Another whimper. She rocks harder as I flick my tongue against her earlobe, and I run my thumb along the edge of the waistband of her shorts.
“Would I find a desperate pussy, drenched and dripping for me?” I don’t even need to work my hand inside her shorts to find out. This patch of skin right behind her earlobe is salty and sweet at the same time; it’s the spot that has her writhing in my arms as my tongue flicks against it. The spot that has me desperately trying to stay calm and not come in my pants as I feel Ruth’s body fall over the edge.
“Ev,” she whimpers. “Fuck, Ev.”
Her body tenses and her thighs grip mine before she relaxes, trembling in my arms. I lower my mouth to hers for one more kiss.
“Shh, baby girl,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
We drive back to my cabin in companionable silence, Ruth’s hand in mine the whole way. While she showers, I make the sausage casserole I was eating on one of our early FaceTime calls. It’s the same one I made for her last time she visited, the one she loved so much she had me cook it in front of her so she could write down the exactrecipe.
We eat at the bar rather than the dining table, both of our feet dangling off the edge of the bar stools, hers knocking into mine playfully. Ruth covers her mouth with the back of her hand as she giggles through a yawn. It’s her third in the span of about five minutes.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” she says, grabbing her plate and mine and reaching over to deposit them in the sink on the other side of the counter.
“Leave the dishes, Ruth,” I say quietly. “I’ll take care of them. You need to get some rest, honey.”
“I’m okay,” she insists. She hops down from her stool and rounds the counter to the sink, switching on the faucet with one hand and smothering another yawn with the other. “It’ll only take a minute.”
She’s already swiping a sponge around our plates by the time I reach her, and I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her away from the counter, my lips attached to the side of her neck. She shrieks, flinging water in the air as I lift her off her feet, the tap still running and wet sponge still in her hand.
“Ev! Put me down!”
“Not until you let me do the dishes.”
“They’re practically done,” she says, andfuck, that clipped English accent has my stomach flipping and twirling like some sort of storm rolling through. She twists in my arms as I set her down again, sponge still in hand, and reaches up to press her lips to mine. “Just the forks, and then we’ll go to bed.”
Once the forks are washed and dried, Ruth follows me through the cabin as I turn off the lights and lock all the doors. I lead her up the wooden staircase, and we stop outside the two bedroom doors in the mezzanine corridor that overlooks the entryway and living room.
“I’m so glad you’re staying with me this time,” I say. My voice is thick, leaves my mouth hoarse and cracked, like the first words spoken of a morning.
“Me too,” Ruth whispers. She plays with the strap of her watch nervously.
“I made up the guest room,” I continue. “But, if you wanted to…” I trail off, leaving Ruth to infer whatever she’d like.
“Can I stay with you?”
“It would be my honour, Ruth.”
Ruth’s already in her pyjamas—a matching black shorts and tank top set—so while she brushes her teeth and washes her face in the guest bathroom, I take a minute to freshen the towels in my own bathroom and dig around for my cleanest, least-threadbare pyjamas. I finally emerge from the bathroom with freshly-brushed teeth and clad in plaid shorts and a grey tee, just as Ruth steps through the door, wringing her hands nervously.
“Come on, baby girl,” I say. I leap onto the bed and pull back the sheets, patting at the mattress on the other side. “Let’s get some sleep.”
She smiles a tight, tired smile, but joins me, and as I wrap her in my arms, I feel her relax against me. I switch off the light and then press a kiss into the skin of her bare shoulder as we settle into place.
“Night, Ev,” she says into the pillow.
“Night, honey,” I whisper. Almost immediately, my words are met with the gentle, even breaths of sleep.
Chapter eighteen
Everett
The following morning, Iwake exactly as I fell asleep: at a three-quarter angle between my back and my side, with Ruth’s head on my chest and my arm holding her securely against my body. I take the chance to glance down at her. Her face is smooth, a small, content smile on her lips. The day’s worries not yet weighing on the space between her brows.
When I finally drag myself out of bed, I leave Ruth scrolling through messages from her friends while I shower, and then I cook breakfast while she showers. Although Ruth winkles her nose at what she calls ‘a sorry excuse for bacon’, she still eats everything on her plate and returns to the baking tray for more. Once we’ve cleaned up after breakfast, I grab my keys and my sunglasses, and we head out the door.
I’m unlocking my truck when Ruth stops.
