9. Ruby
Ruby
I used to be a girl who hoarded firsts like precious gems. I didn’t give away my first kiss until I was eighteen, and even then, it was a clumsy, breathless thing born from a dare, not desire. I was so terrified of giving a piece of myself away, of the vulnerability it required.
For most of my life, I’ve let fear be the architect of my boundaries. It built tall, sturdy walls that kept the world out, and more importantly, kept me safely contained inside. I never tried to change things because the unknown was always more frightening than the quiet misery of the familiar.
Not until I met Diesel.
He didn’t just make me feel safe; he made feeling afraid feel pointless. How can I be scared of the dark when he is a living shield, a constant, solid presence between me and any threat?
But now, under the spray of hot water, the threat is gone. And the man who demolished my fear of the world is now treading a line toward another first I’ve always been terrified to give away.
What happened in the stairwell was one thing, but this is different. Completely different.
Here I am—not frozen, not fleeing. I’m the one leaning into the rough warmth of his hands, arching into his touch. A low moan escapes my lips as his fingers, slick with soap, slide through the suds down my stomach and spread a different, hotter heat between my thighs.
What started as a simple, innocent washing has spiraled into something wild and undeniable. All because, without fear, a new part of me is emerging. A brave part. A hungry part.
Diesel’s trying to be a good man. He’s trying to be respectful. But just like everything else that’s happened since I stumbled into his life, I’m making something simple into something far more difficult.
The throb he’s created is deep inside, the ache that begs for more, isn’t something he’s taking on his own. Not without me begging for it.
Dragging his hand between my thighs had only been out of impulse to feed what I’m starving for, but now, I wish he’d follow along.
There’s no denying he wants this too. I can feel his arousal, too. His cock, stiff, presses into me with every shift, teasing me with what could come.
I want to give myself to this man. Right now, I’m not afraid. I’m really freaking turned on.
Tilting my head to look up at him, the hunger filling the depths of black is consuming, enough to make my thighs shake.
Turning around, I pull away from his touch, and my hands have a little shake to them. “Should I return the favor?”
I’m nowhere near tall enough to wash his hair, but his body? I can reach that.
His jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscle jump, and for a long moment, he just breathes. Finally, he nods.
I start by lathering my hands, then smoothing the suds over the hard planes of his chest, tracing the dark ink that tells stories I’m desperate to learn. I wash his arm, careful to keep his bandage as dry as I can. He seems less worried about it than I am.
Finally, I get to address the part of him that makes my stomach clench.
My face grows warm, a flush that has nothing to do with the steam. My gaze trails lower, over the ridges of his stomach, and finally, inevitably, falls to his cock.
It’s the one part of him that isn’t marked by ink. It’s thick and heavy, flushed a deep red at the tip. My eyes follow the prominent veins that trail down its length, and I find myself swallowing thickly.
Under the guise of washing his stomach, I let my touch drift lower, my fingers skimming through the coarse, dark hair at its base.
The reaction is instantaneous. His entire body goes rigid, a statue of tense muscle.
A sharp, ragged hiss escapes through his clenched teeth the moment my trembling fingers dare to wrap around him.
The heat of him is a shock. The skin is like silk over pure, unyielding steel.
“I’ve never seen one before,” I whisper, the confession torn from me by sheer wonder. Driven by a curiosity that overrides all shyness, I stroke him, a slow, tentative exploration. I discover he’s just as sensitive as I am when his hips give an involuntary jerk, a harsh groan rumbling in his chest.
Emboldened, I do it again, firmer this time, learning the weight of him, the way my hand barely fits. I watch, mesmerized, as a bead of moisture pearls at the tip. This is him.
That’s when his patience shatters.
His hand snaps out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist like a steel cuff, stopping my movement completely. His eyes, when they meet mine, are pure black fire, his control hanging by a thread.
Without a word, he reaches behind me and shuts off the water. The sudden silence is deafening, broken only by our ragged breathing and the drip of water on tile.
Then he moves. In one swift, effortless motion, he bends and scoops me up into his arms, not caring that we’re both dripping wet, that water is pooling around his feet. He carries me out of the bathroom and through his home, his grip unbreakable.
He doesn’t lay me down gently. He drops me onto the bed, the impact a soft bounce on the mattress. I look up at him, breathless, and see it. The final crack in his restraint. Every muscle in his body is twitching, coiled with a tension so immense it vibrates in the air between us.
“I’m trying to be a good man here. After what you’ve been through—” His brows pinch together, and he looks angry again.
“Diesel.” Biting my lip, I close my eyes and curl against his blankets. I really like the way they feel against my bare skin. When I part my thighs and let my hand slide between them, I hear him make a choking sound. “Right now, this is what I want.”
Not as a way of distracting myself. I want him. All of him.
Opening my eyes, my toes curl as I part my lips so he can see the damage he’s done. Without looking, I already know I’m slick. My fingers are already glistening.
I get a front row seat watching his strength crumble there on the spot.
A guttural sound rips from his throat. “Fuck being good, then.”
In one fluid motion, he’s on me, his large body caging me in. He doesn’t kiss my mouth. He captures my wrists, pinning them gently but firmly above my head with one hand. His eyes burn with a feverish intensity as they rake down my body, devouring the sight of me laid bare for him.
“Look at you,” he growls, his voice thick with filth and wonder. “So fucking pretty and open for me. All this wetness, just from my hands on you?”
When I nod, he smiles. I know I’ve got it bad when just a curve is enough to make my walls flutter.
“Keep those right there.” Demanding as always, he releases my wrists and finally touches me again.
It’s easy to see which parts he’s been aching to explore.
His hand cups my breast, his thumb sweeping over the peak in a circle that has me gasping. He lowers his head, and his mouth is hot and wet against my skin. He places a series of open-mouthed kisses that trail fire, each one lower than the last, until his lips close around one taut nipple.
Then his teeth catch it. A sharp, unexpected sting that makes me jolt and cry out.
But before the protest can even form, his tongue is there, soothing the ache with long, languid strokes.
The sting melts into a deep, throbbing pleasure that radiates straight to my core, turning me on so much more for the hint of pain.
He does the same with the other breast, too. Humming in satisfaction as I wither beneath him.
All my firsts, I’m handing to him on a platter. Now, he’s showing me sensations I’ve never known to be possible.
He licks his way down the sensitive skin of my stomach, a teasing, torturous descent. When he reaches the thatch of curls below, he pauses, his hot breath fanning over me. He hooks his hands under my thighs, spreading me open for his gaze.
Murmuring another curse, his voice is thick with awe. “Look at you. So pink and pretty for me.” He glances up, his eyes burning. “You’re really a virgin?”
All I can do is nod again, my breath hitching.
That wolfish grin returns, wider this time, full of pure satisfaction. “Good.” The word is a deep, growling sound of approval. “Then I’ll be the only one who knows what you taste like.”
He lowers his head without another word, and his tongue licks a long, slow stripe from my entrance to my clit.
My hips jerk like they’ve got a mind of their own. The sensation is intense, consuming every thought.
“Taste like heaven,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath a hot caress. Then he’s relentless. He spreads me open with his thumbs, holding me there for his feast.
His tongue flicks and circles my clit with a precision that steals my breath, before plunging deep inside me, hinting at what is to come with his tongue in a rhythm that leaves me whimpering.
“Gonna make you come on my tongue, Ruby,” he grunts, the words vibrating through my very core. “Gonna lick up every last drop. You understand? This sweet little cunt is mine now.”
His words are filthy, a stark contrast to the worship of his mouth. It’s overwhelming, too much, and not enough. The coil of pleasure tightens unbearably fast, so much that my head starts spinning.
Now I’m wondering if he purposely worked me up in the shower. Got me right to the edge so when finally got me where he really wanted, he could push me right off. I’m there. Rather, I feel like I’m already falling.
“I can’t… Diesel—” I gasp, my hips bucking against his face.
“That’s it,” he commands, sucking my clit into his mouth. “Let go for me.”
The command, the sensation, the sheer possession in his voice is what breaks me.
A cry tears from my lips as I come apart, my body convulsing under his, waves of pure, blinding pleasure crashing through me.
He doesn’t stop, drawing out every last shudder, until I’m boneless and trembling beneath him.
He’s not done. Just when I’m the most sensitive, he starts pushing his fingers inside of me.