remember what he said. “You said–” you paused with a gasp as his lips got so, so close to the center of you. “You said you already know what you do and don’t have to do.”

“That’s right,” he muttered into your thigh. “And I want to do this. I’m desperate to find out what you taste like.” Then he lifted his head to make eye contact with you. “But if you really don’t want me to, I won’t.” You took another breath and opened your mouth, even though you weren’t sure what your response would be. “But please, please, let me taste you, baby. I’ll stop if you hate it. I promise.”

“What if you hate it?” you asked, voice small, even as you were desperate to just finally say yes.

He laughed and sent you a dirty smirk. “I can guaran-fucking-tee that I won’t.”

Your body was burning up again, so with a small moan you finally let go. “Yes, please.”

And just like that, his mouth was on you. You threw your head back on a gasp, like all the air had been punched out of your body. Your hands bunched into the sheets on either side of your head as he lapped at you like a man starved. You felt his tongue moving between your folds, getting to know you, searching for your clit. The second he found it, your eyes slammed shut, your body spasmed, and you felt more than heard his pleased hum. He experimented with licks first, before he wrapped his tongue around it and gave it a hard suck. You couldn’t help the lewd moan you released, and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed.

You’d never felt anything like this. Not with the only other person you’d ever had sex with. And you’d certainly never let Ransom do anything like this before, not when getting pregnant had been the only goal and everything else had seemed like a waste of time. And definitely not by yourself. You’d never taken such care with yourself.

Your breaths were coming fast as you felt yourself climbing, climbing, climbing. A good, soft warmth was moving through your body as you felt his hands on your hips, firmly holding onto you. Keeping you from floating away. Your eyes slipped open; you weren’t sure why, but you were immediately met with Ransom’s intense gaze, locked on your face to take in every single nuance of your reaction. And the way he was looking at you, watching you…

That was what did it. That was what sent you over the edge. The way that he saw you. The look in his eyes. You came with a cry, your body shaking apart, only anchored by his hands on your hips, pinning you down to earth.

His mouth stayed on you through your whole orgasm and all the aftershocks. Drinking you up, like he couldn’t get enough. Then, slowly but surely, he began working his way back up you, his lips and hands moving in tandem as he traversed your whole body. Once he got to your neck, he nuzzled into you before meeting your eyes with a cocky smirk. “Feeling better?”

You tried to nod, but all of your bones were like jelly. And while the need inside of you was no longer so insistent, no longer hot enough to burn, there was still something simmering under the surface. Something that had made your legs clamp around Ransom at some point and now wouldn’t let him go. “I– I need–“ you tried to explain to him, but the words wouldn’t string together.

Ransom quirked an eyebrow, and his smirk turned dirty. “You need more, baby?” he asked, voice low. “It’s okay. You can tell me what you need, what you want.”

You felt your face heating up. Your eyes wanted to slip closed, to avoid the way he was looking at you, but you forced them to stay open. “I want–“ You tried to put what you were feeling into words, but everything just felt clumsy. You tried again, summing it up as best you could. “I want you.”

The smile that bloomed on Ransom’s face—you weren’t sure you’d ever seen it before. Cocky and hungry and happy, all rolled together. “I want you, too,” he said softly as he dipped his head down to kiss you, tender and eager with a thread of filth that you wanted to follow. But he broke it off too soon. “Do you want me inside you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed, and he kissed you again. His hand landed gently between your thighs, one and then two fingers working their way inside of you. They were big and thick as they spread you, but they weren’t enough. “Ransom,” you whined, “I need– That’s not–“

“Hey, I know,” he cooed softly, still working you open with his fingers, “I’m just making sure that orgasm got you ready to take me. I want it to feel good.”

Suddenly you felt self-conscious; he’d already done so much for and to you, and you hadn’t even offered to do anything for him in return. You reached for his length. “I can help get you ready, too,” you said, a little embarrassed.

Ransom laughed, his head thrown back, but it wasn’t mean; it wasn’t judging. It was warm and playful. “Babe, I’m harder than a fucking diamond right now. I don’t need a goddamn thing to get me ready for you.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said with a grin. “You’re so hot like this. Your taste on my lips and the thought of your warm pussy are all I need to get me going. You ready too? You comfortable?”

You flopped back down, giving in to your body and what it was telling you. “Yes, I– Yes.”

That was all it took for him to kiss you again, his body fully covering your own, taking special care to keep his weight off your stomach, as he carefully slid his fingers out of you. You whined at the emptiness, but the shortest moment later he was lining himself up and slowly filling you with his cock.

On instinct, or maybe out of habit, your eyes slammed closed, retreating inside yourself as you felt your insides stretch to try to accommodate him. But before you got very far, you were brought back by a hand, Ransom’s hand, squeezing yours gently.

“Hey, open your eyes,” he directed softly. You did, immediately, and found his blue gaze boring into you. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “You can be here, right now. I’ve got you. It’s okay. I promise. I’ve got you.”

You took a deep breath and nodded. You believed him. You trusted him. As he bottomed out inside of you, you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close. For a long moment neither of you moved, and all you could feel was his cock spreading you open and his stuttered breaths on your neck. And then he shifted so that his forehead touched yours and his lips brushed your lips as he said, “Fucking shit. You feel so fucking good. Tell me– Please tell me I can move. Goddamn.”

“Ransom, please, yes, please,” tumbled out of you as you felt so full you thought you might lose your mind. And it only got worse as he began to rock in and out of you. “Ransom, Ransom,” you chanted, your arms still wrapped around him. One of his hands came up to cup your cheek, and you felt electricity flow through you where he touched you.

He shifted his hips and hit a spot inside of you that had a cry suddenly tearing through you. “Yeah?” he asked with a proud grin. “Right there?”

“Please, yes, yes, yes,” you babbled as he kept hitting it and you were climbing again, up and up and up and–

“Let go,” he whispered in your ear, as his thumb began to press insistent circles on your clit, “go ahead. I’ve got you. I want to see it again.”

One more thrust and you did what he asked, sailing over the edge, shaking apart as you gripped him tightly to you.

“Goddammit, look at you, you’re so beautiful. You feel so fucking good,” he babbled as he fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own. “Holy fuck,” he growled as he joined you not long after, filling you up and holding you tight.

The two of you stayed collapsed on the bed in a heap, just breathing heavily into each other’s necks. After several long moments, Ransom tried to move, but you couldn’t figure out how to move your limbs to let him go. “Hey,” he assured you softly, “I just want to get us cleaned up.”

“Not yet,” you whispered. “Just– Not yet.”

“Yeah, okay. Okay,” he soothed you, dropping his body back down so that he blanketed you again.

Focused on Ransom’s breathing, you slowly came back to yourself. Once the high of your orgasms slowly ebbed away, you couldn’t explain the loss you felt. You knew, intellectually, that it was probably all hormones, but that didn’t stop you from feeling a profound grief for everything that may have been. You were crying, you realized, too late to try to be able to hide it. And it wouldn’t have made a difference. Ransom was watching you too closely to not pick up on every little nuance.

“What’s wrong?” he immediately asked. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head. “No, no, you didn’t do anything. I’m okay. I’m good.”

“But something’s wrong?” His hand was tentatively running up and down your arm now, doing what he could to soothe you without knowing the cause.

“No, not really. I– I just–“ You took a deep breath, trying to stop yourself from crying harder. “I just didn’t know it could be like that. I wish it had always been like that.”

“Oh,” he said softly, under his breath, shifting so that he was no longer on top of you but still touching you with as much of his body as he could.

“And I know, I know that that’s all my fault. I know that I pushed and I pushed and– But I didn’t know. I just didn’t know.” A fresh wave of tears came, and you didn’t object as Ransom pulled you closer to him so that you could bury your face in his chest.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re alright. There’s nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t your fault. You were very scared, and we didn’t know each other. It wasn’t your fault.” He didn’t say anything else as he rubbed your back and let you cry it out.

After a few minutes, you pulled away, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining the mood. It really was so good. You made me feel so good.”

That got the return of his cocky smirk. “Yeah? It sure seemed like you enjoyed it.” Then his smile softened significantly. “You made me feel good, too.”

“Oh?” You ducked your head, suddenly shy. “That’s, that’s good. I’m glad. I want to– I want to do more. Next time. I want to learn what you like.”

“Next time, huh?” he grinned. “Yeah, we’ve got lots of next times in front of us. If you want. Plenty of time to learn about each other.”

You scooted closer to him, to cuddle into his warmth. “Yeah? That sounds really nice.”

“It will be,” he said definitively, wrapping an arm around you.

You were both quiet for a long time, just enjoying this peace together, when he stiffened a little bit and shifted. You looked up at his face to find him looking thoughtful, hesitant. Without thinking, you reached up to smooth out the furrow between his brows with your thumb. “What are you thinking about?”

He grimaced, like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “I, uh– Shit. I’m not good at this.”

“Good at what?” you asked.

“Asking for something I want. Even admitting that I want something I don’t already have.”

“What are you talking about?” You felt like you’d missed part of a conversation he’d been having with himself.

He sighed, put out, then mumbled, “I want you to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured him, a little confused.

“No, I mean–“ he sighed again and then turned onto his back so that he was no longer looking you in the eye. “I want you to stay here, in this room. I want it to be ours. I don’t want you to sleep across the hall anymore. And when we move into the new house, I want us both to be in the primary suite. I want it to be ours. I want everything to be ours.”

You could feel how big and round your eyes had gotten. “Oh,” was all you could say. But really, why were you so surprised? The part of you that believed that people only kept you around because they had to, that Ransom would rather have his life go back to normal but was stuck with you, had been getting quieter and quieter every day. Your husband had shown you how untrue that was in countless ways. So why couldn’t this be true too?

But Ransom seemed to take your shocked silence as resistance, so he kept going. “I know you want your own space, and I’m not saying that room has to go back to my gym, or– Or– It can still be yours. But I just– I miss you in my bed. Lola too, the little blanket-hogging jerk. I’m tired of sleeping alone. I miss you.”

Tears were pricking at your eyes again, but this time they were good tears. They were tears of feeling so wanted, and wanting right back. They were tears of belonging.

“Please say something,” Ransom whispered, finally turning back to look at you. And he looked so scared. Scared of being vulnerable. Scared of being rejected. Scared of a life lived separately.

“Of course,” you whispered back. “Of course, I will, Ransom. I’d love to.”

And he seemed so young when he beamed at you in response. So hopeful. “Thank you,” he breathed, and kissed you on the forehead, because that was the part of you he could reach first. “Thank you,” he said again, and then pulled you into a soft, grateful kiss.

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Your silence says more than any response could. The driver chuckles and opens the door. He pulls down the stool even as you protest it isn’t needed. He helps you inside by your elbow and you thank him.

“Be calm, lady, and I will have us to Mr. Clement’s by midday.” He avows.

“As you will have us. Take the road safety, is all I would bid, sir.” You settle into the bench and stack your hands in your lap.

The Lady Duchess, Diana Sombrette, would speak to Giles in a bolder tone, with impatience in her teeth. As she does all who do her bidding and even those who do not. She has little patience or pity for those who cannot meet her measure.

You cannot resent your place very much. It keeps you a palette to sleep and food in your belly. As meagre as both may be, they are preferable to none. You also cannot gripe for a task outside the castle walls, as oppressive as they are.

Giles takes his seat at the front of the carriage and puts the horses to trot. You rock with the motion of the axle. Mister Clement is not much more amiable than the Duchess. You do not relish even a brief rapport with the tailor.

The driver whistles and the willowy tune puts you at ease. You lean over to see past the curtains to the rows of trees and a cluster of brush beyond. The shadows of creatures unknown pass between the trunks and crack twigs and fallen branches beneath their paws.

The forests are a mysterious place. Treacherous. The noble claim right to them as their hunting and game grounds, while other less regarded figures trespass, hidden in caves and ravines as they plot against the proclaimed keepers. You shiver and try not to think of those tales, instead catching the white tail of a hare as it retreats from the clatter of the carriage.

You laze in the soft canter of the horses, barely noticing as they slow. It’s only as the uneven melody of the driver’s lips quiets that you break from your trance. You sit up as the rustle of branches and leaves fills the silence Giles grunts.

“What is the meaning of–”

Thunk! Something hits the side of the carriage and you wince as you notice the piercing point lodged through the upper corner. The arrow head stares you down as you clutch your hands over your heart. It cannot be!

“We have no conflict with you, sir,” a voice proclaims. “But with the lady within.”

“The lady… no, no, yer mistaken,” Giles insists.

“Are we? Is that not the duchess’ sigil upon those wheels? Hm? Painted by those hands she enslaves for her selfish needs.” The voice accuses again.

“They are, but the lady is back at the castle.” Giles insists.

“So you steer an empty carriage? How ridiculous.”

“I am on the duchess’ mission. I needn’t explain to you lot of scoundrels–”

Another startling thump lurches the carriage. The blade of a knife pokes through the other side of the wall. You gulp.

“We don’t wan’ harm you, fellow. You are only as we are. Crushed beneath the greed of that vile duchess.” The man continues. “We only ask that you step down and surrender your cargo.”

“I cannot do that–”

“We would not like to hurt you, but will if needed.” The voice sinks in warning. “We permit you one last chance.”

“I am done with you vermin!” Giles sneers and the reins snap. The horses jolt forward and the carriage bounces. The wheels turn one spin before they catch and something cracks. You fly from the bench and hit the parallel one before heaping onto the floor.

Giles cries out as you hear his body hit the dirt. You heave out a tight breath and gasp. Your body is paralysed as you struggle to breathe through the pain in your ribs.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” a grittier voice cuts through the chaos without and you hear a terrible slice and groan.

Footsteps clamour around the carriage as you rock and fight to sit up. When you find the strength to, the door opens from the other side. You cry out and kick your heels down, pushing yourself back. The door behind you swings out and you’re seized, hauled out into the open air.

“We’ve got her!” The men proclaim.

There’s a cheer from the dozen other bodies closing in on you. Your eyes flit back and forth as panic swirls in your vision. Your gaze clings to the body on the ground. Poor Giles is face down, a puddle of blood spreading through the dirt. Your stomach drops and your legs buckle.

 Several of the men part to let through a man in a wool cap and tattered grey clothing. He holds an axe as he walks with unbreakable pride in his shoulders. Your tremble as the edge of the tool glistens scarlet.

He stares you down as you wilt and wriggle against the two men clinging to your arms. He sighs and blinks slowly. He keeps his eyes closed.

“It is not her.” He hisses.

“It has to be! She was within. There is no other–”

“The driver was honest.” The man opens his eyes, irises icy blue. “I know the duchess. And she would never wear an apron of the sort.” He grips his hips. “She must suspect our plot.”

The men exchange looks and grumble.

“What do we do?” Another asks; the one who spoke to Giles earlier. “Let her go?”

“No. We cannot. It would only give the duchess more suspicion.” The man in the grey wool, the one you assume to be their leader, grits. “We keep her. Use her. She will know the duchess and her life. Perhaps she will afford us our next chance.”

“Hm, suppose that makes sense.” The other man responds thoughtfully.

“No one…” the leader raises his finger and comes forward. “Is to touch her.” He growls as he approaches you and waves off the men beside you. “I will get the information we need.”

🪓

The man walks you between the trees on a short length of rope. One end is wound around your wrists, the other in his grip as he tugs you along. The other men walk in pairs, whispering, watching the trees as they make cautious progress.

You keep your head down and stare at your thumbs. Your skirt catches on thorns and brambles and your soft-soled shoes slip on roots and moss. Several times the man yanks you as you slow to avoid falling.

He leads you down a steep ridged decline and at the bottom, you find a sight that strikes you. Tents set up on the flat of the ravine, a few women peeking out from the flaps with feral eyes. One emerges and sheaths a long dagger at her waist.

“Edgar,” she greets the man who did most of the talking back at the carriage. She rushes toward him then slows as she sees you next to the other man. She frowns. “What’s happened?”

“It wasn’t the duchess.” He says grimly as he squeezes the woman’s arm.

“Then…?” The woman prompts.

“We’ll figure it out,” the man at the other end of the rope snips and pulls you forward.

He drags you past the other women as they emerge; a few with children on their hips or behind their skirts. The man tugs you forward and grabs the back of your neck. He forces your head under the tent flap of the structure at the very rear of the settlement.

He points to the ground. “Sit.”

You obey. He gets down on his knees and winds the loose end of the robe around your ankles. You watch him without a word.

“You are the duchess’ sheep.” He accuses as he stands.

You lower your head. His soles scuff the ground. He grabs the waterskin slung around his torso and loosens the top. He drinks and hums. He tightens the tie on it and paces around.

“Maid.” He states.

“Yes.” You murmur.

“Close to her then.” He mulls as he brings his hand up to his chin. You peek up at the movement and find his cold eyes on you. You quickly drop your head again. “She’s lost a driver. Won’t want to lose you too.”

You chew your cheek. You’re not certain for that. The duchess dismissed Talula for bringing the wrong wine and the stable boy for kicking up dirt as she passed.

He walks a small circle, stops, then squats down in front of you. He rests his forearms on his knees.

“Look at me.” He snarls.

You look up as you shiver. “Sir.”

“Tell me everything.”

You scrunch up your nose in confusion.

“Tell me about what the duchess does in a day. Tell me when she pisses, when she eats, when she sleeps. Tell me everything you know.” He reaches to his belt and frees the axe, pointing it at your nose. “Believe me when I tell you, I can smell a lie before it’s told.”

You gulp. “I understand,” you wisp out. “I… I will be honest.”

He turns the axe and presses it to your chest. “Good woman.”

🪓

You sleep on the ground, as you have for nights past. You don’t count them. Knowing won’t help you. You shiver in the corner, wrists and ankles bound so you can only lay in a ball.

You groan as you shift. There is no comfort to be had; not waking, not sleeping. Two times a day, the bonds are loosed so you may go into the trees to relieve yourself. A woman called Ursula watches you with her blade out. Then you are led back. You are fed a handful of nuts and sometimes burnt barley.

There is no use in complaint. You are afraid but there is nothing this man could do or say to assuage that. You told him all you could but he did not seem happy for it; if that is an emotion he would know. Since, he has said little. You haven’t either.

“Curtis,” a whisper comes from without.

That’s his name. You’ve heard a few say it. He sniffs and rolls over on his bedroom. He sits up, axe already in hand. You watch his shadow.

“Ed,” he greets the man through the flap. The soft dwindling dusk pores through the small gap.

“Today. The horsemen ready.”

Curtis grunts.

“There is a feast. The duchess will go. Along with the rest of those heathens.” Edgar explains in a coarse hush.

Curtis nods. “Six men.”

“Six?” Edgar sounds surprised.

“More than enough,” Curtis assures and drops the flap back.

He turns and goes back to his bedroom. He doesn’t lay down. He lights a stub of tallow with the scratch of flint. He pulls out a whetstone and works on the edge of his axe, the shink of his sharpening making you twitch.

“You’ll come too.” He says bluntly. “I’m certain your mistress misses her sheep.”

🪓

A different man holds the rope. You perch at the foot of the trees as you watch the line of men snake through the brush and hide in the ditch at the edge of the beaten road. You’re exhausted, so much so that even your adrenaline can’t keep your head from nodding. The endless coursing of fear has drained you of all strength and hope.

Your eyes droop and your head wobbles until you hear it. A noise so distant it could have been as simple as a bird flapping through the leaves. But then it keeps going. The steady grind of wheels grows closer and closer, pebbles pouncing beneath the wooden frames, dirt mulching louder than it should.

The man next to you tenses. You look down at the ditch. You cannot see the men as they hide beneath a criss cross of overgrown weeds and vines. They are clever. It must be how they surprised Giles before. 

And left him dead.

The horses’ hooves thunder nearer and the call of a bird goes up. All at once, you realise the squawk came from the throat of a man. Guards appear first. The duchess must have heeded the previous carriage’s fate. The bandits are methodic in their attack. Their arrows aimed in the gap above halberd or exposed beneath the under arm.

The soldiers wail and fall from their saddles, their horses stampeding forward. That is until they notice the large rocks across the road, arranged there by the attackers. They rear and kick up, neighing in fear.

The bandits hurl up ropes tipped with iron hooks as the carriage comes into sight. Two stand and shoot their arrows that embed in the wood.

The driver panics and rolls off the bench. You know him; his name is Rhys. He stumbles over the side of the carriage as the horses keep running. The bandits tie the ropes to trees and the carriage lurches to a halt entirely. The roof splits from the tension of its bounds. You clutch your damp skirts and stare foggily as the scene plays out.

“Come, your time is now.” The man wrenches you up as the bandits hurry onto the road, checking the men writhing on the ground. If they are not dead, the bandits make sure of it.

There’s a shriek from within the carriage. 

“Around, around!” Edgar hollers.

Two of the men hurry around as the door on the opposite side opens, swaying the vehicle. There is another fearful shout. You’ve never heard the duchess so terrified.

The man jerks you down the incline and through the ditch. Diana continues her struggle as she is restrained by Edgar. Curtis stands before her calmly as you’re dragged up onto the road.

“You!” She snarls as her green eyes flash. “I should’ve known it was you, you vile rat.”

“Shhhh,” Curtis hushes her as he raises his axe to his lips and walks forward.

The duchess retracts against Edgar and whines. “Who are you, scoundrel?”

He hushes her again and pushes the blunt top of the axe to her mouth. “I’ve come to make a barter. A generous one as what you’ve taken cannot be repaid.”

“What do you–”

“If I must quiet you again, I will have your tongue in my purse.” He warns. The duchess’ scoffs as her face contorts in fear. “Now, my terms are not imbalance. You will have your maid returned to you. You may even keep your horses and your carriage. But that will be all.” He turns the blade slowly in front of her face. “And you will ride and ride and ride until you cannot any further. But you will not come back here.”

Her nostrils flare and her lip curls.

“And you will not return. Ever. If I see your face again, I will do worse than what your men did to my people.” He sneers. “I will burn you alive but you will not die of it. You will live with it. For days, weeks, possibly months… and your flesh will rot away and you still will not know of the pain you’ve caused me and mine.” He declares, his hand shaking on his axe. “And we will claim what we need. The castle, the kitchens, the barrels you hoard, the rooms kept empty for your pride.” He pushes the axe against her chest. “Am I understood?”

The duchess rolls her eyes. “Kill the maid, see if I care.”

Curtis’ eyes narrow. His lashes dip down and he bows his head. He backs up and signals.

“Grab the pitch.” He commands.

“Pitch?” Diana squeals. “You cannot– you must unhand me– the King will have your heads.”

“Not if I have his first.” Curtis retorts. “But I’ll settle for yours.”

He spins and approaches another man with a pail in hand. He trades his axe for it and looks into it. He carries it to the duchess. It’s steaming.

“You have your men go out and fight your battles so you would not know what pitch smells like. You would not know how it covers the flesh of a man and slowly suffocates him. How he can remain alive for such a time and suffer and suffer.” He tilts his head. “But you will learn. Slowly.”

He raises the bucket as Edgar forces the Duchess to her knees. She cries out and claws at his hands. Curtis holds the pail over her.

“You will not want it to get in your eyes. For what is worse than burning from the outside in, being blind as you do.” He slowly tips the bucket and you close your eyes. The duchess screeches as you hear a sizzle so sickly you fall to your knees. You cover your face with your bound hands and shudder. In her fate, you only see your own.

🪓

The pressure drains from your hands. You open your eyes as the burning smell stains your tongue and soul. You shake as you blink away the shock and stare at your loose wrists. A hand with black trimmed nails winds up the rope.

You look at Curtis as the men move behind him, inspecting the carriage, reining in the horses.

“Is it my turn?” You ask.

His brows tweak and his lashes flutter. “Your…” he begins.

You look at the axe on his belt. He hooks the rope beside it. “What good is your death?” He growls. “Cruel enough she would throw you to us wolves.”

He stands and claps his hands on his jacket.

“What… what do I do?” You ask as you look around.

“Did I say you were free?” He challenges. You stay on your knees. “You know our faces, our names, where we eat and sleep. You cannot go but you don’t have to die.”

He spins away and calls to Edgar. The other men continue to strip down the carriage and search the purses of the soldiers in the dirt. You look over it all. You don’t want to die but you don’t know if you want to live either.

🪓

You walk with the bandits back to camp. Ahead of you, Curtis leads the way, at the rear, Edgar keeps the line moving. As you get to the decline, you lower yourself to make your way down. Your foot slips and you slide over the jutting rocks and roots that make the footholds.

You’re caught by your sleeve. You plant your foot and look up as Curtis clings to you. He steadies you then lets go. You continue down as he trails you.

Ursula greets her husband, Neil, and Edgar finds his wife, Joan, and their daughter, Gwen. The other men disperse to return to their tents. There are two missing. The ones who were bid to take the duchess back to her castle. You can still hear her senseless whimpers.

You peer around. You don’t know what to do. You don’t belong here. You go to the smoking pit and sit in the dirt. You stare at the embers.

You stay like that for a while. Ursula appears with her mussed and pot in hand. You quickly look away.

“My husband says you will stay with us.” She hangs the pot over the pit and stokes it.

“I guess.” You agree weakly.

She nods and hums. “There are some women, you might have seen them. The sisters Martin. They were nuns but… we were all once someone else. They might have space in their tent.”

“I thank you.” You say.

“Hm. If you give me your name, you can share the soup.” She offers.

You look at her. You recite the name that doesn’t feel like yours.

She feeds you as you stay where you are. Others come to warm their food and fill their bellies. You are a ghost among them. Children chase each other between that fire and the next.

Dusk sets in and you shiver. You should get up and find those nuns. You can’t.

The moon shimmers down as the fire dwindles. You lower your head and bend over your knees.

“You cannot sleep here. There are real wolves.” Curtis startles you as his shadow blocks out the moonlight. You look up at him. “My tent remains… open to you.”

“That is kind.” You say.

You rub your hands together and blow into them. You hug your bent knees, tucking your fingers under them. He sighs and circles the pit.

“I’m not asking.” He says.

You swallow. You take a deep breath. You can’t move, not right away. He waits. You shift onto your knees and press your hands to the dirt. You stand stiffly.

He approaches and you shy away. He catches your wrist. You quiver but do not draw away. He walks you away from the fire and between the tents.

Your eyes wander and as you pass Ursula’s tent, you spy her by a torch propped out of the dirt. She watches you and lifts her chin in acknowledgement. Curtis drags you to his tent and pushes you under the flap.

It’s different. There are blankets piled over soft mounds. You have seen that embroidery before. These come from the Duchess’ inventory.

“You need purpose. I took that from you.” He says as he slides his axe free from his belt. He places it on a pillow. He stands straight and undoes his belt completely. He locks it inside the hide chest next to the heap of bedding. “So, I have thought on it. You will have new purpose.”

He stands again and undoes the wooden buttons on his jacket. You stand and rock near the tent flap. He peels off the jacket and folds it over the chest. He tugs the back of his tunic and strips it off too, revealing the dark hair that trims his torso.

When he straightens again, he pauses to look at you. He crosses the small space and grabs the braided end of your belt. He unknots it as he stares at you. You watch the apple of his throat.

“It is cold in the night.” He tosses the belt away and pinches the slack fabric of your dress. “But you are warm and I’ve not been in some years.” His hands stretch around your waist. “Do you see your purpose now?”

Your lip trembles and you squirm.

But you stopped short when you got in the door and were met with that sonic wall of screaming. But as you looked around, there were no guests, no one unexpected, no source of the sound. The lower floor was empty aside from Ransom sitting on the couch, Lola held firmly on his lap as he gently petted her.

“What’s going on?” you shouted across the room.

Ransom jumped slightly, not having realized you were home, then scrambled for his phone. Immediately, the noise, blessedly, stopped. “Sorry,” he said, blushing a little, and for the first time you were pretty sure you were seeing Ransom self-conscious. “Lola and I have been working on getting used to the sounds of a baby when you aren’t around. Google says it’s a good way to prepare your dog.”

You didn’t try to stop the warm smile you felt taking over your face. “Oh yeah? How’s she doing?”

He let her off his lap, and she scampered over to you. “She’s doing good. Making a lot of progress. It isn’t so scary anymore, is it?”

Lola looked up at you and wagged her tail. “Good job, baby,” you said to her as you put down your bags and picked her up. “What else does Google say?”

“Uh,” Ransom scratched the back of his neck. He was embarrassed by how much work and thought he’d put into this. It made your heart melt. “We should be getting her used to the new smells too, so letting her sniff anything we buy for the baby. And we should introduce any new routines or patterns right now. Get her used to being taken care of by both of us, not just you.”

“You already do a good job of that,” you said sincerely.

He shrugged. “I’m trying.” He bent down to look through your bags. “Speaking of new smells, what did you get?”

“Oh, I passed by a little baby store on my way home, so I decided to stop in and see what I could find.”

Ransom took out a pretty lilac onesie and a soft sage blanket. He carefully held them up for Lola to smell. “It’s so tiny,” he said softly, reverently smoothing his thumb over the onesie.

“Yeah,” you answered, moving your free hand to your bump, which was big enough now that you felt like you could barely call it that. “I think she’s going to be even teenier than we realize.”

Ransom delicately put the baby’s things back in the bag and moved both of his hands to your stomach. You felt the baby shift in response, the way she did right before she was about to start punching you. Ransom had yet to feel her, and you knew it was bothering him, so you grabbed one of his wrists and moved it a few inches to where she’d started to press against you. “She’s right there,” you whispered.

Ransom pressed his lips together in concentration, and then his brow furrowed in frustration. “I still can’t-“ She moved again, and he froze. “Wait,” he said, so quietly like he didn’t want to spook her, and she kicked again, almost in response. “That’s her?” he asked, breathless.

“Yeah,” you grinned, “that’s her.” And then, feeling like your heart was cracking wide open, you added, “She’s saying hi to her daddy.”

You felt his breath hitch through his hands on you. He looked up, tears in his eyes and a scared, happy, joyful smile on his face. He moved one hand up to your cheek while the other stayed pressed to the spot where your daughter was, and kissed you, soft and slow and happy. So, so happy.

You were sharing the couch with Ransom, both reading quietly with Lola snuggled between you, when it washed over you. This had happened a few times now. Heat coursing through your whole body. Need. Out of nowhere. You knew it was normal. You’d read about it in your books. But that didn’t make it any easier.

The last time you’d tried to take care of it yourself while Ransom was at work, but you’d discovered that your belly was now too big for you to reach around and get to your core, even with your vibrator. So you’d cried alone in your bed until it finally passed. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do that again.

You looked over at Ransom over your book. God, he was so beautiful. It still kind of made you mad, even after all this time. The way your feet were pulled up onto the couch, your toes just barely grazed his thigh. You moved back quickly. As much as every part of your body was screaming at you to crawl onto his lap and make him fuck you, you couldn’t actually do that. You didn’t even know if he wanted it. Plus, you were pretty sure that if he touched you, you’d actually explode.

At your movement, he looked up at you. “You okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed the way it did anytime you displayed the slightest hint of discomfort or displeasure.

You smiled and hoped it didn’t come across as a grimace. “I’m fine, just a little uncomfortable.”

“Do you want me to go get you another pillow? Would that help?”

You shook your head vigorously. “Nope! I’m fine. It’s fine. Just ignore me.” You took a deep, slow breath as the need got even worse.

And the way he was pinning you down with his gaze wasn’t helping. “You don’t seem like you’re uncomfortable. You seem like you’re in pain.” He reached a hand out to you, and you shrank back, knowing that if he touched you, you’d lose all semblance of control.

“It’s not pain, Ransom, I promise. Please. Please just drop it.” You could feel the tears starting to gather in your eyes as your whole body felt like it was about to catch fire.

“I’m not going to drop it if there’s something I can do to help,” he said firmly, and you wanted to scream.

“No, it’s– It’s fine, I just–“ You closed your eyes as you struggled to breathe normally. Finally, you gave up. He was worse than Steve; you weren’t going to be able to keep hiding this from him. “It’s the hormones. I just get really horny sometimes. Out of nowhere. And it’s awful, but it’ll pass.”

You felt the way he went completely still and opened your eyes. He was staring at you, a smirk on his face. “Well,” he said, and his voice had dropped at least an octave. It shot right through you. “That sounds like the exact sort of thing I can help with.”

“Ransom–“You shook your head, not sure of what to say. Not trusting yourself to say anything.

The smirk dropped off his face, and his eyes got serious. “Do you want me to help you with this?” he asked. And it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t sexy. It was a real question, and you knew that if you said no, he would leave you alone. Or maybe make you some tea. Find another way to help, to make you comfortable. But he wouldn’t touch you. And he wouldn’t keep asking.

Your eyes slipped closed again. “You don’t have to,” you answered, your voice small.

“Hey, look at me,” he commanded gently. You forced yourself to open your eyes, and he continued. “I know exactly what I do and don’t have to do. Do you want me to help you with this?”

With one more deep breath, you tried not to whine as you answered, “Yes. Please.”

And before the words had even fully left your mouth, he’d lunged across the couch and captured your lips in a deep, passionate, hungry kiss. It felt like he might eat you alive, and you wanted it. You wanted everything he could give you.

He had you flat on the couch, his body covering yours, even with your bump in the way. You took the opportunity when he came up for air to whine, “More. I– I–“

A gentle hand on your cheek grounded you. “I know, I know. I need you in my bed. Think you can get upstairs?”

A bed sounded nice with the way you were sagging off the couch. But you were also pretty sure that if he stopped touching you, you’d die. You clutched onto his wrist. “I think, but–“

“Yeah, I know,” he said, even as he peppered your neck with kisses, “I’ve got you.”

He helped you off the couch, never letting go of you. And as he moved you up the stairs, some part of him was always touching you. A hand wrapped around your wrist, another on your hip, his lips on the back of your neck.

Once in his bedroom, he stopped you before you could climb onto the bed. He kissed you again, breaking for just long enough to lift your t-shirt over your head and fling it behind him. One more kiss and then he was kneeling down beside you, working your leggings down your legs to the point you could kick them off your feet. Then, his hands moved reverently up your body—your ankles, your calves, your thighs—to your panties, which he pulled down with equal reverence. Then he continued moving up, placing a gentle kiss on your belly and then working to undo your bra. Once he’d freed your breasts, he took them in both hands as he buried his face in your neck.

“Ransom,” you whined, tugging on his shirt, as he still somehow had all of his clothes on. You needed them off. You needed them off right now.

You felt him grin into your neck, and then he pulled away enough that you could get his shirt off. You ran both hands up his stomach and chest. How was he fair? How was he yours? (Because he was now. He was he was he was.) You dropped your hands to undo his pants, but he stopped you, lifting them so he could kiss your knuckles. Then he very carefully laid you down on his bed, moving a pillow to support your lower back. He trailed kisses down your entire body before he stood back up and took the rest of his clothes off as fast as he possibly could.

Once he was finally naked, he paused for a moment at the foot of the bed, and you both just stared at each other. Even as you’d gotten to know him, gotten used to him, you’d never get used to the way he seemed like he was carved from marble. Or how his skin glowed. Or how–

“God, look at you,” his whisper interrupted your thoughts. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” And then his hands were back on your body, spreading your legs so that he could slot himself between them. He hooked one ankle over his shoulder. “That feel okay?” he asked.

All you could do was nod, and he immediately returned his lips to you, working his way up your inner thigh. With a jolt, you realized what he meant to do, and you reached out an urgent hand to him. “You don’t have to–“ you started but were cut off when he turned back to you with a playful glare.

“What did I say about that?” he asked, his voice so low.

He’d gone back to kissing up your thigh, and you had to force yourself to take a breath, to unfog your mind, to remember what he said. “You said–” you paused with a gasp as his lips got so, so close to the center of you. “You said you already know what you do and don’t have to do.”

“That’s right,” he muttered into your thigh. “And I want to do this. I’m desperate to find out what you taste like.” Then he lifted his head to make eye contact with you. “But if you really don’t want me to, I won’t.” You took another breath and opened your mouth, even though you weren’t sure what your response would be. “But please, please, let me taste you, baby. I’ll stop if you hate it. I promise.”

“What if you hate it?” you asked, voice small, even as you were desperate to just finally say yes.

He laughed and sent you a dirty smirk. “I can guaran-fucking-tee that I won’t.”

Your body was burning up again, so with a small moan you finally let go. “Yes, please.”

And just like that, his mouth was on you. You threw your head back on a gasp, like all the air had been punched out of your body. Your hands bunched into the sheets on either side of your head as he lapped at you like a man starved. You felt his tongue moving between your folds, getting to know you, searching for your clit. The second he found it, your eyes slammed shut, your body spasmed, and you felt more than heard his pleased hum. He experimented with licks first, before he wrapped his tongue around it and gave it a hard suck. You couldn’t help the lewd moan you released, and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed.

You’d never felt anything like this. Not with the only other person you’d ever had sex with. And you’d certainly never let Ransom do anything like this before, not when getting pregnant had been the only goal and everything else had seemed like a waste of time. And definitely not by yourself. You’d never taken such care with yourself.

Your breaths were coming fast as you felt yourself climbing, climbing, climbing. A good, soft warmth was moving through your body as you felt his hands on your hips, firmly holding onto you. Keeping you from floating away. Your eyes slipped open; you weren’t sure why, but you were immediately met with Ransom’s intense gaze, locked on your face to take in every single nuance of your reaction. And the way he was looking at you, watching you…

That was what did it. That was what sent you over the edge. The way that he saw you. The look in his eyes. You came with a cry, your body shaking apart, only anchored by his hands on your hips, pinning you down to earth.

His mouth stayed on you through your whole orgasm and all the aftershocks. Drinking you up, like he couldn’t get enough. Then, slowly but surely, he began working his way back up you, his lips and hands moving in tandem as he traversed your whole body. Once he got to your neck, he nuzzled into you before meeting your eyes with a cocky smirk. “Feeling better?”

You tried to nod, but all of your bones were like jelly. And while the need inside of you was no longer so insistent, no longer hot enough to burn, there was still something simmering under the surface. Something that had made your legs clamp around Ransom at some point and now wouldn’t let him go. “I– I need–“ you tried to explain to him, but the words wouldn’t string together.

Ransom quirked an eyebrow, and his smirk turned dirty. “You need more, baby?” he asked, voice low. “It’s okay. You can tell me what you need, what you want.”

You felt your face heating up. Your eyes wanted to slip closed, to avoid the way he was looking at you, but you forced them to stay open. “I want–“ You tried to put what you were feeling into words, but everything just felt clumsy. You tried again, summing it up as best you could. “I want you.”

The smile that bloomed on Ransom’s face—you weren’t sure you’d ever seen it before. Cocky and hungry and happy, all rolled together. “I want you, too,” he said softly as he dipped his head down to kiss you, tender and eager with a thread of filth that you wanted to follow. But he broke it off too soon. “Do you want me inside you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed, and he kissed you again. His hand landed gently between your thighs, one and then two fingers working their way inside of you. They were big and thick as they spread you, but they weren’t enough. “Ransom,” you whined, “I need– That’s not–“

“Hey, I know,” he cooed softly, still working you open with his fingers, “I’m just making sure that orgasm got you ready to take me. I want it to feel good.”

Suddenly you felt self-conscious; he’d already done so much for and to you, and you hadn’t even offered to do anything for him in return. You reached for his length. “I can help get you ready, too,” you said, a little embarrassed.

Ransom laughed, his head thrown back, but it wasn’t mean; it wasn’t judging. It was warm and playful. “Babe, I’m harder than a fucking diamond right now. I don’t need a goddamn thing to get me ready for you.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said with a grin. “You’re so hot like this. Your taste on my lips and the thought of your warm pussy are all I need to get me going. You ready too? You comfortable?”

You flopped back down, giving in to your body and what it was telling you. “Yes, I– Yes.”

That was all it took for him to kiss you again, his body fully covering your own, taking special care to keep his weight off your stomach, as he carefully slid his fingers out of you. You whined at the emptiness, but the shortest moment later he was lining himself up and slowly filling you with his cock.

On instinct, or maybe out of habit, your eyes slammed closed, retreating inside yourself as you felt your insides stretch to try to accommodate him. But before you got very far, you were brought back by a hand, Ransom’s hand, squeezing yours gently.

“Hey, open your eyes,” he directed softly. You did, immediately, and found his blue gaze boring into you. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “You can be here, right now. I’ve got you. It’s okay. I promise. I’ve got you.”

You took a deep breath and nodded. You believed him. You trusted him. As he bottomed out inside of you, you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close. For a long moment neither of you moved, and all you could feel was his cock spreading you open and his stuttered breaths on your neck. And then he shifted so that his forehead touched yours and his lips brushed your lips as he said, “Fucking shit. You feel so fucking good. Tell me– Please tell me I can move. Goddamn.”

“Ransom, please, yes, please,” tumbled out of you as you felt so full you thought you might lose your mind. And it only got worse as he began to rock in and out of you. “Ransom, Ransom,” you chanted, your arms still wrapped around him. One of his hands came up to cup your cheek, and you felt electricity flow through you where he touched you.

He shifted his hips and hit a spot inside of you that had a cry suddenly tearing through you. “Yeah?” he asked with a proud grin. “Right there?”

“Please, yes, yes, yes,” you babbled as he kept hitting it and you were climbing again, up and up and up and–

“Let go,” he whispered in your ear, as his thumb began to press insistent circles on your clit, “go ahead. I’ve got you. I want to see it again.”

One more thrust and you did what he asked, sailing over the edge, shaking apart as you gripped him tightly to you.

“Goddammit, look at you, you’re so beautiful. You feel so fucking good,” he babbled as he fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own. “Holy fuck,” he growled as he joined you not long after, filling you up and holding you tight.

The two of you stayed collapsed on the bed in a heap, just breathing heavily into each other’s necks. After several long moments, Ransom tried to move, but you couldn’t figure out how to move your limbs to let him go. “Hey,” he assured you softly, “I just want to get us cleaned up.”

“Not yet,” you whispered. “Just– Not yet.”

“Yeah, okay. Okay,” he soothed you, dropping his body back down so that he blanketed you again.

Focused on Ransom’s breathing, you slowly came back to yourself. Once the high of your orgasms slowly ebbed away, you couldn’t explain the loss you felt. You knew, intellectually, that it was probably all hormones, but that didn’t stop you from feeling a profound grief for everything that may have been. You were crying, you realized, too late to try to be able to hide it. And it wouldn’t have made a difference. Ransom was watching you too closely to not pick up on every little nuance.

“What’s wrong?” he immediately asked. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head. “No, no, you didn’t do anything. I’m okay. I’m good.”

“But something’s wrong?” His hand was tentatively running up and down your arm now, doing what he could to soothe you without knowing the cause.

“No, not really. I– I just–“ You took a deep breath, trying to stop yourself from crying harder. “I just didn’t know it could be like that. I wish it had always been like that.”

“Oh,” he said softly, under his breath, shifting so that he was no longer on top of you but still touching you with as much of his body as he could.

“And I know, I know that that’s all my fault. I know that I pushed and I pushed and– But I didn’t know. I just didn’t know.” A fresh wave of tears came, and you didn’t object as Ransom pulled you closer to him so that you could bury your face in his chest.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re alright. There’s nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t your fault. You were very scared, and we didn’t know each other. It wasn’t your fault.” He didn’t say anything else as he rubbed your back and let you cry it out.

After a few minutes, you pulled away, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining the mood. It really was so good. You made me feel so good.”

That got the return of his cocky smirk. “Yeah? It sure seemed like you enjoyed it.” Then his smile softened significantly. “You made me feel good, too.”

“Oh?” You ducked your head, suddenly shy. “That’s, that’s good. I’m glad. I want to– I want to do more. Next time. I want to learn what you like.”

“Next time, huh?” he grinned. “Yeah, we’ve got lots of next times in front of us. If you want. Plenty of time to learn about each other.”

You scooted closer to him, to cuddle into his warmth. “Yeah? That sounds really nice.”

“It will be,” he said definitively, wrapping an arm around you.

You were both quiet for a long time, just enjoying this peace together, when he stiffened a little bit and shifted. You looked up at his face to find him looking thoughtful, hesitant. Without thinking, you reached up to smooth out the furrow between his brows with your thumb. “What are you thinking about?”

He grimaced, like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “I, uh– Shit. I’m not good at this.”

“Good at what?” you asked.

“Asking for something I want. Even admitting that I want something I don’t already have.”

“What are you talking about?” You felt like you’d missed part of a conversation he’d been having with himself.

He sighed, put out, then mumbled, “I want you to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured him, a little confused.

“No, I mean–“ he sighed again and then turned onto his back so that he was no longer looking you in the eye. “I want you to stay here, in this room. I want it to be ours. I don’t want you to sleep across the hall anymore. And when we move into the new house, I want us both to be in the primary suite. I want it to be ours. I want everything to be ours.”

You could feel how big and round your eyes had gotten. “Oh,” was all you could say. But really, why were you so surprised? The part of you that believed that people only kept you around because they had to, that Ransom would rather have his life go back to normal but was stuck with you, had been getting quieter and quieter every day. Your husband had shown you how untrue that was in countless ways. So why couldn’t this be true too?

But Ransom seemed to take your shocked silence as resistance, so he kept going. “I know you want your own space, and I’m not saying that room has to go back to my gym, or– Or– It can still be yours. But I just– I miss you in my bed. Lola too, the little blanket-hogging jerk. I’m tired of sleeping alone. I miss you.”

Tears were pricking at your eyes again, but this time they were good tears. They were tears of feeling so wanted, and wanting right back. They were tears of belonging.

“Please say something,” Ransom whispered, finally turning back to look at you. And he looked so scared. Scared of being vulnerable. Scared of being rejected. Scared of a life lived separately.

“Of course,” you whispered back. “Of course, I will, Ransom. I’d love to.”

And he seemed so young when he beamed at you in response. So hopeful. “Thank you,” he breathed, and kissed you on the forehead, because that was the part of you he could reach first. “Thank you,” he said again, and then pulled you into a soft, grateful kiss.

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You felt one of the men holding you falter, and you cackled. “What the fuck, man?” He whined to the other one. “How’d we get the shit detail?”

Idiot Monitor #2 tugged up hard on your arm, and you grimaced but didn’t cry out. “Shut up and just get her to the office so we can be done with this shit.”

You flailed your whole body as much as you could in their hold, just to make it that much harder, and you felt Idiot #1 almost drop you. “Bitch!” he yelled. “Why can’t you just walk?!”

You grinned, bright and feral, but your satisfaction was short-lived as the three of you finally came to a stop in front of a heavy oak door. Idiot #2 knocked, and when there was an answering grunt from inside, opened the door and threw you in, slamming it shut behind you. You landed on a plush rug, surrounded by mahogany and leather, right in front of a large, opulent desk. You looked up to find a man standing tall behind the desk, gazing curiously down at you. He had dark hair, slicked back on top and shaved on the sides, with a mustache that was trendy right now for men trying to prove something. It looked fucking stupid. His blue eyes pierced into you, and you scrambled back, trying to keep as much distance between the two of you as you could.

Your first instinct was to go straight for the door. Let them try to chase you over this entire campus. But when you turned the handle, nothing happened. You tried again, a little more desperately, but still, the door wouldn’t budge.

At a soft chuckle, you looked back over your shoulder at the man, Mr. Hansen, you presumed. Your “adviser.” What a joke. He grinned at you, his eyes sparkling, and held up a little black remote. “That door will only open with my say so,” he said. “So why don’t we cut the shit and you sit down so we can get started, Princess?” 

You would do no such thing. You turned around to face him, but kept your back pressed against the door, as far away from him as you could physically manage. “That’s not my name!” you growled at him. It was what everyone had called you since you’d entered this hellhole, and you were done with it.

He shrugged like none of this mattered as he came out from behind his desk. You slid a few feet down the wall in the opposite direction, trying to keep as much distance between you as you could. “It is while you’re here,” he said calmly. “See, the whole point of this place is to make you a brand new version of yourself. Whoever we want you to be. And that starts with your name. Besides, I think Princess will suit you by the time I’m done.”

A chill went through your whole body. This place was so evil. You took a deep breath. They wouldn’t change you. You wouldn’t let them. “Fuck you!”

He laughed, loud and uncaring. “Not until I’ve got you declawed, baby.”

Your stomach flipped in revulsion. “You can’t fuck me. I’ve already got a husband.” Showing any loyalty to the asshole you were married to made you sick, but if men only ever respected each other, then you’d use it to your advantage any way you could.

But he just grinned. “Oh, I know,” he said. “I talked to him. Seems you’ve been causing all kinds of trouble.” He took another step in your direction, and you slid down the wall another few feet. “Disobedience, disrespect, aggression. Did you really attack him with a butter knife?”

You didn’t answer, just moved further down the wall as he took another step closer, your eyes carefully tracking his every movement.

“Well, either way,” he said to your silence with another careful step, “he’s tired of it. He’s ready for the submissive little doll he was promised. That he deserves. And he doesn’t care how we achieve that. So that means I can fuck you into submission or spank your ass raw or any creative little thing I can come up with. Whatever I want as long as when you go home, you bend over and take it like a good little cunt and say thank you after. Which you will, because I’m being paid a shit-load of money to make sure you do.”

You swallowed nervously, still inching away. An unfamiliar panic settling in your chest. The only good thing about being married was the way your status had protected you from other men. But if that was gone now… You tried to hold onto your bluster, your rage. You couldn’t let it slip now. He wouldn’t cow you. So you opened your mouth and spoke without thinking. “Yeah? Those are a lot of big words for someone who hasn’t even gotten within ten feet of me yet.”

He took a moment just to observe you, as you held your hands out in front of you to hopefully ward him off. “You’re right,” he said, then stretched his neck to one side until it cracked. “I’m not here to talk at you. I’m here to make you obey.” And then, without another second of warning, he lunged across the room.

You tried to scramble away, but you realized too late that he had you cornered up against a filing cabinet. You tried to pivot on one foot, switch directions, and go back the way you’d come, but you stumbled, and he caught you easily. You tried to lash out, use your legs as he pinned your arms behind your back, but he moved too fast, and before you knew it, you were being slammed chest-first down onto his desk.

You hollered and screamed and fought as much as you could, but he still made quick work of restraining your arms with cuffs you hadn’t noticed attached to each of the far corners of his desktop. “Shut the fuck up,” he muttered as he kicked your feet apart as far as they would go so that you lost all leverage. Then he strapped them to the legs of the desk, so that you were basically a bent-over starfish. 

You let out a guttural scream and then, “Fuck you! Let me fucking go, you stupid cuck! I’m gonna fucking kill you! I’m gonna rip that ugly mustache right off your face!” You tugged wildly on all of your restraints, but there was no give. The only thing that moved as you tried to flail was your ass.

As if you’d called attention to it, Hansen flipped your skirt up to expose you to the room. He landed three quick, stinging smacks to one butt cheek. “Calm the fuck down!” he ordered. You heard a drawer open and close behind you, and then the crinkling of plastic. “The fucking mouth on you,” he exclaimed. “That isn’t how good girls talk.” And then, the only warning you got was the feeling of him leaning over you before something was shoved into your mouth and then strapped behind your head. 

It wasn’t a ball gag, you knew that much. Too square and a weird texture. Not soft, but… malleable. Then the taste—antiseptic and clean in the worst way—hit your tongue, and you knew exactly what it was. Oh god, he’d shoved an entire bar of soap in your mouth. You tried to spit it out, forgetting that it was strapped to you, but all that did was work up a lather. And gagging only made it worse.

“You know,” he said, crouching down so he was at your eye level, “Rogers has always sworn by these soap gags to wash out bad girls’ dirty mouths. And I have to admit, watching you foaming at the mouth right now, I’m starting to see the appeal.” You tried to thrash again to no avail as he stood back up. “Oh, relax. It’s completely non-toxic, see?” He waved the foil wrapper in your face. “Specially manufactured to go into the filthy mouths of whores just like you.” 

You thrashed and grunted, unable to stay down even when you knew you’d been beat, even when the awful taste of soap filled your mouth and leaked down your throat. You refused to let him think he’d won, think you’d ever give up.

He perched on the edge of his desk, right next to your face. You futilely tried to pull away. You’d never stop trying. He rested one hand on the base of your skull. “Alright,” he said, “now that I finally have you quiet, here’s how things are going to work. I’m not stupid. I know you’re going to keep fighting me. But every time you do, I’m going to knock you down, just like this. And the longer you keep fighting the inevitable, the more creative I’ll get, the more fun I’ll have, until I finally break you. Which I will. There’s no question about that.” 

The hand on your skull, pet you gently, trailing down your neck. Out of everything that had happened so far, that was the thing that revolted you the most, those gentle touches. Him thinking he had any right. Just as you started to try to buck him off, the gentleness disappeared, and he grasped your head harshly, forcibly turning it to the other side and angling it so you were looking into the corner of the room. Your confusion lasted only for a second before your eyes focused in on what he wanted you to see. A large dog crate with heavy bars. Big enough for a person on all fours. Big enough for you. You couldn’t control the way you whimpered in fright. You hated yourself for it immediately.

At the sound, he immediately went back to petting you, slow strokes down your back now. “Yeah, I brought that in specially for you. To get us on the same page right away. To help you understand how things work here. You want to be treated like a lady, you need to act like one. You act like a child, and I won’t hesitate to put you over my knee. And if you act like an animal,” he leaned down so that he blanketed your back, his weight pressing down on you, and whispered right in your ear, “then I will fucking treat you like one.”

You reacted immediately, pulling at your restraints even harder than you’d done before, the cuffs cut into your wrists painfully, but you didn’t fucking care. You’d cut your own hand off before you let him do that to you. A sound escaped your mouth, around the soap, that you could only describe as guttural, feral. Animal. 

Hansen laughed as he stood up, uncaring, amused. “You’re so big and tough, aren’t you?” he grinned. “Yeah, we’ll see.” He walked around behind his desk and checked his tablet as you continued making as much of a racket as possible. “Oh, look at that! It’s lunchtime. Thank god, I could eat a horse.” He looked at you, cocking his head to the side. “And you need some time to think, doncha? Yeah. You’ve got a big decision to make.” He reached down to stroke one of your hands, even as you unsuccessfully tried to twist it in order to claw at him. “Yeah, you’ve gotta decide if you’re gonna spend tonight in your nice little room upstairs,” he paused as he walked back around so he was standing behind you, one hand palming your ass as soon as he was close enough, “or down here in my cage. I’ve got a feeling which one you’ll choose,” and you could hear his smirk, even if you couldn’t see it, “but I’ll give you a few hours to think about it anyway. I’ve got a busy afternoon full of personal grooming consultations. We’ll do yours right here, I think, once I’m done with everyone else. I’m betting that’s when you’ll give me your answer. But I can give myself a little preview now,” he said, as his hand slowly moved from your ass around to your front to palm your mound through the barely there thong you’d been forced into that morning. He laughed again as soon as he felt you, loud and obnoxious. “Oh yeah, I fucking knew it. We’ll definitely have to do something about that bush.” And then, still laughing, you heard his footsteps leave the room and walk down the hall.

Left alone, your breathing quickened. He couldn’t actually leave you tied up here with soap in your mouth for hours. He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. You would get out. You would get out. You would get out.

After several minutes, footsteps echoed down the hall again. He was coming back. It’d just been a pathetic attempt to scare you. Well, it hadn’t worked, the fucking loser. He wouldn’t break you.

The steps stopped right at the still-open door. There was another loud laugh, but it wasn’t Hansen. You realized, as a pit formed in your stomach, that it was Idiot #2. And Hansen hadn’t pulled your skirt down after he’d flipped it up, so your bare ass was on display for anyone who walked by. And then you heard the unmistakable digital snap of a phone camera. “Fucking perfect,” he muttered, and you could feel his leer burning into your backside. “God, it’s gonna be so good to watch them break you.” And then with another chuckle, you heard him walk away.

But they wouldn’t. They wouldn’t break you. They wouldn’t they wouldn’t they wouldn’t. 

For the first time, as all you could see was the dog cage in the corner, its door open and ready, it felt like you were trying to convince yourself.

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