by Eden Butler
I recognized that expression for what it was.
Hunger.
He intended to convince me what I wanted. Really wanted.
My brain fired off warnings. They came in a litany of screams, all telling me to run out of the room, to not let his desires overwhelm mine. All insisting that I ignore the rage of my body, what it wanted, what I tried to convince myself it needed. I let him drag me under like I had since the night of the recital. I felt like I was drowning, but damn, it had my pulse quickening.
Ransom adjusted on top of me, pushing his hips closer, watching me when I managed to inch away from him.
“Come closer.” I didn’t bother to answer him—not that demand, not the quick flash of irritation on his face at my refusal. “Aly…”
“And if I don’t?” I knew better than to ask. My question was a spark flirting too close to the fuse.
“You really don’t want that question answered.” He wasn’t serious, didn't think I was. That threat was part of the game we used to play so often. Him demanding, me refusing. We’d switch, reverse roles and by the look in his eyes and the twitch moving his lips I knew he remembered playing with me. Remembered and likely missed it as much as I did.
He was so solid over me, trapping me because he knew I liked it. I always had. The weight of his thick body, keeping me still, pinning me just enough to make me ache for what he offered. But indecision was a weighty thing, it planted a kernel of doubt that, despite what my body was telling me, I needed to be sure I wasn’t just doing something stupid.
It was the indecision that seemed to urge Ransom on, lowering over me, just enough to get a taste of what he wanted. “You remember what it was like, don’t you?”
He came too close, a movement that vanished the space between us.
“No. That memory is gone.” Okay, two could play at this game. One look at his face told me he knew I was lying, but I tipped my chin, defying him anyway. “I don’t remember anything.”
I caught the hint of a smile, the pulse working in his left cheek. “You’ve never been a good liar, Aly.” Then Ransom moved quick, fingers sliding down my hip, a treacherously slow descent as he cupped me. My thin dance pants hid nothing. He was soft, smug with a stroke meant to tease, meant to reveal just how wet he’d made me. My body remembered. That much I knew the second Ransom touched me. “You’re still not.”
The laughed he released when I pulled on his shirt died as I brought his mouth to mine. “Shut up.” And he did, not letting me take more than a bite against his bottom lip. He tasted like a hazelnut latte. That was my last thought before Ransom held my wrists, grabbing them in one hand.
“You want to remember, Aly?” When I didn’t answer, Ransom returned his fingers to my body, rubbing against my clit exactly like he knew I wanted. The thick, warm pad of his thumb moved in circles, shaking away every thought, every sensation but the heat from his body and the weight of him on top of me. “Do you?” That hand quickened, the friction a sweet ache I didn’t want to ever stop.
“No,” I told him, wiggling one hand free, scratching my nails down his back, arching toward him, encouraging him to keep that thumb moving with the brush of my breasts against him. Even as I urged him on, I know I spoke the truth.
“No?” Ransom’s question disappeared behind the graze of his teeth down my neck. “You don’t want to remember?”
I didn’t. Not a single memory. A touch that was new, a taste that was different—that’s what I wanted. Memory came with emotion. It came with commitment, something that would land me back where I’d begun four years ago. I wanted to move beyond that. I wanted more.
“I…I want you to touch me like you don’t know me.” That hand slowed, the friction easing and I couldn’t look at him. “I want you to touch me like a stranger.”
He didn’t stop moving against me. Ransom wasn’t purposefully cruel. He thought he knew me, assumed he knew when I was pretending. But I wasn’t this time. I wanted him to give me what I asked for, not what he thought I wanted, not what I had wanted in the past. But he couldn’t do it. No, he wasn’t a stranger. He knew how close I’d come to climax. So he didn’t stop, only slowed before he moved his hips, released my wrist to pull my face up. And because I recognized how badly he wanted this, and knew that I would end up wanting it, too, I let go of wanting anything else and gave myself up to his touch, his fire, his desire.
“A stranger doesn’t touch you, Aly. Not like this.” And with that one touch, Ransom fractured the reserve I had tried so desperately to maintain. A push of my flesh, finger under my thong, right against my clit, bare, raw and that tactile, desperate urgency eased.
“A stranger wouldn’t know what you whimper when you want it, when you’re so close to falling apart that your breath becomes a muffle of sound.” He tugged at my pants, freed me from anything but the floor under me and his touch. His palm over my naked ass, then he pulled me against his body until he pushed his fingers inside me, working me hard, like no one but Ransom ever had. Ever could.
“No stranger would know that your breath hitches, that you hold everything still, the air in your lungs, even the beat of your pulse when I touch you.” He showed me then, with the dip of his fingers deep inside. And all did go still then—the breath between us, the axis of the world, my beating heart…it all seemed to stop until he moved his fingers over me, sliding until he found his way to a rhythm that made time coil and speed as quickly as it had slowed. Nothing held me back then. No excuses of why he shouldn’t touch me, no lies I told myself about not loving him anymore.
“I’m not a stranger, nani. Your body knows that.” Working faster, deeper, he smiled, pleased and happy when my mouth opened, when the space between us filled with the soft noises I made. His face wasn’t expressionless anymore. It told me all I thought I’d forgotten. The act of touching me, making me come, the noises I made, it was all familiar to Ransom. It was comfortable.
“Strangers don’t know love this deep. If they did, they wouldn’t be strangers at all.” That he whispered against my lips, kissing me like he couldn’t keep from it for another second.
“Ransom…”
“I’ll never be a stranger, Aly, because this body, your heart is mine. It always will be.”
He at least let me settle. The air had grown stifling, stuffy. I might not have noticed the sweat now covering my body unless Ransom hadn’t moved, shirtless now from the heat, from how he’d touched me, how he’d kept me from touching him in return.
The thermostat was next to the light switch near the doorway and with the low light falling around us, Ransom’s shadow grew as he stood in front of that switch. His body was wider now than the first time we’d danced, but he’d been a boy back then. Still, the lines of those shoulders were familiar. The narrow slope of his waist. The ridges along his torso; they all reminded me just then of the boy he’d been, beating himself up for a loss that he'd caused. Desperate to free himself from the need of touch, yet eager to keep touching. That had not changed much either. Ransom was a man who liked the feel of contact. When he was mine, he’d always held on to me even in little ways—his fingers against my shoulder as we watched T.V., his palm on my thigh while he drove us around Miami.
Then I reminded myself we hadn’t been together for two years. He hadn’t been celibate, hadn’t kept to himself, I knew that and the thought had me guessing who had held his hand when he treated her to dinner? Who had let him lay in her lap when he was worn from practice? Those were stupid, pointless thoughts which were none of my business anymore.
Ransom turned, stretching those massive arms over his head and I sat up, not wanting to see more of what wasn’t mine. I was stupid, thoughtless, wondering how I could even think of casting Ethan aside on nothing more than a touch, or pretend that letting Ransom touch me would help me say goodbye. This wasn’t going to help me sort out my feelings. Nothing would except distance. Distance he needed to give me.
“Why are you here?” My question stopped his return to
the spot next to me on the floor and I felt the tension rise up in his body as he lowered himself three feet away from me.
“I didn’t come here to get you off if that’s what you’re thinking.” He smirked, until I shot him the evil eye. Then he just shook his head, giving up the fight before it began. “I actually had a thought I wanted to run by you.”
He moved then, stretching his arms to rest on his knees and I sat up, turning to face him fully with my legs bent under my butt. “Which is?”
“Cass.”
“The artist?”
Ransom shrugged, a quick snarl moving his top lip. “If that’s what you wanna call him.” When I tilted my head, scooting onto my side he continued, back straight, fingers locked together. “He got a little handsy with my mom the other day.”
“Define ‘handsy.’”
The edge of Ransom’s jaw moved as he ground his teeth, but he kept any sarcastic retorts to himself, though I knew my request had irritated him. He had always been stupid about his parents. Every friendly stranger that smiled at Keira wanted her. Every exuberant fan with big boobs who begged Kona for a picture or autograph, had plans on seeing him naked. Funny how he saw that with them and not the long line of groupies always circling around him when my back was turned in Miami.
“He was touching on her, calling her ‘darlin’ and ‘gorgeous,’ offering to take care of shit.”
Eyebrows up, I could only blink at him. “And that makes you think he’s making a move?”
“No.” A low grunt and Ransom scratched his fingers through his hair. “But him massaging her, rubbing on her shoulders and neck, shit you know he wouldn’t do if Dad had been in the room, that makes me think he’s at least planning shit.”
I understood his concern, but thought Ransom might be overreacting. “Keira would never…”
“No, she wouldn’t and I’m not worried that the jackass is going to tempt her to step out on Kona.”
“Then what is it?”
He took a breath, seeming to gear up for a well thought out, likely only half-realized theory. “Funny how all this shit happened with my dad and his ex and this, whoever the other woman is, when Cass comes around.” Ransom curled his lips, pressing them together like the thought of the entire situation made him sick to his stomach. “More than once he’s commented on Mom moving back to Nashville and he volunteered to help her set up sessions here in New Orleans like he’s her right hand man or something. He’s always trying to get her back to Tennessee, offering to tag along if she needs him for showcases or to network. He’s looking to take advantage of her clout. I’m guessing he thinks her in Nashville would open more doors for him. The problem with that is…”
“That Kona’s job is here.” He nodded at me and I began to understand where Ransom’s worry came from. I’d heard Cass make that very suggestion once or twice. Even at the barbeque he talked about going back. He’d even got Keira to reminisce about living there. “Koa and Mack, their home is here. Not in Nashville.”
Ransom nodded, scratching his chin. “You know my mom isn’t good at reading people, especially men angling for something. Dad is. I am. It’s why Cass scatters when Kona is around. It’s why, I’m guessing, he doesn’t like her being there with Cass and no one else.”
That didn’t mean anything and Ransom knew it. “Kona is also jealous, just like Keira is over him.”
“Yeah, I know that, but this is different.” A small pulse beat against his neck, reminding me that he could let himself get worked up with little effort. It was a warning signal I could pick up even though we’d been apart for more than a year.
I sat closer, touching the top of his hand and Ransom closed his eyes, releasing a long breath before he continued. “This isn’t Kona being a jealous asshole.” Ransom looked down at me calmer, that quick pulse in his neck slowing. “The shit landed in his lap, out of the blue, right along the time that Cass came around. I didn’t make the connection until the other day when he showed up after Mom told him she needed to work by herself that day. He ignored what she wanted and pounced, the day after all that shit went down. When he knew Dad wouldn’t be around.”
“You really think he has the connections for that?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, leaning back on his hands. “But I did a little digging. One of Mom’s old writing partners, Sara, is with Sony doing A&R. She’s heard Cass’s name before. They used to run a talent search about five years ago. Heavy competition. Few years back Cass made it to the final round, so did a guy called Michael Aymes. Sara said something happened then; she never knew what it was, she’d only heard rumors, but Aymes quit the competition and went back to Oklahoma and Cass got disqualified. She’s putting out feelers. I’m telling you. Something is off.” Ransom watched me, as though he didn’t know how to broach whatever he thought of saying next but shrugged to himself, exhaling before he spoke. “I think Dad needs a head’s up.”
“Before you know anything for sure?”
“He has a right. That’s why I came here. It wasn’t about…” he waved in my direction as though reminded me of what we’d gotten up to twenty minutes before. “Anyway, I came by to see if you’d go with me. If you’re there Kona might not lose his temper and fly off the handle.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” He sat up, head turned as though he tried hard to read me. “Is this because of his shitty attitude he had with you when you moved back?” Ransom moved closer, grabbing my wrist when I made to stand. “That was a long time ago, makamae and he isn’t mad anymore.”
I couldn’t take the look he gave me. Ransom’s face was expressive, easy to read and just then, with the heat finally lessening and the faint smell of our skin, our sweat still perfuming around us, I understood his confusion. Of course it would. He had no idea. No one did.
Ransom dipped his head, letting me stand without saying a word, but I knew my silence had stung him. Just then, I thought it best to keep my own company. Once upon a time, I kept nothing from him.
“Aly, I don’t know what’s in your head.” He stood, leaning against the wall next to me as I fiddled with the remote to the sound system. “Maybe it’s not my place to ask anymore. Maybe you’ve got it in your head that it never will be again.” One large palm covering my wrist and Ransom forced my attention at his face. His face went tight, expression worried. “I thought maybe you could back me up but I realize now, that’s not your place anymore, is it?” That frown tensed when I shook my head. “Fair enough.” He released my wrist, staring down at the floor where just minutes before he’d touched me deeper than he had in over a year. “Ethan wants you to think about how you feel.” He looked back at me, voice even, but in his inflection I heard the anger brimming. “I want you to admit you still love me. I want you to be with me and I wish you’d tell me the real reason you won’t or why you can’t stand to be around Kona.”
“It’s…complicated,” I admitted, not able to keep my gaze on his face. There was a small scratch on the inside of my thumb. I had no idea how it got there.
“Life usually is, Aly.”
He didn’t kiss me goodbye or tell me he’d wait for me to make a decision. Ransom did nothing at all but walk away, taking the warmth from the room with him. The door sounded with a click as he left and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I wanted to cry and scream and chase after him. I wanted to find Ethan and convince him to take me to New York or to the Caribbean for an escape, tell him I was trying to be as spontaneous as he wanted me to be, like he was.
But I was a coward, scared of what lay ahead. Terrified by what lay behind.
The music clicked back to life when I dropped the remote, sliding against the wall with my knees against my chest. I buried my head with my arms.
Kona had been a little drunk, a lot happy.
Five years ago, the lake house had been full of people I only knew vaguely—coaches and their wives, Kona’s former players, former teammates from the league teams he’
d played on, friends Keira had made in Nashville and the few she’d gotten friendly with in New Orleans—all there to wish Keira well. All there to celebrate her birthday.
Ransom twirled Keira around the empty living room floor, jitterbugging with his mother as she tried to keep time. Leann cheered them on, so did Mark and Johnny. Koa and Mack hid from the spectacle, too embarrassed that their big brother was treating their mother like she wasn’t old and decrepit.
I watched from the kitchen doorway, leaning against the threshold with my shoulder on the wall, laughing at how happy my man was, how complete it felt to be with him, with his family. Then Kona approached, swaying a little as he bumped against me.
“Aly Cat!” He patted my back, eyes on Keira, as always. In all the years I knew them, I’d never seen a man fawn after his woman the way Kona did. “Look at my boy out there with my nani pilialo.”
He swayed again and I caught Kona around the waist. “You okay, cheri?”
It took him a moment, several of them as he watched my face as though he was trying to remember my name but then Kona smiled, the same grin I fell asleep to every night with Ransom. Kona’s laugh was loud, shook his entire body. “I’ve never been happier in my life.”
“Wi, looks like it.”
He moved away from me then, keeping himself upright with his hand on the wall just over my head. “You know what would make me the happiest bastard ever?”
On the dance floor Ransom twirled his mother, dipping her so low that Keira nearly knocked her head on the floor.
“What’s that?”
My attention was on Ransom and a smile froze on my face as I held the moment in my chest, letting it push back the worry the past few months had kindled inside me. It would be fine, all of it. I knew that. Those random thoughts of a future that was years away, the idea that we would never have everything we wanted, it meant nothing, not when there was love and laughter. Not when we always remembered what was important—me and Ransom and this family.