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“Ran, your mom—“ you’re cut off when a silk scarf is shoved into your mouth.
The Armani cologne is cloying when Ransom sheaths himself in your cunt. He leans in, “Won’t hear a thing. Just keep your fucking mouth shut.”
The dark closet is no more than a few yards from where Linda sits reading.
“So goddamn tight,” he grunts when he starts fucking you with long, languid strokes, like he’s got hours to kill. His talented fingers circle your clit, and you know there’s no way you’re going to be able to stop your screams, scarf or no scarf.