Page 117 of Time After Time

“That, too. But trust him, as in, he’s as invested as you are,” he advises. “You start with doubts, you let your insecurities run roughshod over you, long distance becomes just another way of saying ‘the end.’”

“Idotrust him,” I say and then pause, “But….”

“If you build it…it’ll come. As in, you build your relationship, the trust will come.”

“Damn, for a minute there I thought you wanted us to build a baseball field.”

He grimaces at my lame joke.

After dinner, there’s music.

Uncle Bob insists on singing Sinatra, which he does pretty well, while Papa plays the piano.

Aunt Tanya and Mama dance.

The fire crackles. The kids are playing some weird card game Anika made up.

Aksel and Latika have snuck out for a walk…orwhatever, while we all watch the kids. Jonathan andFreja are in a food coma,their word, on a love seat. They’re both half asleep.

Ransom’s got his arm slung around the back of my chair, fingers brushing my neck, like it’s casual, normal, something he’s done a million times and will keep on doing for another million.

And I don’t want him to stop.

That night, in my room, we kiss like we’re making up for every minute we lost andwilllose. It’s slow, then hungry, then slow again—like we can’t decide whether we’re trying to memorize or erase time.

His fingers are searing hot, rough calluses scraping against my skin, making me tremble with arousal and anticipation.

His tongue slips into my mouth, teasing, taunting, and I moan. His hands are tugging at my hair, gripping my hips, sliding down to my ass, and squeezing hard enough to hurt.

Pain and pleasure.

I want him to leave bruises. I want him to mark me, claim me, remember me.

His chest is all hard planes of muscle.

I can’t stop myself from running my hands over him, feeling every ridge, every delicious inch of him.

His tongue flicks over my nipple. He bites down—just enough to make me cry out.

Pain and pleasure.

His knee nudges my legs apart, and he’s between them before I can even think about begging.

He leans down, his breath hot against my ear, and whispers, “You’re soaked for me, aren’t you?”

I nod because I can’t speak, and he laughs—a low sound that sends a shiver down my spine.

He settles his shoulders between my thighs, watching me as he licks, sucks, and drives me insane.

I writhe under him. My hands tangled in his hair.

“There. Ransom. There.”

He licks me like he’s starving, like he’s addicted to the taste of me, and I’m so close, so close?—

But then he pulls back. “What?”

“Want inside you when you come.” I can barely hear him, he’s so gruff, hoarse.