Chapter 19
Tucker
Iknew tonight was probably going to be tricky for Ruth.
My family is a lot, and as an only child, I figured the dynamics were probably pretty fucking foreign to her.
I expected her to be like a deer in headlights—which she was—but I didn’t expect the oppressive sort of silence that dominated the drive back to my house.
Maybe this is all too much for her. Maybe she’s decided to bow out early. Honestly, after the food fight, I'm not sure I’d blame her.
But I also wouldn’t like it.
Not because of our deal, but because if Ruth isn’t staying with me, I can’t make sure she and Birdie are safe. I can’t protect them. Especially since I still don’t quite know what I need to protect them from.
Or—more accurately—who I need to protect them from.
That’s why, after unloading everyone from the UTV and helping Ruth get Birdie all tucked into the toddler bed we retrieved on our way home from Ruth’s first day at my office, I ask her to join me downstairs.
The conversation we’re about to have is something I want to keep just between us.
I know Birdie doesn’t understand everything, but she’s big enough to grasp tone and emotion, and I don’t want her to be upset.
Ruth silently nods her head in agreement, following me down the stairs. The heaviness surrounding her weighs on my shoulders as we take our seats on the sofa in the great room. I don’t really know how to start this discussion, so I just dive in.
“I can tell something happened tonight that upset you. Do you feel comfortable telling me what it is?”
Ruth doesn’t owe me anything, and I don’t want her to feel like she does.
That includes access to her emotions and thoughts.
But while I know I don’t have any right to the answers I’m seeking, I can’t stop myself from wanting them.
From wanting to help her. Make her happy.
Ease a little of the burden she’s carried all on her own.
Ruth’s eyes come to my face, studying me for a second before dropping to where her hands are clasped in her lap.
“It just made me a little sad.” She swallows hard, scratching one fingernail against the seam of her flowing, leopard print pants.
“I was still in college when my mom died. She would have loved getting to host a weekly dinner with me and Birdie.” Her full lips pull into a sad smile.
“I wish she’d gotten the chance to do it. ”
Her words are like a kick to the gut. Not only because I’m sad for Ruth and the loss of her mother, but also because it’s a reminder I was a shitty son.
For years, my mother wanted us to get together regularly, and I was always too busy.
Working. Socializing. Going to her house once a week felt like a huge ask.
And here Ruth is, devastated over not having the same opportunity I avoided.
It’s a kick to the gut that leaves the burn of guilt simmering in its wake. Guilt only exacerbated by the lie I’ve worked so hard to craft in an effort to fool my mother.
A necessary lie. Because I’m not like Titus. I won’t survive a loss like he had. I’m not strong enough.
But Titus isn’t the only strong person I know. The only one who’s suffered an unimaginable loss.
And Ruth faced her loss alone.
She blows out a shaky breath. “It’s so hard thinking about her sometimes.” She slowly inhales, the act of pulling air into her lungs slow and careful. “It hurts so much, there are days I try not to think of her at all.” Her blue eyes come to mine. “And I hate it.”
I swallow hard, because what she’s describing is exactly what I’ve done. Avoided pain. Ignored the ache of loss. But now, the only way to keep avoiding it is to avoid Ruth, and that’s not gonna happen. I’m all she’s got. So I’m gonna have to suck it up and find a way to power through.
Taking a slow breath of my own, I dip my toe into our somewhat common ground.
“My brother Titus was engaged a long time ago. To his high school sweetheart.” I fight the urge to redirect the conversation.
To distance myself from that painful day.
“She was pregnant, and they were on their way to the ultrasound appointment when she passed out behind the wheel and hit a tree.” I try not to blink.
I know if I close my eyes for even that split second, I’ll hear the sound of my mother screaming.
“The car caught on fire. Titus tried to save them, but—” My voice cracks, giving away my struggle.
Before I can try again, Ruth scoots closer, her movements slow and careful as she wraps both arms around my neck in an awkward sideways hug. It’s a nice gesture, but isn’t nearly enough to take the edge off a pain I work hard to keep bottled up and far away.
And because I'm needy, and probably a little selfish, I pull her closer. Seek out the comfort I should be offering her.
Ruth lets out a little gasp as I shift her into my lap, tucking her against my chest so I can hold her tighter.
While she's stiff and surprised at first, she quickly cuddles closer, fitting against me in a way that's pretty damn close to perfect as I fight my way back from an edge I've never been brave enough to peek over.
I know I'm technically not the one who lost someone, but for some reason, I've always struggled to navigate how I feel about what happened that day. The emotions surrounding it have always been bigger than I expected. Stronger than they seemed to be for other people. But with the pain so many people around me have carried, I’ve never felt right wallowing in my own.
Not that I wanted to.
But having Ruth here with me, the soft scent of her skin filling the air, I'm able to dip a toe into those uncharted waters. Just for a second. Long enough to think maybe they won't pull me under as fast as I've always thought.
I'm still not jumping in. Certainly not when I'm the one who’s supposed to be helping her swim.
So—like I always do—I push the old sadness and hurt down, hiding it away as I turn my focus back to Ruth.
"I'm sorry you lost your mom." I bring a hand to her face, tipping it back until our eyes meet.
"I know I never met her, but I feel very confident saying she would have been really fucking proud of you. "
Anyone in their right mind would be proud of Ruth. She’s so strong. So determined. So fierce.
I can't help but admire her. Want to be around her. Not just for her benefit, but for mine. She brings a sense of peace and calm wherever she goes, and those are two things I've always struggled to find.
Ruth's eyes move over my face and her lips slowly curve. "She would have really liked you."
I smile, perking up a little bit after the heavy moment we just shared. "I am pretty charming."
Ruth shakes her head. "That's not why she would have liked you." She rubs her lips together, expression hesitant. "She would've liked you because you're a good person."
Her words hit me with an unexpected amount of strength. Hard enough I don't know what to say. I've always led with charm and swagger. It keeps people from getting too close. Offers women the best of who I am without giving them the chance to see anything beneath the surface.
But there was no way to do that with Ruth. Charming her wasn't an option. She saw through me before I even opened my mouth. That means I've accidentally let her see me for who I really am.
I should feel exposed. Raw.
I don’t. And it’s yet another thing I clearly don’t know how to process, because one minute I’m staring into Ruth’s eyes and the next her lips are on mine.
I’m not sure which one of us instigated the connection, but I’d bet money it was me. It’s a problem I seem to be having more and more often lately.
Especially tonight.
Kissing her like this—when we’re both so emotionally charged—is probably a bad idea.
I’m still gonna keep doing it. Especially since she’s kissing me back.
There’s always been a sort of choreography to my physical interactions with women. A routine if you will. I followed it to a T, because it got everyone what they wanted without causing any sort of extra complications.
But there’s nothing choreographed or routine about my actions when Ruth ends up in my arms. It’s like my brain shorts out and I run on instinct alone.
I’m gonna blame instinct for the way Ruth is suddenly beneath me on the sofa, her thighs bracketing my hips as I dry hump her like a teenager.
All the moves I’ve collected in my arsenal might as well not even exist, because the only thing my brain seems to be interested in is getting closer to Ruth in any way I can.
It's like getting a taste of her outside at dinner has created an addiction.
One I'm not confident I'm capable of managing.
It's yet another thing I simply don't have the tools to navigate.
And without those tools, I’m stuck with nothing to guide me but desire.
And Ruth is real fucking desirable. She’s so soft.
Her body is so plush. I want to touch every inch of it to see how it feels.
Memorize every dip and curve. And I'm making pretty good headway because the loose, flowy pants she wore to dinner easily slide up her legs, revealing satiny skin hugging perfectly shaped calves and thighs.
The way they mold to my hand has my dick hard as stone.
Straining against my jeans as I rock against her, wishing I was sinking into her warm, welcoming body.
And she would welcome me. I might be having a momentary slip in my skill set right now, but that doesn't mean I won't do everything in my power to make sure she enjoys herself immensely.
Just as soon as I finish mapping out the back of her knee with the tips of my fingers.
I've never in my life been turned on by the back of a woman's knee, but Ruth’s has me leaking in my pants. I wonder if I could lube that area up and fuck it. Slide along the crease while I work her clit with my thumb.
Am I seriously fantasizing about fucking the back of a woman's knee?
Yeah. I really fucking am. And I can’t even find it in me to be ashamed, because as soon as I finished fucking the back of her knee, I’d fuck the inside of her elbow. Then between her tits. I want to fuck every part of her I can. Cover her in my cum and rub it into her smooth, satiny skin.
I might be a little freakier than I've given myself credit for.
Thankfully, Ruth is completely oblivious to my probably unhinged desires regarding what most people would consider the uninteresting parts of her body.
She is, however, very aware of my dick rubbing between her thighs, because the noises coming out of her sound a hell of a lot like a woman who's about to come.
I don't think I've ever gotten a woman off like this.
Probably because I don't spend a lot of time with women where we both have our clothes on.
But while I'm out of my mind in a lot of ways, I still seem to be holding tight to the knowledge that I cannot actually fuck Ruth.
Not for real. I probably shouldn't fuck the back of her knee or her elbow either. Definitely not between her tits.
I probably shouldn't be fake fucking her the way I am now. Doesn’t mean I'm not gonna stop. It's way too late for that. Now that I know there's a chance I could get to see her come, Ruth is the only thing that could put a stop to the direction I'm headed.
But I really fucking hope she doesn’t stop me, because the desperation I feel over getting to watch her pretty face as she comes undone is consuming.
Ruth drags her lips away from mine, gasping for air. “Tucker.” My name is ragged as she says it. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to—” she makes a strangled sound as I put a little more purpose and thought into the next shift of my hips.
I can’t help but smirk. “Good.” Hooking one hand behind the knee I am abnormally obsessed with, I bring it up and out, giving me a little more room to work. “You deserve to come. You did so good for me tonight.”
Maybe that’s all this is. I simply feel the need to reward Ruth for helping me. For making sure my mother doesn’t set her sights on me next. I’m simply giving her a gold star orgasm. That’s it.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ruthless.” There’s truth in my words. Maybe a little too much of it. Because thinking about Ruth leaving—and she will leave—isn’t easy to stomach.
So I don’t think about it. I think about her elbow and the back of her knee and her tits and the way she rolls her eyes when I tease her and the little frown she makes when she’s thinking hard.
The way she kissed me after dinner.
“Tucker.” Ruth’s fingers dig into my shoulders, her body going tight beneath mine.
I can’t look away from her face as she writhes and shudders, coming as I continue rocking against her, doing my best to stretch this moment out as long as I can.
Because I’m pretty sure she’s gonna overthink this when it’s over.
And I’m right.
The second the haze has cleared her eyes, Ruth is wriggling out from under me, gaze averted as she mumbles something about checking on Birdie before practically running upstairs.
Part of me wonders if I should apologize. Tell her it was a mistake that won’t happen again.
But I’m not sorry. And it wasn’t a mistake.
In fact, it might just happen again. Because Ruth is going to keep helping me, and I’d be an asshole not to show her my appreciation.
I’m many things, but an asshole isn’t one of them.
I am sporting a raging hard on, though, and since I don’t see it going away on its own, I turn off all the lights and make my way to my bedroom.
To think a little more about the back of Ruth’s knee.