Chapter Forty-Six
Xavier
The bedroom door clicks shut behind us, and I let go of her waist to see what she does.
She doesn’t move away. She stands there in the half-dark, breathing through her mouth, watching me. Waiting.
I reach past her and turn the lamp on. Not because I need to see her, though I do, but because I want to see her reaction to being seen. The light catches her throat first, the way she swallows, the way her hand twitches at her side as she might cover herself.
“Come here.”
She steps forward, and I meet her halfway, my hands finding her hips, thumbs pressing into the soft spots above her jeans.
She makes a small, involuntary sound, and I feel it in my chest. I don’t say anything.
I pull her closer and kiss her again, slower this time, tasting her sweetness, the warmth of her mouth, the way she opens for me.
My hands move to her shirt, fingers catching the hem. I pause. Not asking, she already said yes, but giving her the space to stop me. She doesn’t. She lifts her arms.
I pull it over her head and drop it somewhere behind me. She’s not wearing a bra, just skin, and I have to stop myself from looking too long, from touching too much too fast. I settle for one hand at her waist, the other sliding up her spine, counting vertebrae, feeling her shiver under my palm.
“Still okay?”
She nods, quick, breathless. “Yeah.”
I walk her backward until her knees hit the bed. She sits, then lies back, and I follow her down, settling between her thighs. The material is rough against my palms when I grip her hips, when I grind down against her to hear the sound she makes. It’s not a word. It’s better.
I kiss down her throat, her collarbone, the center of her chest. Her hands find my hair, not guiding, holding on. I stop at her stomach, press my mouth to the soft skin there, and feel her muscles jump. She’s sensitive. I file that away.
My fingers work her jeans open, slide them down her hips. She lifts, helps, and then she’s in nothing but cotton underwear, and I can smell her, want her, have to stop my hands from shaking when I hook my fingers in the waistband and look up at her.
“You good?”
“Yes.” Her voice is rough, barely there. “Don’t stop.”
I pull them off and drop them on the floor. She’s bare now, open, and I force myself to go slow, to kiss the inside of her thigh first, then higher, then the soft skin where her leg meets her hip. She’s wet already, flushed, and I haven’t even touched her where she needs it.
I use my thumbs first, spreading her open. Beautiful. Absolute perfection. She makes a frustrated sound, and I almost smile, almost, but then I lean in and taste her sweet pussy and the sound she makes wipes everything else away.
“Fuck.” It’s out before I can stop it, my voice wrecked against her thigh.
She tastes like salt and want, and I can’t get enough, licking into her, finding the rhythm that makes her hips buck off the bed.
I hold her down with one hand on her stomach, feeling the muscles contract under my palm, and I don’t stop.
My tongue finds her clit, and I stay there, pressure steady, listening to her breathing change, feeling her fingers tighten in my hair.
She’s close. I feel it in the way she goes still, the way her thighs try to close around my head.
I grip her hip harder, keep her open, and slide two fingers inside heat. Her molten hot heat.
She cries out, arching off the bed, and I curl them up, finding the spot that makes her gasp my name. “Xavier.” My name, broken, desperate.
“Like that?” My cock throbs with the need to be inside of her, but this is about her. About her pleasure.
“Yes. Yes.“ She’s babbling now, incoherent, and I keep the rhythm, tongue and fingers working her, feeling her squeeze around me, feeling the moment she stops breathing right before she breaks.
She comes hard, pulsing around my fingers, her whole body shaking with it.
Moans and a litany of ‘fuck, yes, oh my god’ falling from her lips.
I don’t stop until she pushes at my shoulder, oversensitive, and I pull back, pressing one last kiss to her thigh, her hip, her stomach. She’s still trembling.
I move up the bed and settle beside her, not touching, not yet. Watching her come back to herself, her chest heaving, her eyes closed, her hand thrown over her face like she’s hiding.
I reach out and pull her hand away. Look at her. She’s wrecked, beautiful, and I did that.
“Ruby.” It’s rough, unplanned, and I feel her freeze when she hears it, the way I said it, what I didn’t mean to show. I clear my throat. Shift back. “You good?”
She opens her eyes and looks at me, and for a moment, I think she sees it. Everything. The thing I shouldn’t feel, the thing I promised wasn’t part of this. The thing that isn’t part of this.
“Yes.” She nods, slow, and reaches for my shirt. “Your turn.”