Chapter 35
35
[Ruthie]
S ince Bolan has been gone a week and had a few night games upon his return home, I leave him to give Tulane her bath and tackle bedtime routines. When he finishes, I’m in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror.
The soft rap of his knuckles on the door does not distract me. “You okay in there?”
“Yep. Why don’t you head downstairs? I’ll be down in a minute.”
I just need another few seconds to talk myself into what I’m about to do.
Seduce my husband.
Not that I think Bolan isn’t attracted to me. Not that I believe he doesn’t want me on some deeper level. I’m just feeling a tad raw after that night in Cleveland. It wasn’t that I distrusted Bolan, but the situation did trigger old haunts and feelings. I had to talk myself through the emotions warring within me, and I recognized that Bolan admitting to me what happened, being forthright about it, at least once we were together, said something about him.
I could trust him. The panic in his voice. The fear that he’d mess us up. The earnest way he wanted to prove he was nothing like my late husband.
Tonight, I wanted to prove something to myself. I am desirable. I am worthy of the truth, and I accept it.
And after he repeated Valdez’s comment, I want Bolan to know how I feel about him in return. I accept him. I desire him.
Focusing on my face in the mirror, I take in the smokey shadow around my eyes. The red lipstick covering my lips. The hint of color on my cheeks and the outfit I selected to wear.
I cannot remember the last time I wore something like this. I’m not certain I’ve ever worn something this risqué before.
Taking a deep breath, I exit the bathroom and tiptoe down the dark hallway. From the top of the stairs, I can tell Bolan has the television on but no other lights. Taking my time to walk down each step, I inhale another reassuring breath.
When I reach the bottom step, Bolan is draped over the couch cushions like he tossed himself onto the furniture. His arm extends behind his head. His feet are kicked up, ankles crossed, and he turns his head to glance at me.
I pause and watch as he slowly sits upright, not taking his eyes off me.
“Flower.” He chokes, rubbing his hands down his jogger-covered thighs. “You are going to be my undoing.”
Looking at me like he is, I know he means that in the best way.
“That outfit.” He digs his teeth into his lower lip. Those green eyes almost solid gold as they roam from my hair to my chest to my toes. My breasts are covered by the thinnest red lace. The nightie hangs only to the tops of my legs, exposing all my skin to my feet. Only a scrap of material covers me in a place that’s already pulsing and damp from his appraising gaze.
He doesn’t move. He might not even be breathing. His fingers fist on top of his thighs as he watches me saunter closer to him.
Anxiety catches up to me and I smooth a hand down the thin fabric over my belly before I stop directly in front of him. Where he’s spread his knees to make space for me. “I was thinking, maybe we could be reckless red again.”
“I’ll be any color you want, baby.” His voice strains. His gaze roams over me once more. Those fists stay clamped on his legs, letting me be the one to lead this show.
I comb my fingers through his hair, and I swear he whimpers. Like the slightest touch makes him shiver. He also looks like a lion held back from pouncing on his prey. And he’s vibrating with the need to pounce.
“Touch me,” I command.
His tense fingers unclench, and he runs his fingertips along the outsides of my knees, climbing higher over the curve of my thighs until he reaches my hips. He pauses on the thin strap of ribbon around each hip, tucking his finger inside it, like he’s testing its elasticity. Then he continues his journey, palms skimming up my sides and forcing the material of my nightie to lift until he’s underneath my breasts, nudging them upward in the space between his finger and thumb.
“Sweet red.” He leans forward and covers one breast, lace and all, with his mouth. His gaze flick upward, watching me while I watch him swirl his tongue over the sheer material and then bite me. Hard.
My eyes close and my hips buck forward.
While he moves to the other breast, one of his hands lowers down my belly and straight between my thighs. He pulls back from my breast and watches where his finger skims over the silky scrap.
“Cherry red,” he whispers, pressing against me, forcing the fabric to crease into the damp folds. His concentration is focused as he slips both hands behind my backside, fingers tucking into the strap between my cheeks and tugging. The wet silk against my clit tightens and I tip back my head at the sensation that’s strangely delicious.
With the silk taut, he lowers his head and breathes between my thighs, then swipes his tongue against the covered place.
“Flower,” he hums, using his teeth to drag aside the material. The first stroke of his hot, thick tongue causes me to buck forward again. Quickly, he removes my panties and returns us to our position.
My hands come to his shoulders to hold me steady, and without warning, Bolan is falling to his back, taking me with him by cupping my ass. He moves me by my hips until I’m almost straddling his head.
“Get on my face, flower.”
“Bolan.” The strained chuckle gives away my nerves. I’ve never done something like that before and I worry I’ll smother him.
My hesitation doesn’t deter him as he scoots down the couch and positions me over him. I place my hands on the armrest for balance, unprepared for that first lick.
“Bear,” I growl, as my head tips back again and something inside me turns wild. My hips start to dance under his insistence. My body slithers and rolls.
I cup one of my breasts and play with the nipple.
“That is so fucking hot,” he says, offering only a second of reprieve before returning his attention to my clit. I glance down at him between my thighs, the sight unlike anything I’ve seen before. His eyes are wide and watching me.
One of his hands curls around my backside again, his fingers slipping between the crack. He tickles down the crease until his forefinger presses at that puckered hole. I tighten my thighs, rocking forward, which clenches my ass.
“Bolan?” I question, not only what he’s doing, but how it makes me feel.
He slides those fingers forward, dipping them into the mess he’s making between my thighs before pulling back to his original position.
“Want to take you everywhere, flower. Want to make you feel all the things.”
He has no idea how many places I already feel him. My head. My heart. My soul.
As his tongue continues its torturous flicking, his finger slowly breaches me from behind. The pressure intensifies everything.
My breath hitches but somehow my body relaxes, welcoming just the tip of his finger, while the tip of his tongue flutters against another sensitive spot.
Quickly, I’m tipping over the edge, digging my nails into the armrest and clenching my thighs around his head. Tightening my ass and spilling over his lips.
“Bolan,” I cry out, not caring about a toddler sleeping one floor up or neighbors below us. Let the world know this man, and only this man, can take me to these heights. Make me soar and fly.
I’m coming hard and fast until Bolan pulls back. He shoves me down his body to rock my center over his hard length, freed from his joggers when I hadn’t noticed.
He hisses at the contact as I continue to ride out my orgasm. Then he’s notching at my entrance and slipping inside, and the sparks that have hardly turned to embers, ignite again.
“Bolan.” I rock on his hard cock. His balls against my ass. His pubic bone kissing my clit.
“That’s it, baby.” His fingertips dig into my hips, guiding me back and forth as I hug him inside me. “Fuck me like you love me.”
My gaze flings down to his face to find him watching me. Watching us and how I take him into me. My movements never falter as I lift and drop, lost to my own arousal, found in my desire for him.
I settle at his base and go off once more, fingernails scraping down his chest.
Bolan hisses. “I love it.” Then his hips turn wild, bouncing upward, dropping back, dipping into me so all I feel is him.
“Home,” he whispers, like he’s finishing a sentence he hasn’t spoken out loud.
“What?” I chuckle, only momentarily stumbling in rhythm.
“You are my home, Ruthie.” He continues moving like he hadn’t spoken. Then starts muttering again. “Why do you feel so good? Every kiss. Every touch. So good, baby. So good.”
His fingers tighten almost painfully on my hips, and he settles me over him. Pressing me down as he thrusts up and holds. I feel every pulse and pump inside me. He’s as deep as he can get and yet it doesn’t feel deep enough.
“You consume me,” he grunts. “Forever.” Everything from his mouth sounds like an incomplete thought, but I don’t question him.
Instead, I collapse over him, breathing in his leather and cinnamon scent mingled with the hint of me over his face. He kisses me. The kiss promising and possessive, and a punctuation on this moment.
“I think you got me pregnant,” he teases, joking again by repeating what he once said, and breaking the intense, intimate tension.
I chuckle as I lie over him, shaking my head and rubbing my nose against his. What a ridiculous man. What a deliciously, lovable man .
“I hope you got me pregnant,” I whisper, kissing the tip of his nose. “I think I might like forever with you.”
Bolan cups my head, pushing it upward so he can look at me. Those eyes dance. His nostrils flare.
And then he’s kissing me again, like forever with me is all he’s ever wanted.