He presses there, rolling with me as he thrusts up into me. My palms flatten on the wall at his back and I lift a little.

He knows what I want, he scoots down slightly and I drop, taking him deeper with a gasped moan.

I ride him, reveling at the feeling of his cock swelling inside me and he lets his head fall back, his eyes closing, lips parted and panting.

He’s feeling all of me, seeing me behind closed lids.

But then he begins to shake, so I press firmer, placing my lips on his and breathing for us both. I set the pace and after a few tense moments, he slowly follows.

His thigh muscles begin to clench, and I press harder, move faster, and he buries his face in my neck as he comes.

He grunts, low and deep, his body twitching, palms squeezing.

I hold him there and he me, massaging my back and running his hands along my body.

His lips find my ear, buried half in my hair, and he whispers, “Happy Birthday to my girl.”

Instant, bone deep aches zip through me, but I can’t pinpoint where I’m hurting.

Maybe everywhere.

All over.

He pulls back, looking into my eyes with a twisted expression.

“I tried to call, we all did,” he tells me, and I know this.

I ignored his calls too.

“We had something for you. Arsen made you a cake and B wanted to bring you coffee and pasta.”

I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.

“I’m going to tell you something,” he rasps. “And you’re going to panic, stress, and you’ll probably make a mistake after, but we’ll get over it.”

“Ransom—”

“I love you. For real love you.” He fists my hair, a heart-wrenching tenderness written across him. “Bottom of the fucking ocean, love you, Trouble, and you’re not going to say it back, but I don’t need you to. I already know.”

I swallow, shaking my head. “Ransom...”

“You don’t know what it means to love, you don’t understand it, but I fucking feel it. When you look at me, when you touch me.”

“We can’t do this,” I breathe brokenly.

“Let him catch us,” he rasps, his hips shifting beneath me. “I can’t stop needing you. I fucking want you, always.”

“That’s not what I mean.” My throat aches with loss and he’s still beneath me. I can’t imagine the pain that follows.

“I mean this.” I try to pull back, but his hands fly to my hips and hold.

“This,” he deadpans.

“Us.”

His muscles grow tense, eyes tightening. It takes him several seconds to speak and when he does, it’s heartbreaking. “There is no ‘doing this.’ It’s done.”

He adjusts, leaning forward with his brows raised high.

Footsteps fall in the distance, and Ransom’s eyes snap over my shoulder.