Chapter 7 Ruby
Chapter seven
Ruby
All I wanted to do was roll my hips, riding Dean’s thick, callused fingers. I didn’t give a flying fuck about the game. And I probably should have felt some mortification that he was fingering me in a very crowded room full of men right now.
But I didn’t care. The only thing I could think about was how good it felt, with the teasing, stroking rhythm of his fingers.
Flirting with Psycho had been intentional. Making sure I was in Dean’s line of sight, I wanted him to see me talking to another man right in front of him. I wanted to ignite that protective, possessive jealousy again.
And it worked.
I swallowed a needy whine as Dean shoved his fingers deeper. Pressing his palm against my clit. Fully cupping his big hand to my pussy like it was his to play with. My eyes threatened to roll back in my head at the sensation, but I had to keep a straight face. I couldn’t give anything away.
“Well, that’s it for me,” Hillbilly said, pushing his chair back from the table. “You cleaned me out. You’re still a ruthless motherfucker when it comes to a card game, Titan. That hasn’t changed.”
“I just play the hand that I’m dealt, Prez,” Dean replied.
He pressed his fingers up inside my pussy hard, grinding his palm against my clit. A strangled little noise escaped me as sparks of pleasure flared through my body like an electrical burst. I could feel the slippery drip of my cream, coating his fingers, damping the crotch of his jeans.
The poker game disbanded, with the remaining players drifting in different directions—getting a refill on their drink, rummaging in the kitchen for food, or pulling up a chair to the television in the corner to watch a Die Hard marathon.
Dean and I didn’t move. Sliding his hand under my ass, he gripped the flesh of my cheek firmly, lifting me off his lap by an inch or two. Beneath the buzz of conversation in the room, I heard the clank of his belt and the gritty rasp of his zipper.
Was he actually about to…?
I turned to look over my shoulder at him, but Dean grasped my chin and pointed my face forward.
“Elbows on the table, honeybee,” he said, low, hoarse. “Start playing with those cards so it seems like you’re busy doing something.”
My throat went dry and my hands trembled with anticipation as I gathered the cards. Mindlessly shuffled them, then laid them out in a game of solitaire. I felt him fumble under my skirt—the graze of his knuckles, the slickness of his fingers stretching me open again.
The crinkle of a wrapper. The snap of rubber.
My eyes widened. I kept my gaze glued to the cards on the table, knowing the shock that was plastered all over my face right now.
This was not how I pictured popping my cherry for the first time.
And it was…thrilling. Scary, of course. Intimidating, absolutely. But it was deliciously scandalous and filthy, too, and I was ready for it.
With other people, this would be the time when I hit the brakes and backed out.
With Dean, I wanted to step on the gas and plow full steam ahead.
He curved his hand over my hip again, with his hot breath fanning the back of my neck. The blunt head of his cock nudged at my entrance.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“Don’t get too excited, honeybee,” Dean murmured. “You’re just keeping me warm until I can fuck you properly.”
The breath punched out of my lungs in a rush. I flipped through the cards, over and over. Blind to the faces, numbers, suits, colors. None of it mattered when I felt that first inch of Dean’s cock push inside me.
I gasped. The cards slipped from my fingers, splaying across the table. A deafening explosion on the television caught everyone’s attention, so no one even glanced our way.
He was so thick. And surprisingly hotter than I expected.
I’d experimented with toys on my own for years. I knew what I liked and how my body responded. I thought my rabbit vibrator with the dual clit and G-spot stimulation was my nirvana, but this…this was a thousand times better. Because it was Dean and his incredibly girthy cock. Slowly sinking deeper.
I gave up on the cards and just tried to breathe, to focus. To not moan like a damn whore in church.
At first, it was a silky glide where I felt Dean’s length grazing every inch of my walls.
But then it was too much. Too thick. Too big. And he wasn’t even fully inside me yet.
My body stiffened. I pressed my lips together, fighting to retain a neutral expression despite my discomfort.
Dean placed his hand on my lower back, rubbing up and down my spine.
“Easy, honeybee.”
He shifted behind me, brushing his lips softly to my neck. I couldn’t help it this time—my eyes fluttered closed.
Looping an arm around my waist, Dean pressed his hand flat against my lower belly, caressing my clit with a feather-light touch. I gripped his wrist to steady myself.
We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. I was stuffed so full that I could feel every throb and pulse of his cock. The ache of discomfort lingered, until it gradually melted away like frost in the sun’s heat.
“Is this—?” I croaked in a strangled voice. “Is this…something you do with every girl you bring to the clubhouse?”
Dean chuckled, sinfully low. The vibrations rumbled through his chest, pressed against my back.
“You’re the only one who gets this privilege, honeybee. Couldn’t resist seeing you waltzing around in that flouncy little mini skirt all day.”
I ducked my head to hide a pleased smile, making a mental note to wear more mini skirts in the future.
“Might as well skip wearing panties next time though,” he added with a grit in his voice that sent shivers up my spine. “They just get in the way.”
My breath caught in my throat and I squeezed my thighs together.
“I’ll—I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“Now that we’ve crossed this line, I fully intend to make you forget every cock you’ve had before now.”
Without thinking, I snorted.
“Well, that won’t be difficult since it’s not like you have any competition for me to compare you to.”
Instant regret washed over me. I wished I could take back every word.
Dean went quiet. His hand on my hip tightened with a bruising grip.
“What did you just say?”
“Um…nothing. I was just—you know—talking trash.”
“Ruby,” he growled.
Shit, shit, shit. I should have kept my mouth shut.
Before I could reply, Dean yanked my skirt down, shoving his cock into his jeans. Locking an arm around my waist, he lifted me as easily as if I weighed nothing at all, and carted me down a nearby hallway.
“Where the hell are you taking me? Dean!”
A series of doors flanked either side of the hall. He selected one at seemingly random, shoved his shoulder against the door, and stepped into a room with the bare essentials—a bed, nightstand, a table with two chairs, and a closet.
Dean plopped me on the bed and braced his hands on the mattress, blocking me in. He leaned close, pinning me with an unwavering stare.
“Is there something you need to tell me?”
I hedged, trying to crawl backward on the mattress. He grabbed my ankle and dragged me even closer.
“Like what?” I countered.
A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“Are you a virgin?”
I managed a sheepish grin with a shrug.
“Technically, not anymore.”
Dean blew out a breath, bowing his head.
“Fuck, Ruby.”
“It’s really not a big deal or anything—” I protested.
“Yes, it is. You deserve…” He trailed off and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m taking you home.”
“What? No! But we’re not finished.”
“Your first time should not be happening in a musty old clubhouse, honeybee,” Dean said.
I crossed my arms with a scowl.
“So, you’re saying it’s better to have sex with me under my dad’s roof? Would that make you more comfortable?”
Dean’s nostrils flared and he shot me a scathing look that clearly said, don’t be a brat.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” I said.
He leaned back against the door, folding his hands behind him.
“What happened?”
I blinked, confused.
“What do you mean?”
He gestured at me.
“Come on, honeybee. You’re cute and you know it. You’ve got a parade of boys following you around like lost puppies. When you bat your eyes and say pretty please, they’re lapping up every word, eager to do your bidding. So, how did you get here? A virgin, at twenty-five? Were you saving yourself?”
I glanced down, fiddling with the hem of my skirt. The empty ache between my thighs was torture. I wanted him to feel him inside me again, stretching me open, so perfect and thick.
“Not really,” I said. “It’s…it’s hard to explain.”
“Try me,” Dean said softly.
I sighed.
“It’s like a switch just shuts off. Sure, I like to flirt. That part is fun. And I like making out. Kissing feels…incredible. Amazing.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s like…in my head, I want sex,” I admitted. “But when it’s time to actually do it, my body just…doesn’t want to. Guys look at me like I’m nuts when I say that. I don’t know. It doesn’t really make any sense, and I should probably just force myself to get it over with—”
“No,” Dean cut in. He stepped closer and cupped my chin in his hand, angling my head up to look at him. “Don’t force it. Ever. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. You should honor that. Whatever your reasons. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
I smiled softly and curled my fingers around his wrist, turning my head to kiss his palm.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“What about now?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Does your body want this just as much as your head does?”
“Yes,” I replied without hesitation. “Very much.”
Dean nodded, brushing his thumb along my lower lip.
Then he reached down, taking hold of my ankle again.
Unzipping my boot, he tugged it off, and did the same to my other foot.
He smoothed his palms up my legs and under my skirt again.
Hooking his fingers into my panties, he tugged them down.
They looked so delicate and pale in his big hands before he tossed them aside.