Chapter 9
Sin
Morning comes in slow through the curtains.
Pale light spills across the bed in thin stripes, catching on Ruby’s hair where it fans across the pillow.
She’s on her side facing me, one leg tangled with mine, one hand tucked between us like she fell asleep holding on and never let go.
One of my arms is curled around her waist, and for a long second I don’t move.
I just lie there and feel it.
The warmth of her against me.
The slow pull of her breath across the space between us.
A woman in my bed should feel impossible, and somehow she doesn’t.
This feels too right.
That’s what makes it dangerous.
I’ve spent too many years waking up hard and fast, body ready before my brain catches up. Too many years sleeping light, one hand close to a weapon, half my head still listening for the sound of things going bad in the dark.
But Ruby is here.
Warm and soft and trusting enough to sleep this deep with her face turned toward mine, wearing one of my shirts and nothing else.
And somehow that rattles me more than danger ever did.
My hand tightens slightly at her waist before I can stop it, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing under my palm through the thin cotton.
She makes the smallest sound and shifts closer, her body finding me like it knows where it wants to be even half asleep.
My jaw tightens.
Fuck.
I close my eyes for half a second, trying to get control of myself. Trying to remember I’m a grown man, not some half-starved idiot getting wrecked by the sight of a woman in my shirt in morning light.
It doesn’t help.
Because this isn’t just a woman.
It’s Ruby.
Ruby, who looks at me like I’m the only steady thing left in her world.
Ruby, who trusted me enough to sleep here after everything.
Ruby, who belongs nowhere near the kind of life I’ve built and somehow fits into it anyway.
That thought sits heavy in my chest.
I should get up.
Make coffee. Check the house. Make sure the mountain stayed quiet while we slept. Do something useful with my hands before they forget how to behave.
Carefully, I start to ease my arm free.
Her fingers close around my wrist before I get far.
I go still.
Her eyes stay closed. Her voice is rough with sleep when she murmurs, “Don’t go.”
That lands harder than it should.
I look at her.
Her cheek is still pressed into the pillow. Her hair is a mess. The collar of the shirt has slipped low on one shoulder, and her mouth is soft and half-parted, like she’s not all the way awake and doesn’t know how much damage she’s doing.
She tightens her fingers around my wrist again, like she means it.
“Ruby,” I say quietly.
This time her eyes blink open.
Slow. Heavy. Hazel gone soft around the edges with sleep.
For one second, she looks confused. Then she sees me. Feels where she is. Remembers.
And instead of panic, instead of that flash of fear I keep bracing for, her mouth curves a little.
Not quite a smile.
Something smaller than that.
Something worse.
“You were leaving,” she says.
“I was getting coffee.”
Her gaze drifts over my face, then lower, like she’s still waking up enough to take me in. “That sounds very noble of you.”
I let out a breath that almost counts as a laugh. “You say that like it’s suspicious.”
“It is suspicious,” she murmurs. “You look like a man who wakes up planning violence, not breakfast.”
That gets a real smile out of me, brief and sharp.
“Coffee first,” I tell her. “Violence later.”
Her fingers loosen, but only enough to slide up my forearm. Like she changed her mind about letting go and decided to do it with purpose this time.
“I like waking up with you here,” she says.
No hesitation. No teasing. Just the truth.
That’s the line that does me in.
My chest goes tight in a way I don’t have a name for.
Ruby must see something shift in my face, because her expression softens too. She pushes herself up a little on the pillow, the hem of my shirt sliding higher on her thigh, and my body remembers exactly how little sleep I got and why.
“Coffee can wait,” she whispers.
My hand stays at her waist.
“Ruby.”
There’s warning in it. Not because I want to stop this. Because I know exactly what happens if I don’t.
Her eyes hold mine.
“I know,” she says softly.
I search her face anyway. For fear. For doubt. For the smallest sign that she’s reaching for me because she’s shaken and not because she wants me.
All I find is warmth.
And choice.
Her hand comes up, fingertips brushing my jaw, then my mouth, like she’s still learning the shape of me in daylight.
“I meant what I said,” she murmurs. “I want to wake up with you.”
That feels too close to home for a man like me.
Home isn’t a thing I’ve ever trusted.
But this?
Her in my bed. My shirt on her skin. Her looking at me like she wants me here after one of the worst nights of her life.
This could make a man stupid.
Or dangerous.
Maybe both.
I roll onto my back and pull her with me until she’s half over me, giving her every chance to shift away, to laugh it off, to change her mind.
She doesn’t.
She settles there like she belongs, one hand braced on my bare chest, the other sliding up into my hair. My briefs suddenly feel useless.
“Still want coffee?” she asks, and there’s the smallest sleepy tease in it now.
I look up at her.
Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair’s a wild red spill around her shoulders. Her eyes are still heavy with sleep, but they’re fixed on me like I’m the first thing she wants in daylight.
“Not as much as I want this,” I say, then I pull her into a kiss.
“Sin,” she whispers, her cheeks flushing. The shirt rides up as she swings a leg over, straddling my lap.
My hands go to her thighs on instinct, gripping the soft flesh.
“You want this?” I ask, even though I can feel her heat through the thin fabric, pressing against me. My cock thickens, tenting the briefs.
She nods, leaning in to kiss me, her tongue sliding against mine. Her hips rock once, grinding down, and I groan into her mouth.
“I want you inside me,” she breathes, hands fisting the shirt's hem. “Now.”
I help her, thumbs hooking under the fabric, lifting it up and over her head in one smooth pull.
It drops to the floor, leaving her bare. Breasts full, nipples tight. She's beautiful, all flushed and trusting above me, and something fierce twists in my gut.
My briefs are next. She tugs at them, impatient, and I lift my hips to shove them down. My cock springs free, hard and heavy, the head already slick.
Ruby's eyes drop to it, widening a fraction, but she doesn't hesitate.
She rises on her knees, one hand bracing my shoulder, the other guiding me to her entrance, already wet.
She sinks down slow, inch by inch, her pussy stretching around me. Tight, so fucking tight, gripping like a vice.
“Oh god,” she gasps, brows furrowing as she takes me deeper.
I hold her hips, steadying her, fighting not to thrust up. Her walls flutter, adjusting, and when she's seated fully with me buried to the hilt, she lets out a shaky breath.
“Good?” I rasp, thumb stroking her hipbone. She's trembling, but her eyes lock on mine, full of that trust that undoes me.
“Yeah.”
She starts moving then, tentative at first. Then lifting, dropping, finding a rhythm. Her breasts bounce with each roll of her hips, and I can't resist, palming one, pinching the nipple until she moans.
I meet her halfway, thrusting up, matching her pace. Her nails dig into my chest, leaving red trails, and I love it. The sting, the claim.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” I growl, watching her face—lips parted, eyes half-shut in pleasure.
She's riding me harder now, pussy clenching, slick sounds filling the room.
She leans forward, forehead to mine, breaths mingling.
“Sin... I’m close.” I wrap my arms around her, pulling her flush, one hand tangling in her hair as I take over the thrusts—deeper, faster, the bed creaking under us.
Her orgasm hits first, sudden and fierce. She cries out, body seizing, walls milking my cock in waves.
I feel it. The heat. The squeeze. The way she breaks apart on top of me.
It’s too much. I slam up once more and follow, spilling inside her with a guttural groan. Cum floods her, hot and deep, as she collapses against me.
We stay like that, panting, her weight a welcome anchor. I kiss her temple, tasting salt.
“You're everything,” I murmur, holding her tight. “Mine forever.”
“Forever.”