7. Ruby
Chapter Seven
RUBY
Warmth. That’s the first thing I feel.
Warmth spreading through my body, drawing me from sleep into a hazy consciousness that feels better than any dream.
My eyes flutter open and I realize the warmth isn’t just the blankets. It’s Clay’s mouth on my inner thigh as his hands part my legs with gentle insistence.
My breath catches as his tongue finds me, and any remaining fog of sleep vanishes in an instant. His eyes flick up to mine, dark with hunger, and the sight of him between my legs sends a shock wave of desire through me so strong I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
“Clay,” I moan.
He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, his tongue circles my clit, making my hips rise involuntarily from the bed. His large hands grip my thighs, holding me open to him as he tastes me with deliberate, maddening slowness.
I thread my fingers through his dark hair, not sure if I’m trying to pull him closer or push him away from the almost unbearable pleasure. He groans against me, the vibration sending ripples of sensation up my spine.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot and teasing. “Been thinking about this all night.”
Before I can respond, he slides one thick finger inside me while his tongue continues its relentless attention. My back arches off the bed as he curls his finger, finding that perfect spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
“Clay, please,” I gasp, not even sure what I’m begging for.
He adds a second finger, stretching me deliciously as his mouth works magic. My thighs begin to tremble, heat building low in my belly, coiling tighter with each stroke of his tongue. I’m climbing higher, faster than I thought possible, my body responding to him like we’ve been lovers for years instead of hours.
When he sucks gently while pressing his fingers deeper, I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me in waves, my body clenching around his fingers as I cry out his name. He doesn’t stop, drawing out every last tremor until I’m gasping, oversensitive and boneless against the sheets.
Only then does he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looks down at me with undisguised male satisfaction. His cock stands proud against his stomach, hard and ready.
“Morning, gorgeous,” he says, voice rough with desire.
I reach for him, wanting to feel him inside me, needing to complete this connection.
He moves over me, his muscled body caging mine as he settles between my thighs. The blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance, teasing but not entering.
I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he positions himself at my entrance. His blue eyes lock on mine as he pushes slowly inside. The stretch is exquisite, my body still sensitive from his mouth but eager to take all of him.
“Fuck,” he groans as he bottoms out. “You feel incredible.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, loving the weight of him above me.
He begins to move, setting a rhythm that has me climbing toward another peak almost immediately. His forearms bracket my head as he thrusts, his gaze never leaving mine, creating an intimacy that’s almost more overwhelming than the physical pleasure.
I run my hands down his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath smooth skin, tracing old scars I want to know the stories behind. He dips his head to capture my mouth in a kiss that tastes of me, and something about that is so erotic I moan into his mouth.
His pace quickens, his control slipping as I tighten around him. One hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit. The dual sensation pushes me over the edge again, my second orgasm even more intense than the first. I cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure pulses through me.
He follows moments later, his rhythm faltering as he drives deep one final time, his body tensing above me as he finds his release. The sound he makes—half groan, half my name—is something I want to hear again and again.
For several heartbeats, we stay joined, his forehead pressed against mine as we catch our breath. Then he kisses me softly, almost reverently, before carefully withdrawing and disposing of the condom.
When he returns to bed, he pulls me against his chest, his heartbeat strong beneath my ear. I expect him to drift back to sleep, or maybe suggest breakfast. What I don’t expect is the way his arms tighten around me, or the serious tone in his voice when he finally speaks.
“That was...” he pauses, searching for words. “You’re something else, Ruby Wilson.”
I smile against his skin, oddly pleased by his loss for words. “You’re not so bad yourself, Dover.”
His chest rumbles with quiet laughter. “High praise from a woman who’s been keeping men at arm’s length for years.”
I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him, surprised. “How do you know that?”
“Background check,” he admits, not looking remotely apologetic. “Plus, it’s obvious in how you carry yourself. You don’t let people get close easily.”
I should be annoyed that he’s read me so accurately, but there’s something disarming about his directness.
“Part of the job description for a bodyguard? Psychoanalyzing your clients?”
“Just observation.” His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. “And you’re not just a client anymore.”
The simple statement hangs between us, loaded with implications neither of us seems ready to voice. What exactly am I to him now? What is he to me? Two days ago, he was an unwanted intrusion in my life. Now he’s... essential, somehow.
Before I can formulate a response, his phone buzzes on the nightstand. Clay sighs, pressing a kiss to my forehead before reaching for it.
“I should check that,” he says, glancing at the screen. “Could be about Holloway.”
I nod, secretly relieved for the interruption. Whatever’s happening between us is moving at warp speed, and I need a moment to catch my breath.
“I’ll make coffee,” he says, sliding out of bed and pulling on a pair of boxers. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I reply, admiring the view as he walks to the door.
Once he’s gone, I flop back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as reality crashes back. I’m in Clay Dover’s bed. I’ve spent the night having mind-blowing sex with a man I barely know, while somewhere out there, a dangerous criminal is looking for me.
I should be terrified. I should be planning my next move, figuring out how to protect myself. Instead, I’m lying here replaying the way Clay’s mouth felt between my thighs, the way his eyes darkened when he came inside me.
What is happening to me?
Whatever it is, I can’t deny that last night was the best sex of my life. Not just physically, though that was spectacular, but emotionally too. There was a connection there I’ve never experienced before, a sense of being completely seen and accepted.
I slip out of bed, wrapping the sheet around me as I pad to the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror is startling—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, a hickey blooming just below my collarbone. I look thoroughly debauched, and the woman staring back at me is a stranger. I’ve never seen myself like this before.
After using the bathroom and rinsing my mouth with Clay’s mouthwash, I steal his t-shirt from the hook on the door. It falls almost to my knees, smelling of laundry detergent and something distinctly him.
I follow the scent of coffee to the kitchen, where Clay stands at the counter, still in just his boxers, muscled back on full display as he pours coffee into two mugs. He’s hung up the phone and seems lost in thought.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He turns, eyes traveling appreciatively over my borrowed shirt before meeting my gaze.
“Just a check-in from the office. They’ve got eyes on Holloway’s known associates.”
“Any leads?”
“Nothing concrete yet.” He hands me a mug. “Cream’s in the fridge if you want it.”
I shake my head, taking the coffee black. The first sip scalds my tongue but wakes me up fully. Standing in Clay’s kitchen, drinking coffee, wearing his shirt. It’s all so domestic, so normal. The kind of normal I’ve never allowed myself to have.
“You hungry?” he asks, opening the fridge. “I can make eggs, bacon, toast. Not much else here, I’m afraid.”
“Anything’s fine,” I say, leaning against the counter. “I should probably head to the shop soon though. I’ve got clients booked all day.”
Clay stills, bacon package in hand. “The shop?”
“Fit Mountain Ink. Where I work? I need to open up.”
He sets the package down, turning to face me with a frown. “Ruby, you can’t go to work today.”
“Yes, I can, and I will.” I straighten up, clutching the coffee mug like a shield. “I have responsibilities. The Morrisons trusted me with their business while they’re in Hawaii. People are counting on me.”
“Holloway’s men know where you live,” Clay counters, voice low and serious. “That means that they know where you work too.”
“So I’m just supposed to hide forever? Let this asshole dictate my life because my father testified against him years ago?” I set the mug down with more force than necessary. “That’s not happening.”
Clay runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“And I appreciate that. But I can’t stop living my life because some criminal has a grudge.”
“This isn’t just any criminal, Ruby. This man is dangerous, methodical. He waited years to get his revenge.”
“All the more reason not to let him win by cowering in fear.” I cross my arms, meeting his gaze steadily. “If I don’t show up today, I let down my clients, I let down the Morrisons, and I let Holloway control me without him having to lift a finger.”
Clay watches me with his jaw clenched for a long moment.
I can almost see the battle waging in his mind, the professional bodyguard versus the man who held me all night.
“I’m going,” I say softly. “With or without you.”
He sighs through his nose. “You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”
“Part of my charm.” I place my hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension there. “I’ll be careful, I promise. And I’ll follow your security protocols. But I need to do this.”
Clay sighs, his hands coming to rest on my hips.
“Fine. But we do this my way. I check the place thoroughly before you open. You stay within my sight at all times. And if I say we leave, we leave. No arguments.”
I lean down to press a quick kiss to his lips, relief flooding through me. “Thank you for understanding.”
His arms wrap around my waist and pulls me between his legs. “I don’t like it, but I get it. You’re not the type to hide.”
“No, I’m not.” I run my fingers through his hair. “Now, I need a shower before we go.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Need company?”
“Absolutely not,” I laugh, stepping out of his embrace. “If you join me, we’ll never make it to the shop on time.”
His answering chuckle follows me to the bathroom, warm and rich, making my heart flutter in a way that should be alarming but somehow just feels right.
* * *
Two hours later, I’m setting up my station at Fit Mountain Ink, arranging inks and checking my equipment while Clay completes his third sweep of the premises. He’s been thorough—checking windows, doors, the back alley, even the ventilation system. Now dressed in jeans and a dark henley that does nothing to hide his muscular build, he looks every inch the professional security expert.
“All clear,” he announces, returning to the main area. “But I want you to stay away from the front windows as much as possible.”
“Most of my work happens in the private rooms anyway,” I assure him, calibrating my tattoo machine. “My first client should be here in about fifteen minutes.”
Clay positions himself where he can see both me and the front door, his posture relaxed but alert. I can tell he’s still not happy about this arrangement, but he’s respecting my decision, and I appreciate that more than I can say.
The afternoon continues this way—me working, Clay watching, the constant undercurrent of tension beneath normal interactions. My 3:00 appointment, Mia, is getting a delicate constellation of stars across her shoulder blade, a tribute to her grandmother. Clay maintains his position by the wall, occasionally checking his phone with a frown.
“All done,” I tell Mia, applying a clear bandage over her fresh tattoo. “Keep this on for at least twenty-four hours, then follow the aftercare instructions I emailed you.”
“It’s beautiful,” she says, admiring the work in a hand mirror. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.” I smile, beginning to clean my station. “Clay will walk you to your car.”
Clay steps forward, all business. “Ready?”
Mia looks confused but doesn’t argue as Clay escorts her outside. Through the front windows, I watch him scan the parking lot before opening her car door, waiting until she’s safely inside before heading back.
When he returns, his expression has changed. There’s a new tension in his shoulders, a focus in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately.
Clay checks his phone again. “Just got a text from the office. They’ve picked up some chatter about Holloway’s associates in this area.”
My stomach drops. “Here? Near the shop?”
“Nothing specific, but close enough that I want to do a perimeter check before your last appointment.” He checks his watch. “When are they due?”
“Four-thirty. About forty minutes.”
“I’m going to sweep the area, make sure everything’s clear. While I’m gone, I need you to follow some rules.”
“Okay.” My mouth goes dry.
“Stay away from the windows. Don’t open the door for anyone except me or your scheduled client—and verify it’s them before unlocking.” His voice is deadly serious. “If anything feels wrong text me immediately and lock yourself in the back office.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Fifteen minutes, max.”
I nod, trying to project confidence I don’t feel. “I’ll be fine.”
He studies my face, then presses a quick, hard kiss to my lips. “Fifteen minutes. Lock the door behind me.”
And then he’s gone, the bell chiming as the door closes.
I’m about to lock it when I notice Spike’s heat lamp flickering in his terrarium near the front window. Then the lamp goes out completely.
“Damn it,” I mutter. I need to move him to the backup terrarium in the back room before I lock up. I carefully lift his enclosure, balancing it in my arms as I head toward the back office where I keep his spare setup.
It takes me a few minutes to get Spike settled with his working heat lamp. “There you go, buddy,” I whisper, making sure he’s comfortable before heading back to the front to lock the door as Clay instructed.
As I turn toward the front door to lock it, I freeze.
A tall man with close-cropped hair stands just inside the entrance, sunglasses hiding his eyes despite the dim studio lighting. Something about his posture makes my skin prickle. He must have slipped in while I was tending to Spike.
Unease crawls up my spine. “James Miller?” I ask.
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he removes his sunglasses. “That’s not my name. But Holloway sends his regards.”
My blood turns to ice.
I back away, reaching for anything I can use as a weapon. The man advances slowly, like a predator confident his prey can’t escape.
“Don’t make this difficult, sweetheart.” His voice is eerily calm. “Mr. Holloway just wants to have a conversation with you about your father.”
“My dad and I aren’t exactly close,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady as I edge toward the back office where my phone is. “I’m not the leverage you think I am.”
A second man appears in the doorway behind him, larger and more menacing. “Car’s ready out back. Let’s go.”
My hand hands close around a pair of scissors on my workstation. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
The first man sighs. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”
“I choose neither,” I say, and throw the scissors at the first man’s face with all my strength.
He dodges, but not completely. The blades catch his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. His expression darkens from calm to furious in an instant.
He growls, lunging toward me. “Hard way it is, then.”