Chapter 21 Everett
Chapter twenty-one
Everett
Now that I know the feeling of being inside Ruth Bevan, of being connected to her in the most intimate, biblical, primal of ways, it has suddenly become the only high I ever want to chase.
“Can I tell you something?”
We’re lying in bed, after we’ve cleaned ourselves up and I’ve changed the sheets.
Ruth’s body fits against mine perfectly with her back against my chest. It’s like she was always supposed to be mine; the part of my soul I never knew was missing.
I have one arm tucked under my head, my fingers idly stroking through her hair, and the other resting low on her pelvis.
The spot my hand seems to gravitate towards.
I hum in acknowledgment, kiss her shoulder, a silent urge for her to continue.
“I’ve never—I mean.” She shifts slightly in my arms. “I’m not a virgin, Ev.
I’m thirty-two years old. I haven’t been a virgin for a long time.
I’m hardly the most experienced woman in the world, it’s not like I have a ton of sex or anything, but I—no one has ever made me come like that before.
At all, really. No one except my own hands, or Boney V the vibrator. ”
One more thing I love about Ruth Bevan: the way she rambles when she’s nervous. I bite back a chuckle, but a tiny snort escapes my lips at the name of her vibrator. And then I realise what she’s saying to me.
“Ever?” I repeat. “Even… ever?”
She nods shyly, shrugging the shoulder my chin is resting on.
“And I made it happen three times?!” I crow, proudly…
and a little fucking awestruck, if I’m honest. A little devastated for her, considering how easy it was to get her off, how fucking beautiful she is when she’s wound up and at the mercy of my fingers, how good she tastes and how much my heart swelled when she fell apart with my name on her lips.
How incredible she felt, squeezing my cock like she was born to do it.
Like she was fucking made for me. Those good-for-nothing assholes she must have been with before mustn’t have even bothered trying, because if they had, they surely would never have let her go.
Maybe I should send them a thank you card.
“Four, if you count the time up on the ridge,” she admits shyly. Fuck, how could I forget? That was one of the hottest moments of my life.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the space between her neck and shoulder. I kiss the soft skin there. “Thank you for letting it be me.”
“Pretty sure I’m the one who should be thanking you,” she says breathlessly, tilting her head against the pillow and opening up the space for me.
“Oh, I have plenty of ways for you to thank me,” I say with a waggle of my eyebrows. I dive in, leaning over her body and licking and sucking at the skin of her throat.
She giggles, and I swear to god it’s like the sound of angels.
“Maybe after a nap,” she says, and nestles back into me. “Think you’ve worn me out, Cowboy.”
Dear Lord, if I’m dreaming, please don’t wake me. Let me stay in this heavenly slumber with Ruth tucked against my body, basking in a post-sex glow that has her skin gently flushed, her eyes glazed and sparkling, and the prettiest smile on her beautiful face.
“Get some rest, baby girl,” I say, pressing one last kiss to her shoulder. “We have all the time in the world.”
We sleep for about two hours. When I wake, Ruth’s hair is tickling my face as she leans over me, a peaceful smile on her face as she watches me sleep. Or, I guess, watches me return to wakefulness.
“Hey, sleepy,” she says softly. That smile colours her voice in a way I’ve never heard before, and fuck, I think I could hear it every day until the world ends, and I’d never tire of it. I try to return her greeting but no words come out, so I clear my throat and try again.
“Hey, you.”
“Who’s Tansy?”
A sharp shock catches my breath like a kick to the chest. Tansy is a name I haven’t heard for a long time.
“Tansy was Grandaddy Smith’s horse. First horse I ever rode. She was beautiful—buckskin, the most majestic girl. Where’d you hear her name?”
“You talk in your sleep.” Her smile is still soft, and she settles on her elbow, tilting her head to look at me.
“I do not.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘hey Tansy, you want a peppermint?’”
“Well, that’s only a little embarrassing,” I say with a chuckle.
I duck my face away. It’s been years since I’ve even thought about Tansy.
Grandaddy taught me to ride on her, not long after Mom gave him hell for putting me on a bull for the first time.
I rode like hell, and I loved every one of the five seconds I managed to hang on, but even though I heard the whisper of my name in the rodeo’s call, I chose ranching.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Ruth shifts, dropping from her elbow to her side until we’re laying face to face.
“Of course, honey. Anything you wanna know.”
“If Tanner is your dad’s name, but the ranch came from your mum’s side of the family, why is it the Tanner Ranch?”
I let out a low chuckle. Although a little weird, it’s an easy question to answer, and far less awkward than any of the other questions I thought Ruth might ask.
“Before Mom met Dad, the ranch was the Smith Cattle Ranch of Skillett, officially. Except, Grandaddy had been forced to broaden his scope from just cattle, and the business was losing direction. He was close to selling up. Mom went off to get her MBA, and when she came home for the summer, Dad was working the ranch. His grandfather was one of Jody’s family’s ranch hands, but they didn’t need any extra hands, and Grandaddy did. ”
I smile at the memory of the story I’ve heard a hundred times. The way Mom’s eyes would soften when she talked about meeting Dad in the kitchen for the first time. How his would sparkle when he added the part about sneaking away behind the stable block.
“Anyway,” I continue. “Mom finished her degree doing distance learning. She and Dad married, and because she had all the business know-how, she jumped in right away to help Grandaddy figure out how to keep the ranch. When she diversified the income streams and got us back in the black—and not just surviving, but killin’ it—Grandaddy changed the name.
He said it was always gonna be Mom’s someday, or be handed down to her kids, and since she’s a Tanner now, the ranch might as well take her name. ”
Ruth’s eyes have that same softness as Mom’s, the same sheen of tears coating them.
“That’s beautiful,” she says quietly. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“Baby girl, I’ll share anything you want with you.” I close the space between us and capture her lips in a gentle kiss. A kiss that quickly develops into something far more intense.
“I’m pretty sure you mentioned some ideas about me thanking you,” she says with a wicked grin.
“Care to share any of those?” She turns in my arms until she’s on her back and I’m propped on one elbow, hovering above her.
There’s a twinkle in her eye, a kind of clarity that’s arisen since our nap. Her lips curl into a small smirk.
“You don’t have to thank me, Ruth.”
“I want to. I want you to teach me, Ev. I don’t exactly have the kind of experience other women my age have. I need—I want you to teach me. I want to learn what feels good and I want to know how to make you feel good, and—”
I can’t stand it anymore. I lean down and silence her with a kiss, rolling my body over hers until we’re pressed together from head to toe.
Her skin heats up, flushing pink as she returns my kiss eagerly, and my hands grip her hips, sliding beneath the T-shirt she stole from my dresser before we slept.
“I think you know what feels good,” I murmur, trailing kisses along her jaw. “I think you’re the one who ought to be teaching me.” Ruth stills mid-shoulder roll, hands suddenly stopping their journey up and down my ribs.
“It’s your turn, baby girl,” I say. I lift my head from her face, planting one last kiss square on her lips before rolling off of her. “Teach me how you make yourself feel good. I want to know what you do at home when you think of me.”
“Y-you’re not going to help me?”
I’m settling on my knees, sitting back on my heels as she speaks. I answer with a smile. “Nope. You’re going to teach, baby girl; I’m going to watch and learn.”
Ruth shuffles around, arranging the pillows behind her head and shoulders so she’s a little more upright.
She’s still clothed, almost entirely covered by the T-shirt that hangs halfway down her thighs, but the sight of her as she settles into my bed, knees up, her beautiful pussy just out of reach, has my cock throbbing, aching to be touched.
But I settle back on my heels, keeping my hands on my thighs, and wait patiently.
“I-I don’t know where—”
“Start at the beginning, honey,” I coach. “What gets you wet?”
“You,” she admits, turning her face into her shoulder with a sheepish smile. “Talking to you on FaceTime.”
Pride blooms in my chest, and a little more in my cock, too.
“So, when we hang up…”
Her hands move to her tits, covering them over the cotton shirt.
She squeezes, pressing them together, before rolling her nipples between the thumb and forefinger of each hand.
Her knees open wider, giving me the perfect view of her pussy, soaked and glistening, and a quiet moan falls from my lips unbidden as, involuntarily, I reach for my cock.
“What do you do next?” I ask. I lick my lips, my mouth dry. “Talk me through it, honey. Show me what you like to do.”
“I like to—” she gasps, pressing her head back into the pillows. “I like to imagine these are your hands on me.”
I exhale heavily, and a quiet whimper comes with it. This beautiful, smart, goddess of a woman likes to touch herself and imagine it’s me? My cock throbs in my hand, and I might come just from that knowledge alone.
Ruth slides one hand lower, lifting the hem of the shirt she’s wearing and baring herself to me. She slides one finger through the wetness between her thighs, along her slit, gathering the evidence of her arousal before circling her clit once, twice—
“Ev,” she whispers. “Ev.”
“You like to play with your clit, baby girl?” I work my hand up and down my shaft slowly, matching my pace to Ruth’s as she teases herself. “Does that do it for you?”
Ruth drops her other hand from her chest and pushes it between her legs, lifting her hips and pushing two fingers inside herself. Fuck, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a sexier sight than Ruth Bevan pleasuring herself in front of me, and knowing it’s my hands she’s thinking of.
“I usually use my vibrator for this part,” she says, gasping a little as she works her fingers in and out.
“But now that—after we—after—I don’t know if it’s gonna be enough.
” Her hips buck off the bed as she twists her wrist, pushing her fingers as deep as they’ll go.
My breath comes in quick bursts as my own hand quickens, still matching Ruth’s pace.
“It’s the vibrator that gets you off, huh?”
“I like to imagine what it would be like if it was you.”
“Fuck, baby girl.” There are no fireworks, no choir of angels. I simply burst out of my skin. My vision greys and the world tilts off-axis as I come all over my hand and my stomach, and I fall forward, barely catching myself on my free hand before I land face-first between Ruth’s legs.
She’s gasping my name, writhing as her toes curl, fingers still working herself over until the waves of pleasure begin to subside, and a vaguely hysterical laugh bubbles from her throat.
I reach for a tissue from my nightstand and clean up the worst of the mess before dropping into place beside her.
I trace a line down her throat: hot, open-mouthed kisses that leave her panting again, with a blissed-out smile curving her lips and a pretty pink blush colouring her skin.
“I fear I may never be the same,” she says airily. I nip at the skin in the hollow of her collarbones. “You may have unleashed some kind of demon in me.”
“No, baby, that was my cock.” My hands roam her body, helpless to resist, desperate to touch every inch of her beautiful, soft skin.
“Has anyone ever fucked you here, baby girl?” I press my index finger against the tight ring of muscle between her cheeks.
“No,” she breathes. She bucks her hips against mine, desperate for me to move, but all I can think about is her ass and how good it would feel to claim it.
“Would you let me?” I nip lightly at the soft skin of her throat, licking my way down to the hollow between her collarbones. She tips her head back, inviting me closer.
“Ye-yesss,” she sighs, smiling blissfully as I suck hard enough to leave a bruise.
“Fuck,” I curse against her skin. I press my fingertip harder against her hole as I begin to rock my hips slowly.
An hour later, thoroughly spent and blissed out, we lie in bed, facing each other. We have matching kiss bruises, and my blood is rushing so hard through my veins I can hear it like the ocean in a seashell.
“Have you ever been with a girl before?”
“No,” she whispers. “I mean—the first time I met Paloma, she made out with me for a minute until I stopped her. She’s a really good kisser, actually.”
“Does she kiss you better than me?” I growl.
“N-no,” Ruth stammers. “No one kisses me like you do.”
“Good,” I say. “No one ever will, Ruth. Got it? I’m the only one who gets to kiss you now.”
“Okay,” she agrees quietly. “As long as you do.”
I lean in for a soft, chaste kiss and she returns it with a sweet smile.
“What about you?” She says after we break apart. “Have you ever been with a guy?”
I’m quiet for a moment. I’ve never kept it a secret from anyone before, and I’m not afraid to tell the truth now. But a part of me wants to wipe my history clean, to have Ruth as my first and only.
“Brad Boone. Not-so-secret fling about five summers ago, he was seasonal help on the ranch.”
I sigh quietly as I remember the way he kissed me hard at sunset one evening, backing me up against the barn wall.
That was our first time, and it led to more—in the barn, in my room, in my truck, out on the ridge once or twice.
And then he cut me off right before he moved on, and I never heard from him again.
Ruth leans in to kiss me again.
“Just as long as he knows I’m the only one who gets to kiss you now,” she murmurs against my lips. “You’re mine now, Ev.”