Ransom stares a long moment. Then with slow movements, he reaches inside his back pocket, pulling out a black bandana.

Beretta slips in front of him, his hands starting at the sides of my breasts and gliding down to my hips.

His eyes hit mine and he lifts me, the cold metal making me jump slightly with contact. Despite the chill, I’m sweating.

Anxious.

Ready to tear away from my own skin.

I need a night to flip off the fucking world.

A night to want everything I shouldn’t, be all I’m not allowed to be, but I don’t have to say it out loud.

He knows.

I try to find the logic in that, to understand how, but maybe there is none? Maybe there doesn’t have to be.

Maybe we’re the same, fighting ourselves for reasons we don’t share.

Over Beretta’s shoulder, Ransom’s eyes burn, a brilliant baby blue, and he finds his way in front of me again.

His chin lowers, the bandana rises, and my toes curl in my shoes.

I pull in a full breath as he ties it over my eyes, snug and tri-folded, forcing my lids closed behind it.

His hand glides down my neck to my chest, and he pushes, my body breaking out in chills as my shoulders lower to meet the metal behind them.

All at once, their hands come forward, gliding and massaging, and my core muscles clench.

My chest rises and falls in rapid speed as my dress is guided up and over my stomach. Instinctually, my legs pull closed, but when the hands on me freeze, I take a deep breath and open them.

My ass is tugged to the end of the hood, two sets of hands following the same exact path down my legs. One is rough and massaging, the other gentle and fluttering, both making me shake and warm and holy shit. This is...

A hand presses over my underwear and I moan, my muscles relaxing.

My legs are lifted, the point of my heel placed on the bumper, and I shiver as the wind blows over my exposed skin.

The hand cupping me dips lower, pressing over the wet spot in my underwear and my ass cheeks clench, my hips arching, begging for more.

“What do you think?” Beretta rasps from somewhere to the left, and fingers slide beneath my underwear, meeting my bare center. Someone groans. “Off or to the side?”

My hands come down, pushing at the silky fabric, but they’re captured, kissed, and threaded into another.

I sigh, jolting when a finger is slipped inside me.

“Oh my god,” I rasp, clenching around it.

“Off,” Ransom answers, his voice so low, so rough, it’s almost missed. “Quickly.”

Teeth nip at my hip seconds later and I squeeze the hands locked on mine, pulling him close, and whoever he is, comes to me.