Chapter 22 #2
He made a rough, wordless sound as she touched him. His hips jerked.
It was extraordinary how much she liked that. Dizzying: this sense of her own power.
Slowly, she pushed herself up on one palm. He was splayed loosely beneath her—somehow vulnerable and potent at once, naked and confident in his skin. She wrapped her fingers around his length, firmly, as he liked, and his hips jerked again.
“Giving me—a little torment back, pet?” he gasped.
“No,” she said. “No. I like to look at you too, you know. It’s a mortal sin that you should be forced to hide all of this under your clothes.”
His throat bobbed. She watched the muscles of his belly tighten as her hand moved down to touch him lower. “I’m not certain you and the church agree on the nature of sinning.”
“Probably not.” Her gaze slid up to his face. “I know I’m right. I know beauty when I see it, Malcolm. Every inch of you.”
She felt his length swell beneath her hand as she said the words. Watched the shape of his mouth grow almost pained.
“Do you like that?” she asked. “If I tell you that you are pleasing to look upon?”
He breathed a laugh and pushed up into her hand. “I suppose I do. Only because I know you can’t lie to save your own skin.”
“You please me,” she murmured. Her hand moved a little faster, and she watched his eyes flutter closed and then open again.
His thigh was pressed between her legs, and she felt the beat of her own pulse there, a quick throb.
“You please me so much. Sometimes at night I close my eyes and imagine the way that you touch me, and I want you so much I can almost feel your hands on me.”
“God,” he said thickly. “Ruby.”
It made sense to her, suddenly, that he should like to hear her praise. That was what he wanted: for her to see him, to know him for a good and decent man. He kept on telling her so; she only needed to listen.
“I ache for you,” she said, and ah—she couldn’t help herself. She pushed herself into the hot muscle of his leg.
He gave a deep, torn-off groan.
“I always want you,” she whispered. “I think constantly of having you inside me.”
“Enough,” he rasped, and caught her thighs in his hands. “I can’t—I want—”
He couldn’t seem to put it into words. He mumbled something—some nonsensical words of praise and yearning—and dragged her atop him, sliding his cock between her folds.
She gasped.
“Take your pleasure,” he gritted out. “Make yourself come.”
He showed her what he meant, sliding her against the granite length of him, a slow drugging rhythm. He pressed not inside her, but against her, stroking her clitoris with his erection. Her body felt full of sparks, burning, spinning, flickering behind her eyes.
“Set the pace,” he said raggedly. “I need to—”
His hands left her thighs to cup her breasts, and his movements were shaky, uncontrolled. He gripped her hard, clutching at her, and it felt desperately good, and it made her ache—all of her felt hungry and aching and empty.
She shifted, angling her body so that his cock pressed against her entrance.
He froze.
Her mind was full of longing: for him, for this. For weeks, she had wanted this—wanted something irrevocable.
She said: “Please.”
He took a single gasping breath. “Ah—God. Ruby. Don’t—don’t move.”
She couldn’t help herself. Her body jerked against him, a small, instinctive movement. She was flushed with desire, drunk on it, fevered. “Please,” she said again. “I need you. I need—”
“Oh Jesus. Ruby.” He moved; she felt an infinitesimal pressure, nowhere near relief. The muscles of his abdomen flexed. “You have no idea how hard I’m trying to give you what you need.”
“I need you. I need this.”
Shuddering waves raced up his body, again and again. His gaze, fierce urgent blue, fixed on her face. “I don’t—want to hurt you.”
Her body was already sinking down onto him, so slick that the accommodation was easy. She wanted him to drive inside her. Wanted to be filled. “You won’t hurt me.”
“I don’t—mean it like that. I can’t—I’m—” His jaw tightened; all his body shook with the effort not to move. He reached up to her face and brushed her hair back, pushing the damp strands away from her cheek and mouth. “Can’t think. Ruby. You truly want this?”
She did not need to consider. She did not hesitate. “Yes.”
“Jesus,” he said. “All right. All right.” He set his hand between them, touching her intimately, and as he did, he pressed up, tiny uneven strokes. “I’ll withdraw. I promise—ah God, pet, I swear I’ll withdraw. I won’t—I’m not going to let you regret this.”
She didn’t know if the words were for her or for himself. Gradually, thrust by thrust, he pushed deeper; the slow stretch was more pleasure than pain. She felt herself tighten around him, as if to draw him in.
The pressure built inside her—almost too much. Unthinkingly, she shifted down, a clumsy pulse of her hips to take more of him.
The sensation was bright and raw: a lightning strike. She gasped; he groaned.
“Malcolm,” she whispered.
He gripped her hips and bucked up, his breathing labored. He was, she thought, at the limit of his endurance. “Fuck,” he said hoarsely. “This is what you want?”
Her hands were on his chest, heated and sweat-damp. “Yes.”
He thrust again. He was fully seated in her now, the pleasure deep, almost too much to withstand.
Her breasts jostled, and his gaze dropped from her face to her body as his pace quickened.
She felt almost helpless, absorbing the pleasure of his body and the rhythmic movement of his fingers, and when he gave a choked moan, her climax bore down upon her like a storm.
She trembled as it broke, and sobbed out his name.
She was still shaking when he withdrew. “Sorry,” he gasped. “Ruby. Going to come.”
“I—want you to.”
He brought her down to him—trapped his cock between their bellies and groaned as he spent himself. She felt the slow waves that shook his body, felt the hot sensation of his seed on her skin. Held him hard, his heart beating against hers.
They lay tangled up together for a very long time. And when he lifted his head, it was only to find her mouth with his.
“You make me so happy,” she whispered against his lips.
At her words, he pulled back. His eyes were dazed and heavy-lidded, and she could see the faintest suggestion of his smile in the dark.
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I thought I might die just now, you know. My brain went all white.”
She laughed a little.
He dimpled back at her, but his eyes—dark blue in the shadows—looked serious. “Do you know what I thought, Ruby-love? On the point of death?”
“Tell me.”
He let his head fall back. His lashes dropped. “I thought it would be a good death.” His arm stretched across her body, holding her against him. “A good life. Because you existed in the world, and I got to see it.”
Gently, he stroked the damp expanse of her back. She turned her cheek to press against his heartbeat. She was trembling, she realized. Not fear, precisely, but longing. She wanted what she had when she’d taken him into her body: a joining that could not be undone.
For as long as she dared, let herself believe that she could have this. That this moment—this dark sweet pleasure, this night of slow fire and stars—need never end. That his hand on her back could shelter her from the rest of the world.
Eventually, she slept. They both did, holding fast to each other, until dawn broke the horizon and lightened the sky behind the glass.
They woke to discover that the princess was missing.