As you pass through the sea of brocade and silk cravats, you distract with your basket of biscuits. The men’s eyes would betray their purses far before they realised they were stale and it would be too late for them to see recompense. Your other hand is about your true work, that which brings you much of your profit.

For all their layers of clothing, the theatre patrons are none the wiser of your creeping reach. Of the coin lifted or pins displaced. And why shouldn’t you profit from their flagrant roosting of the riches they were only so fortunate to be borne into. They know now what it is to want; to need. To have to find any means to keep from the gutter.

A man pauses and reaches under his fine green jacket, an emerald vest exposed beneath. He slides free a pocket watch and reads the face. You pocket a brooch from another man bartering with a street cart driver and slither along.

The man is preoccupied. His head cranes on his long neck as he searches the street impatiently. He tucks the pocket watch away and you catch a glimpse of the snake engraved on its cover. What a fine piece it is…

You offer a man closeby a biscuit. He declines but hands you a coin anyway. Some are rich enough to be generous, a gesture to comfort their greedy souls. The man with the watch flicks back a stray strand of shiny black hair, his profile pensive as his fingers twiddle at his side.

You must find the proper opportunity. You know the temptation of a biscuit will not do. He is the type to shew you away. You can foresee those long fingers waving you off. You can also see the emeralds set into the ring around his pinky. He can spare the unfortunate loss.

You peer around. You shadow another man as he nears. He goes to pass by the black-haired man and you manage to become tangled up in him, dramatically tumbling towards the man in green as your basket spills over.

You hit him like a plank. He does not bend or waver. You screech out theatrically, as one of the actors inside, and steady yourself with shaky hands. Your finger hooks the chain beneath his jacket. With a stealthily practiced pinch, you loose it.

The man grips your shoulders and pushes you away. You wind up the chain quickly and hide the watch beneath your cuff. You step back and look down at your half-empty basket and the mess of biscuits on the ground.

“Eh, good sir, look where you walk,” he calls after the other gentleman who flees the disaster.

You mope and touch your forehead, the watch sliding down your sleeve to the elbow. “Oh my!”

“And you, should be more aware as it were. I’m certain it’s not your first walking the street.” He sniffs and peers past you with a huff.

What an uncouth man. If you ever felt bad for any of your targets, it would not be him. For him to imply such a thing. A thief yes but never… that.

“A good day to you too, sir,” you snip tritely.

The biscuits crumble under your feet as you trod away. Best not to draw more attention. A fleet escape is always best. And there is a rather perilous purse on a belt beckoning to you.

It is wise to be away before the crowd thins too much and you become too obvious. You slip down the alleyway, intent to offer the last of the biscuits to the urchins near the dock. Then you’ll return to your shared apartment and tally your proceeds.

You whistle as you come close to the far end of the alley and a shadow steps into your path. You falter and squint at the figure. A flash of green strikes in your mind.

“It isn’t lady like to whistle,” the black-haired man sneers. “Though I doubt you are aware of what is and isn’t ladylike.”

“Pardon me, sir. You’ve already dumped half my wares–”

“You were rather convincing,” he points at you. Your eyes flit to the gem on his pinky. He scoffs. “And ever crow-eyed.”

“Sir, I’ve not any hint of your meaning–”

“Do you think yourself so clever?” His lip curls as he steps closer and you retreat at a pace.

You stare at him dumbly. “Why do you trouble me, sir? I am but a common woman–”

“You are but a common thief!” He barks. “I should bring down the police upon you and let them beat what is mine out of you.”

“Sir, how dare you? That is a vile accusation–”

“Empty your pockets–”

“Sir!”

“Remove your cloak and let me see. I would be certain to find all the lumps of your larceny–”

“You are coarse. To accuse a lady–”

“Lady,” he advances again and you evade his reach. “The word would sour on your tongue.”

“Sir, you are mistaken. I pray, go fetch the coppers. I’ll be happy to let them investigate–”

His fingers curl and straighten. “I seek my own justice. I am a man of honour.”

“You are as they all are,” you chirp. “You harass the honest folk as you could never do one of your pretty pampered countesses–”

He moves so fast, you nearly scream. You swing your basket at him and spill the rest of the biscuits. He bats it away so the handle slips from your grasp and his other hand closes around your throat. You cough and grip his wrist as he marches you back into the alley.

“You can lie to yourself but you can't lie to me.” He growls as he turns you and pushes you against the wall. “I know what you are. I know what you’ve taken. Return to me my watch.”

“Watch? What need would I–” Your voice fizzles as he squeezes harder.

“I will find it myself,” he grits and pushes your thin cape back. 

His hand gropes and grabs at your dress, squeezing your skirts, crawling up your stomach, then stretching across the swell of your bosom. He pauses as you squirm. His cheek twitches as you tug helplessly at his arm.

His touch trembles and he fondles your chest. He tilts his head and squeezes harder. He lets go of your neck and pushes you hard against the wall. His other hand goes to your chest. He pushes your bosom together and grins.

You gulp in air and rasp. “You rodent!” You slap his hands. “I am no whore.” You shake your sleeve and the watch slips down. You grasp it and hold it up, pushing on his right arm as he continues to defile you. “Take the damned watch and be off me.”

He snickers and teethes his lip. He hums and his tongue pokes out, running along his top lip. He lets go of you and takes the watch. He steps back and clasps the chain on his vest once more and slides the watch into his pocket.

He lingers and looks down his body. He frames the front of his trousers with his large hands. He laughs as you see the shape of him through the fabric as it grows taut.

“Shh shh shh,” Ari cooed, his hand on your belly giving a gentle pet before it slowly started to descend. 

You gasped sharply as his touch slid between your thighs, as he cupped your cunt through your jeans and panties as his teeth caught your earlobe and gave a warning nip. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Ari husked. “You won’t fall victim to my usual methods. It would be such a waste, and I have a much better idea for keeping you occupied and out of trouble.”

You could only whimper and squirm as Ari–this man you didn’t even know, who you had only just meant mere moments ago–popped open the button on your jeans and stuffed his big hand down the front of your pants and panties like he had every right to.

His fingers were thick and rough as they teased along your cunt. When his touch glanced off your clit for the first time, you gave a startled cry that had you going rigid in Ari’s lap.

“Oh, I liked that sound, sweetheart, give me another.”

His touch grew more intentional then–more wicked. It seemed like it took him no time at all, and barely any effort, to have you creaming all over his fingers and begging him to make you cum. 

Because it had been so long since you had been touched like this–especially by someone who knew what they were doing, who was so confident and scary in a way that made your body tingle. 

You could feel the rock hard length of Ari press along the small of your back, and you could only imagine the way he ached, but still, he kept all of his focus and intent on you.

“God, look at you, honey, you’re like putty in my hands, so needy and desperate for it, huh?” 

You whined at the deep baritone of Ari’s voice, at his seductive words, at that delightful pull pulsing deep within you, feeling like a live wire as pleasure and the cusp of ecstasy danced all along your body from head to toe. 

You arched your back in desperation, shameless now as you rutted against Ari’s touch, moaning loudly and without reserve as he shoved two thick fingers deep inside your cunt and began to rub along your sensitive walls.

Sounds that could only be described as primal and desperate began to fall from your lips as you curled your fingers into Ari’s thick thighs beneath you, inching closer and closer to the height of your pleasure. 

“You wanna cum, sweetheart?” Ari rumbled against the curve of your jaw.

“Yes!”

“You gonna be good for me?” he asked. “You gonna promise to keep that cute little nose where it belongs and out of our business?”

“Uh huh,” you replied without hesitance, not really comprehending Ari’s words but also willing to agree to anything in this moment if it meant getting what you wanted–being able to cum, to completely unravel in the best way. 

His fingers went at you harder, making you keen and bow against him. Just before you fully ascended, only a swipe or two of Ari’s thumb against your clit away from falling apart entirely–from surrendering to the type of toe-curling pleasure you knew you’d remember for days–Ari stopped. 

“Nooo!” you whined as his fingers suddenly retreated from you entirely, leaving your poor body taut and woefully, horrifically unsatisfied. 

“Only good girls get to cum, and you gotta earn that privilege, trouble,” Ari husked against your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your warm cheek before he shifted you off of his lap then poured himself to his feet. 

You gaped up at him in utter shock–in visceral betrayal–as Ari adjusted the bulge at the front of his jeans before shooting you a smirk and wink combo. 

And then you could only stare after him as he turned and sauntered out the back door of your business, leaving you dazed, angry, and mourning the loss of what you knew would have been an incredible orgasm.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath, glowering at the memory. 

And yet–you hadn’t stuck your nose where it didn’t belong since. 

You weren’t sure if it was from fear and self-preservation, or if maybe you were hiding and didn’t want to draw any more unwanted attention your way. 

Maybe you had learned the lesson Ari and his boss had wanted to teach you. 

You crumpled today’s high tea menu in your hand at the very thought–being schooled, by anyone, let alone a couple of criminals. Then you frowned as you quickly tried to straighten out the wrinkles in the beige paper. The color of it, and the font printed on it, were a play on a book, since that was kind of your schtick.

Books & Brews. 

Aka your baby. Your dream business that spawned from a combination of two of your passions–tea and books. 

It was such a niche and novelty sort of business, that you hadn’t been able to secure any investors when you were first starting out. No one had believed in you and your dream except you, which honestly only made it all the sweeter now that it was such a success. 

All it had taken was a couple of online influencers having high tea in your cute little shop, and raving about the food, tea, and book selection, and you had pretty much gone viral overnight. 

And never looked back. 

That was why you were so mad about the utter bullshit that had moved in next door. 

This was a nice neighborhood. Safe. Family friendly. You had repeat customers that you loved. You hosted kids’ birthday parties, bridal showers, all types of milestone events. 

If word got out that the fucking mob had moved in next door, you knew it would pretty much be a death sentence for Books & Brews. 

“Ugh!” You tried to shake that thought–and all the thoughts like it–from your mind. Because then you would get mad. And start to spiral. You would get stupid protective over your business and all of your self-preservation would go out the window. 

And now you knew what happened when that was the case. 

So! Screw organized criminals and their unwanted neighbor status. 

You had a successful dream business to run.

Speaking of… the little bell over the front door cheerfully jingled the arrival of new guests, and you straightened from leaning against the checkout counter, a smile already curling your lips. 

But it instantly fell as you watched two figures step inside your shop. Although one was a total stranger to you, the other was familiar as hell–because it was Ari.

You hated that your first thought upon seeing him was that he was so ridiculously hot. So big and beefy. His worn denim button up shirt bulged with his muscles, his dark, wiry chest hair sticking out the top where quite a few buttons were undone. He was wearing another pair of those criminally tight jeans and–

Stop staring, you internally screamed at yourself when you caught sight of Ari’s arrogant smirk. 

Because he had totally caught you ogling. 

You made a face at him before rounding the counter, puffing up a little as your narrowed gaze shifted from him to the man beside him. 

He wasn’t as tall or thick as Ari, but he was no slouch either in his obviously expensive suit and equally handsome features. He had fair skin, dark floofy hair that was perfectly styled, and a thick beard that was just as neatly trimmed. His eyes were an electric blue, and although they glittered with amusement as they met your fiery gaze, there was something about them that was too hard to be genuine. 

Despite the charming smile spreading across his lips, there was an air of ruthlessness to him that you could see from a mile away. 

And you knew that this man, he was the boss. Of Ari. Of the new “business” next door. Of an entire mob empire you wanted nothing to do with. 

You also knew that he–and Ari–were ones not to be messed with, but they had your hackles rising so quickly, that it was like all logic evaporated from your brain as you marched right up to them, crossed your arms over your chest, and stared Ari’s boss down without care. 

“You’re not welcome here,” you said firmly, giving yourself a mental high five at how confident you sounded. 

The stranger’s eyes only twinkled more, a quiet chuckle spilling from his lips as he ignored your statement entirely and introduced himself. “Andy Barber,” he didn’t try to shake your hand, instead looking away from you as his gaze drifted around your small shop, which was a little quiet at the moment.  

“What a… charming little place you have here,” he observed, and you knew just from his tone and delivery that he didn’t mean it as a compliment. 

He meant for it to be condescending–to insult you and your business and put you in your place–but it had quite the opposite effect. Instead, it had you firing off your sassy response before you could think better of it–or realize just how closely Ari was watching you, awaiting your reaction like a teacher surveying their student’s progress. 

“Certainly more charming than illegal activity and shady business associates,” you smiled beatifically, meeting Andy’s suddenly steely gaze without flinching. “But what’s a little murder and mayhem, as long as you don’t get caught, right?”

“Careful, neighbor,” Andy tutted, but his lips were curled in amusement, his eyes flickering with a hint of respect as he watched you. 

For some reason, you got the sense that Andy wasn’t used to people mouthing off to him, that it was a rare novelty in fact, and he was actually enjoying it as you death stared him and tried to turn him away from your doorstep. 

Him. 

“We’ll stay for lunch,” he decided instead, stepping past you and picking the empty table of his choice without waiting for your response. 

“You need a reservation,” you huffed, spinning on your heel and storming after him. 

And, okay, while you did appreciate reservations, especially for larger parties, you never actually turned anyone away. 

But today, for him—for both of them—it was an exception that you were willing to make. 

“As luck would have it,” Andy hummed, reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “I have my reservation right here.” He pulled out his wallet, flipping it open and plucking out a few crisp hundred dollar bills before tossing them on the edge of the table in front of you. 

Which only made you seethe more. 

“I don’t want your blood money,” you whisper!hissed, aware of the two small parties across the room, enjoying their high tea service. 

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Andy smirked at the way your nose wrinkled at the pet name. “I left my blood money wallet at home today. That’s legit and legal revenue.” 

Clenching your hands into fists at your sides, you were just about to tell Andy where he could shove his legal revenue when you suddenly felt a searing heat at your back. 

“Be nice, trouble,” Ari murmured against your ear, his big hands falling to your hips and giving a warning squeeze that had you gasping and your body instantly lighting up at his touch. “Or else.” 

You spun around, smacking his hands away from you before trying to shove him out of your space. “I am at work! Maybe that aspect of your life isn’t important to you, but to me, it means everything, and I don’t need you pawing me in public, asshole.”

Andy’s bark of laughter surprised both you and Ari, and it also gave you a reason to look away from the scary displeased look Ari was aiming your way. 

“And here I thought she’d be cowed and welcoming after your visit the other night,” Andy smirked, plucking one of the fancy linen napkins from the table and arranging it over his lap. “Seems like you have some more work to do, Levinson.”

“Seems like.” Ari gritted, giving you a look so dark it had a chill racing up your spine as he shifted past you and sat in the seat across from Andy. 

For a moment, you were frozen, both from their combined audacity, and that look Ari had given you–a look that conveyed you were in deep shit and had your stomach sinking with regret. 

Which is why you could only stare at them dumbly for a beat–these two big, scary mobsters who were sitting in the middle of your cute, cozy tea shop bookstore, looking so painfully out of place that it was almost funny. 

Almost. 

Thankfully, the thick tension in the air was alleviated as one of your servers who tended to this section bounded over, looking excited to have a table to wait on. You forced a smile to mirror her own, stiffly nodding as she asked if these gentlemen were ready to be served. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” you muttered, ignoring the watchful stares of Andy and Ari as you turned on your heel, intending to stalk away. 

And maybe hide in your office until they were blessedly gone.

But the sound of Ari’s gravelly voice gave you pause, his words making your insides somehow wilt and flutter at the same time as he promised,  “See you soon, trouble.”

Feeling your mouth go dry, you didn’t respond, didn’t even look at him, but you did low key hate yourself as you all but scurried away. 

Desperate to be away from Ari and his boss, you cleared the main floor in record time before ducking down the back hallway. Once you were in your office, with the door shut tight behind you–and locked for good measure–you felt only the tiniest bit of relief. 

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you sank back against the door, trying to get your rapid heart rate under control. As you felt anxiety–and something else, something that felt very much like anticipation–buzz along every inch of your body, you purposefully kept your gaze away from the small, worn sofa where all of this had started. 

And you tried like hell to shove down all the sinful, shameful memories of Ari that just the mere thought of it conjured in your frazzled mind.  

Raise your hand if you’re still in enforcer!Ari’s chokehold 🙋🏻‍♀️

—

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"I quit!" You yelled as you stormed into Mark's office the following day, slamming your hands down on his desk.

You'd had no sleep, tossing and turning while you went over everything that happened, what Ransom did to you, Chris' reaction.

As much as the possessive fuck Chris gave you turned you on, you knew your relationship wouldn't survive what Ransom had planned, you wouldn't survive. How could you? How could you come home to the man of your dreams after letting that entitled prick touch you, take what he wanted without your consent? No, no amount of money or security was worth that.

"What? What the fuck did you just say?" Mark sneered up at you from his chair.

"I said I quit." You repeated angrily, "I won't let you offer me up to Ransom without my consent."

"So give me your consent." Mark snarled as his fists curled and his skin turned red, all the way up the circular shine on the top of his head.

"No! I won't do it." You snapped back, "I quit."

"You can't quit. Do you realise how fragile everything is right now?" He yelled back, pushing himself back on his chair to stand up. "Do you think Drysdale is gonna stick around if you leave?"

"I don't really care Mark. It's not my problem." You scoffed, stepping back to cross your arms over your chest, there was no way you were backing down, not this time.

"Listen here girlie!" Mark snarled as he rounded the desk, trying to intimidate you by pointing his finger in your face, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes surrounding you, "I gave you a job when you and your little boyfriend were struggling to get by, living in that shitty little trailer park, I gave you a chance when you had no experience and now you're gonna just leave me in the dirt?"

"You left me in the dirt the minute you made that deal." You bit back, turning around to finally leave. You were done, enough was enough.

A hand curled into the back of your hair, pulling sharply as a growl permiated the air. You tried to ply his hands off with your own but he only pulled harder and harder until your knees buckled and he forced you to the ground, keeping his tight grip around your hair like a leash.

"Oww, you're hurting me." You screamed at him, still clawing desperately at his hands.

"I don't give a shit." He snarled from behind you, yanking your head back so you could see up his nose as he glared down at you in disgust, "You're gonna go in that dressing room and put on something shift worthy and get your ass out on the floor. Drysdale is here and will be for every single one of your shifts from now on, so get to it!"

"Fuck you!" You yelled.

"I'm not the one who wants to fuck you girlie," He sniggered, "But I'll gladly remind you of your place."

"Get off of me!" You screamed again, praying that someone would hear, that someone would help.

"Last chance." Mark yelled, "Are you gonna cooperate if I let you go?"

"No! I won't!" You hissed.

"Then you leave me no choice." He tutted before turning his face to the office door and yelling, "Hey Paul!"

The door opened immediately and your body froze, eyes glazing over as you realised one of the security guards had heard everything, he'd heard you screaming in pain and done nothing, he wasn't on your side.

"Yeah boss?" Paul swallowed nervously, shifting on his feet with his hands clasped in front of him, as he avoided looking down at you.

"Go get Drysdale will ya?" Mark sneered at the other man.

"No problem boss." Paul muttered nervously before turning back to the door.

"What? No." You trembled, "What are you doing?"

Mark offered you no response, simply grunting behind you as your nails dug into the flesh of his hand, strength weakening with every failed attempt to get him off.

A few minutes later, the door clicked open once more and your gaze snapped up, tears streaming down your face from the pain, as you watched Ransom walk through the door with a concerned look on his face and a furrow in his brow.

"Hey Mark, Bunny." He greeted you softly, "What's going on?"

"Time for plan B Drysdale." Mark hissed, "There's nothing else I can do."

"Really?" Ransom scoffed as his jaw tensed and his attention turned to you, "Bunny? You tryna quit on me?"

You didn't even give him an answer, turning back to your boss and screaming as hard as your lungs would allow, "Get the fuck off of me now!"

"Fine," Mark scoffed, "Here you go!"

He shoved you forward, releasing your hair as he did and you fell, landing in front of Ransom's feet on your elbows.

"Oww." You grunted at the impact, quickly pushing yourself off from the floor.

Before you could even attempt to get to the door, Ransom's arms encased you, folding over your back and pinning your arms to the side as your face met his chest.

"Ransom get off." You pleaded as you thrashed in his grip, "Please."

"Not a chance Bunny." He said sternly, looking down at you in disappointment, "You aren't going anywhere."

"I am." You snapped back up at him, hating the way his pupils were blown and his lips were curled upwards, as if he was enjoying your fight, "I've quit. I won't do it anymore. I don't care what you do to this cretin, pull your funds from the club, close him down, whatever, but I'm not going to pretend I'm yours anymore."

"You ARE mine." He growled back at you, hands gripping you tighter.

"I'm not!" You snapped, finally releasing everything you'd held onto for months, things you'd wanted to say but couldn't, "I never was! You were just another client. Another asshole to pay my bills so me and my boyfriend could live a better life, I never wanted you, I never liked you, you're nothing to me, get it?"

Your nose wrinkled in anger, chest heaving heavily while Ransom's jaw ticked in irritation, nostrils flaring.

"Oh Bunny." He tutted, "That wasn't very nice. Don't worry, we'll correct those manners soon enough. Time to come home, with me."

"I'm not going anywhere with you." You hissed back.

"You don't have a god damn choice." He snarled back and you let out a shrill scream, thrashing your body as hard as possible, desperately trying to get enough power into your legs to kick at him.

You gathered your strength pushing every bit of energy you had into lifting your thigh, kneeing Ransom straight in the balls.

It had it's intended effect, Ransom grunted sharply, hips jumping back and arms loosening just enough so you could wiggle free and make your break for the door.

Your hand reached out, fist gripped around the handle, freedom just a second away, when Ransom lunged at you with a growl. He picked you up by the waist from behind, pulling you from the ground while you screamed and kicked your legs and arms however you could.

"Stop being a brat." Ransom yelled as he tossed you onto the ground, your hip colliding with the floor with a thump as you landed on your side.

He quickly climbed over you, forcing you onto your front with your arms pinned behind your back, one leg knelt over your thighs so you could no longer fight him off.

Another scream left your lungs, head turning to the side you could snarl at Ransom who was panting heavily, looking equally exhausted and angry.

The door opened, causing Ransom and Mark's gazes to snap up, but your gaze stayed narrowed on Ransom, glaring directly into his soul as though you could burn him alive from the inside out.

"Umm boss?" Paul stuttered as he pushed into the room, eyes flicking down to you so quickly you didn't even see it, eyes widening and throat bobbing harshly before Mark pulled his attention back.

"Yeah Paul, what is it?" Mark called over the top of you.

"There's some guy banging on the main door." Paul said sheepishly, pointing behind him, "He's asking where Bunny is. Says she's been in here too long and to let her out."

"What?" Mark hissed.

"What, you thought I came without back up?" You scoffed angrily, "Chris is here waiting for me. I knew you'd try to force my hand, but it's not happening, I'm going home."

"You're right bunny, you're going home." Ransom agreed abruptly, "With me."

He reached into his back pocket and you heard a click, like the cap of a pen being flung off before suddenly feeling a sharp scratch in your neck.

"No...." You whispered as your eyes became hazy and your muscles began to loosen, until you couldn't even feel them anymore.

"Shhh...shhh...it's okay..." Ransom coo'd softly, finally releasing your wrists to run his hands through your hair as you blacked out.

"Take her out the back and quick." Mark ordered, "I don't know how long I'll be able to hold that jackass off before he storms the place."

"Fine by me." Ransom huffed, jumping to his feet before reaching down and scooping you up, throwing you over his shoulder.

"Come on Bunny." Ransom smiled as he patted your ass and headed for the door, "Let's get you home, no one can keep us apart anymore."

Everything tag - @late-to-the-party-81

@the-wandering-wonder @rnurse-kole @chemtrails-club @marvelgurl

SS Tag - @buckysdecaflove

CE tag - @mommad @venigrantrogers

Which is why you’re surprised when he insists on a honeymoon. Doesn’t give you a choice at all, in fact, he’s uncaring that you’re less thrilled than he is at this union, and that you also seem to be scared of him.

That he actually likes.

Ransom likes it a lot.

He’s realizing that you’re more perceptive than most, and very observant. You see past his cocky, biting veneer to the rage simmering underneath. To all the vile machinations brewing in his mind.

All the things he’d like to do to his grandfather and his mother.

Sometimes even to you.

But there’s also other things he wants to do you. Filthy things. Vile in a different way. The kind of things he knows will make you cry and writhe and beg and go dumb for him.

And your honeymoon will be the perfect place for Ransom to finally get his hands on you, and his cock in you.

In each and every one of your holes.

You stumbled across him on a hike. Not that you knew that. He just saw you, glowing in the golden sun. Bright smile, a crinkle by your eyes. A goddess hiking amongst the trees.

It was easy enough to hitch a ride on your shadow. Slink into the dark recesses of your car to follow you home. He barely had to think about it.

Because he knew. With one look. You’re his.

He keeps to his corner, the perfect vantage point. Moonlight shining through your window. Catching on the beads of sweat dotting your skin. You’re ethereal. Hand working furiously between your thighs. Sobs hitching in your throat. Hoping to reach that peak as your legs tense and shake.

And nothing.

You groan in frustration and smack at your blankets. A grumble rolls in your throat as you leave the room. Coming back a moment later, flopping onto your bed and rolling to your stomach with a huff.

He understands. Watching as you drift off to sleep. It must be so frustrating to be unable to sate that needy hunger in yourself. To crave that release and be so close—only for it to flit away from you each time.

He likes to think he has something to do with it. A flick of his fingers closes your drape, bathing your room in the darkness he needs. To move from his corner, to stand at his full height and let his form brush the ceiling. To loom and curl over your slumbering figure.

In the darkness, he can do as he pleases. Smooth his fingers over your sides and grasp at your hips. You squirm beneath him—oblivious to what he intends, but sure to enjoy it. You have, after all, for so many nights.

He bends, plies your body to his desires. Your thighs fall open for him. The cut of you glistening before his eyes. You’re so ready for him. Begging for him.

His head dips, tongue dancing between the petals of you for that decadent, addicting taste. You consume his senses. Your taste, your smell, the touch of you beneath his hand, the sound of your soft breathy whimpers in your sleep, and the sight of you bowing toward him. Like he’s sunlight. And you a delicate flower.

He drowns you with his attention, his love. Your breath hitching as he wrings an orgasm from you. And then another.

The edges of him constrict, his form solidifying more and more, knowing now is the moment and he must fill you. He slides his aching cock into you, and knows he’s home.

The sheath of you. If he could crawl inside and never return. Live in the warmth cradling his cock. He would. And he would be so good to you. Just as he is now.

He stills as you moan in your sleep. Eyelids fluttering, your wakening a threat. He coos soft syllables, a purr, lulling you back into the depths of your dreams.

You lean into his touch. He smiles, his heart fluttering. He knows, he knows. You don’t have to say it—you love him just as much as he loves you.

He rocks against you. Plucks at your pleasure and carries you toward that peak. The one you will only crash over with him.

Your walls flutter, sucking him deeper inside. He pants a pleased and incredulous laugh. Always fascinated by how well you take him, how much you need him.

And only he can see you like this. In the dark. Your juices coating his cock. The swell of your breasts. The tremble of your breath.

He leans down, pulling on your chin. Parting your lips enough to swipe his tongue into your waiting mouth. To taste the sounds you make and savor them.

A cry hitches in your throat and you squeeze him. Cumming in your sleep. Because of him. His smile widens, sharp teeth and glee.

He pumps himself further into you. Knocking against every nerve ending before spilling his seed. So deep you will feel him until tomorrow night.

When you will try once again to cure the scorching, lusty heat between your legs. And need him to help you.

You shrug off the agitation. Maybe a review of house rules is in order. You made it very clear when your tenant moved in; he has his things, you have yours, and they stay separate. You don’t see what excuse he has to leave a mess or indulge in your food when he has an entire guest house to himself.

That division is what reassured you when Linda phoned in the favour. It will just be for a while, she said. You should’ve expected when you couldn’t get her to define ‘while’ that this would be a cut and dry as you hoped. Linda is rarely the one to leave out details.

You scrub the bowl and dry it and set it away. You start on your own meal for the day. You’re disappointed to find there’s more than just a helping taken out of your guac; it’s pretty much gone. Worse, it was left unsealed so what remnants remain are brown.

You set the container aside. Alright then, something else. Chicken alfredo isn’t too difficult. Amazing, the cream is on the counter and warm. Guess that’s out too.

You tap your fingers in irritation. You are not his mother, just doing a favour for his mother. You won’t be the one to teach him basic manners, only lay down your own boundaries. Simple things; don’t eat what isn’t yours and put things back where they belong.

You don’t have the energy for the conversation right now. Knowing the spoiled Thrombey, it will be more of a confrontation. You’re not so good at those.

🏠

You yawn against the back of your hand as you set down your work bag. What a long day. You leave your shoes beside the leather brief case and let your jacket hang open. You rub your eyes as you walk blindly from the entry way to the hall.

Your stomach is growling and a dull pounding is slowly building in your head. Water, maybe some crackers to tide you over for the night. You drop your hands as you enter the kitchen. 

You barely keep from shouting as you find Ransom pouring himself a glass of your chardonnay. More shameless than his blatant theft, is his attire, or lack of. He’s in a pair of paisley boxers and not much else. You’re even more unprepared for that than him and the brewing tension of his imposition.

“Um, hey,” you say flatly as you stop and watch him top off the glass.

He puts the bottle down beside the cork and looks at you from the corner of his eyes. His cheek dimples as he lifts the glass and slurps. He faces you as you try not to look at his broad chest with the thick hair all across it.

“You look like you could use a glass,” he grins.

You swallow dryly. You could but you need a degree of strength. You sniff and circle around the island, keeping a wide breadth from him. He turns to watch you pull down a tall glass from the cupboard and slides closer.

You sidle over to the fridge and press the glass to the lever beneath the water filter. You watch the depths fill. He looms and gulps again.

“Bottle didn’t have a note on it,” he scoffs. “So I figured…”

You knew it was a bad idea. Passive aggressive at best. You made a new batch of guac and put a little label on it; do not eat. You back up and sip the cold water, a chill spreading through you.

You’re too old to be dealing with entitled brats like him. That thought makes you feel bad but when you were his age, you avoided your peers for the same characteristics. You strayed from the path of marriage and motherhood to find your own peace and now you’ve foolishly welcomed chaos into your home. All because Linda Thrombey wanted her due.

“Look, I didn’t have a chance to mention it, is all.”

“Uh huh,” he snorts. “Sure.”

You clear your throat. “We can be mature about this. I guess we should go over the agreement. You have your space, your stuff, and I have mine.”

“Sure,” he agrees tritely.

You look at the glass in his hands. “So, if you do need to borrow something, you can just ask first–”

“I remember when I got here, you said make myself at home,” he counters, pausing to drain the last of the wine. He sets the glass down so roughly, you swear you hear a crack. “But you really haven’t made me feel at home, have you?”

You take another drink and hide behind the glass, the condensation staining your palms. “I’m sorry, I thought… you’d prefer your space.”

“My space, you mean the shed?” He scoffs.

You furrow your brows.

“This is a big house for just you. It’s pretty fucking selfish to have me out there then treat me like an outdoor dog when I dare come inside.” He snarls as he stands at his full height, shoulders squaring. He’s a lot bigger than you realised before. Even with nearly nothing on.

“I’m sorry if it’s come off that way–”

“I wondered why you were still single, you know? Think I get it now.” He spits.

“Hey, you don’t have to be mean. We can talk this out. All I’m asking is that you… just ask. If you want something, just let me know.” You barter. “And I’ll make sure to communicate back. No more notes.”

He snorts and tilts his head. He grips his hips as he stares at you. He pokes his tongue into his cheek and shifts his weight on his long legs. He gives a subtle nod.

“All I gotta do is ask?” He says.

You nod nervously.

“So, if I ask nicely to bend you over and loosen up that tight ass, what would you say to that?” He taunts.

You blanch and blink, instinctively taking a step back. “That’s… not funny.”

“I’m not being funny. I don’t make fucking jokes.” He snarls.

Your eyes flit from him to the door; past the island and past him. You grip the glass tighter and look him in the face.

“The answer would be no and I’d prefer it if you went back to the guest house. Now.” You say rigidly.

He chuckles. The rocky rumble sends a shiver through you then suddenly, quiets. His face drops, his eyes darkening as the angles of his jaw grow sharp. He steps toward you and you retreat. He slaps the glass from your hands and the glass shatters against the side of the island.

You gasp and stumble backward. He steps over the puddle of shards and water as he pursues you, eyes dilated, jaw set. You turn around the side of the island, dragging your hand on the wall.

“Ransom, I didn’t– what–”

He lunges at you and you stagger. You throw out your arms as you dodge away from him. He’s too fast. Too strong. He catches you by your throat and swings you into the side of the island. You cry out at the marble edge cracks into the middle of your back. You whine and wriggle in his grasp.

“You think you’re fucking than me? That you’re doing me some kind of fucking favour? This is a punishment for me. Living with some crotchety old lady with a snatch that hasn’t been stretched in decades. With her tightass fucking rules and ass.” He sneers down at you, getting close as his breath scalds with the scent of wine.

“Ransom,” you clasp onto his thick wrist and writhe. You can feel the tendons and veins as you tremble at his strength. “Please, you’ve been drinking–”

“Shut you’re fucking mouth!” He snaps. “Every fucking word you say just makes me want to break you more.”

“Please,” you whisper.

“Stop fucking talking and pull your skirt up.” He growls.

Your eyes sting and your lip trembles. You stare at him, paralysed. He huffs and reaches down, gripping the seam of your skirt as he yanks. You jerk in his grasp and bat his hand blindly. He squeezes your neck tighter and shakes you.

“Stop fucking fighting,” he barks in your face. “Do you really want to find out how much worse this can get?”

You whimper as your hand shakes around his wrist. You gape up at him dumbly. He bends down and presses his forehead and nose to yours.

It hit him as he was walking through the Hallmark store, buying a stupid birthday present for some random person in the office. He was grumbling to himself, and then you were there. Not in person, no. But your scent. Drifting through the air conditioned breeze and stealing all sense from his system. A switch flicked.

His alpha demanded, and he was happy to comply.

Even with the bustling mall, crowds of people darting and perusing, he doesn’t lose your scent. Following past storefronts—even those that waft obnoxious colognes out their doors—and the food court—with the smell of food flooding the air. Your trail leads him to you.

He wonders if you know. If you sense him. The predator on your tail. Stalking after you on the hunt.

He pauses in front of the sporting goods store. Ari and Curtis exiting as he approaches. A wild, feral look in each of his packmate’s eyes. But they find him in the crowd. Without a word, joining him on his search to find you.

Three pairs of eyes scan their surroundings. Their combined instincts goading them on.

They find you in the parking garage. The breeze changing. Your scent still lingering. But they see you. The tension in your shoulders. The shiver of your figure. Your quick steps and swinging gaze. Looking for them as much as they’re looking for you. Distress sours your scent. Your feet scurry. Pace rapid as you try to get to the safety of your car. You know. You can feel them, smell them.

He and his packmates continue their pursuit.

A nod to the side separates them. Their formation fanning out. Corralling you wherever you’re going.

You shove your key into the door of your car, hands shaking, nearly fumbling them. Scratches form on the handle with your missed attempts. But then it notches in the lock and you nearly breathe a sigh of relief.

He’s at your back before you can. You whip around, pathetic growl rolling in your throat. His lips tilt in a smirk.

“No need for that, omega,” he says, holding up a hand to dismiss the sound. Ari and Curtis come into his periphery. Ari’s eyes softening at the growl in your throat, Curtis’ eyes hungry.

You’re too focused on him to notice. And he steps forward, crowding you into the cool metal of your car.

“Easy now,” he coos in a whisper just for you. One hand raises to cup your cheek, your eyes widening at the touch. “It’s nice to meet you.” Your scent fills his nose—even tainted as it is by your fear. “That’s Ari and Curtis,” he introduces with a nod to each at his side, “and I’m Andy. We’re your new alphas.”

You look out the window, just above ground level and watch the sky. You can see the churning storm in the clouds. The next rumble shakes you but you don’t hesitate. You punch through the pane. Then you wait as it passes.

On the next keel of thunder, you clear out the shards jutting out of the frame. You have to time your next move as well. You push the wooden night table over to the window and step up. You don’t look back.

You push yourself up until your toes are no longer on the table. You haul yourself through, wriggling in the narrow frame. For a moment, you don’t think you’ll fit all the way through. Panic pumps through your veins.

You drag yourself across the grass and mud. You stay on your stomach, crawling breathless through the sheets of rain. You keep low beneath the moonlight and the glow of the bulb on the side of the house. You move slow, cautious of the censors on the cameras.

Inch by inch you wade through the storm and the threat of pursuit. You get to the fence. You can’t risk climbing over. You turn and put your feet on the lower slat. You kick in tandem with the thumping sky. Finally, it comes free.

You roll under, soaked in muck and rain. You don’t care. You just keep going.

You don’t dare sit up until you get to the row of trees and brush along the dirt road. The leaves droop in the downpour. You get to your hands and knees and follow the trim of overgrown grass alongside the beaten road.

When all you can see is darkness, you get to your feet. You’re worn and filthy, exhausted already. You know you still have far to go.

Your bare feet pang with the jab of sharp stones. You shuffle along, shivering, soaked. The rain slows as you twitch at the noise of unseen critters.

Your eyelids sag and your shoulders too. You hug yourself as only the sound of the gravel beneath your feet fills the void of the dead storm. A mist of rain remains but the sky is quiet, only a tremor of lightning pulsing off in the distance.

Go, go, go.

You slump along, each step more painful than the last. The sky softens and the horizon lightens. You hear a thrum off in the distance. You look back. You’re not as far as you thought. You turn and throw yourself into a ragged sprint, though you can’t move much faster than when you walked.

No, no, no, he’s coming. The engine roars through the fields. You break off from the road and cross through the tall crops. The tall stalks move with you, batting you back as you fight them off with blind flails.

He’s coming! Faster, faster. The crush and crunch of tires and the rev of an engine strangles you. Your chest and lungs burn. You pump your arms as you stagger through the wall of unplowed harvest.

You hear the stalks behind you thrashing down as they’re crushed. He wouldn’t! No, it can’t be.

The sudden glare of lights makes you scream and a crack of agony goes through your left leg and hip. You shriek as your leg is crushed beneath the tire and the crank of the gears halts the metal beast.

You lay on your stomach and sob. You can’t move your leg but you’re too afraid to even try. You’ve never felt this kind of pain.

The car door opens with a groan and boots hit the dirt. You listen in dread as he approaches. Cole sticks his toe under your stomach and flips you over. You wail in sheer torture as your leg drags limply from the socket.

“Honey, I told you to get some sleep.” He bends his knees and squats beside you.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me.” You beg and gnash your teeth. “My… my leg.”

He hushes you and pets your cheek. He tuts as he shakes his head. His hand trails down your neck. He brushes down your side to your hip. He squeezes the dislocated joint and you roar.

"You shouldn't have done that," he tuts.

"Please, I-- I'm..." you heave and claw at your chest. "Scared."

"Scared?" He scoffs. "Of what? I thought you understood."

You wheeze, nearly gagging from the pain.

"All you had to do was be good. Keep me happy and I'll keep you happy, honey." He pushes on your hips until your body spasms. He grits. “I’m easy enough to please when you listen.”

He hooks his arms under you and lifts you. You cry out again, latching onto him only to keep from screaming even louder. You’re blind from the pain, completely senseless as you jostle in his grasp. 

He lays you down unkindly in the back of the truck. He shows no concern as he pushes your crushed leg out of the way of the door and slams it. You sink into a senseless void as you feel his weight in the front of the cabin and he sighs.