Annie moves me around a little more, this time with no props, and once Paloma has taken enough pictures to make them both happy, she claps her hands. Looking over at Annie with a wicked glint in her eye, she grins, and says, “Ready?”
Annie grins back, and the two redheads move in sync to swap the roll of vinyl hung on the backdrop stand. Annie moves around the studio with such ease and comfort, I can’t help but think she must have been here before. She must have spent some time here with Paloma.
Like Amie, Paloma could talk the ears off a potted plant, but the comfortable way she and Annie tease each other, the closeness in the way they stand together, bodies turned towards each other and movements perfectly in tune, tell me that this is more than just my best friend being an extrovert.
Paloma has mentioned several artist acquaintances over the years, but she’s never mentioned anyone she’s really seemed this friendly with. But when Annie’s hand brushes Paloma’s bare arm, my friend offers the brightest, most dazzling smile I think I’ve ever seen, and it has me wondering whether there might be something more between them.
Chapter thirty-five
Everett
At least the flightfrom Austin to Phoenix isn’t overly long. Two and a half hours after takeoff, we’re back on the ground again, and then I’m dashing through the terminal building, drifting around corners with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, seeking the brunette beauty who promised to be waiting for me. I dive left to avoid a slow-walking family, then duck right to avoid being hit in the face by a giant’s backpack. And then I see her. A fucking vision, just the way she always is. The world slows down.
I let my eyes slide up her body, starting at her feet. White sneakers with a chunky sole, leading to those long, tanned legs I want to drape over my shoulders. Tiny denim shorts cling to her hips, and her loose white tank is tucked into the waistband. The neckline dips low into her cleavage, and I let my eyes linger before they snap up to her face. She’s sun-kissed, makeup-free, and the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Good lord, give me the strength to not ravage her right here, because my cock is wide awake and fucking desperate now she’s close enough to smell her vanilla perfume.
The vanilla perfume that suddenly surrounds me, because before I can even blink, Ruth is in my arms, legs wrapped around my hips, lips pressing against mine with a kind of urgency I thought only existed in movies. God, it feels so fucking good to hold her. I take control, skimming my hands down her spine to her ass, squeezing lightly, andlicking at the seam of her mouth. I swallow the sound of her moan as she opens for me, warm and sweet and tasting faintly of coffee and caramel. Fuck, if she isn’t my favourite flavour of just about everything. Her mouth. Her skin. Her pussy. Ruth Bevan is my fucking favourite.
Her fingers tug lightly at the hair at the nape of my neck as she kisses me with no shame, no worry, no concern for the building full of people getting a free show. When she pulls away, the sweetest laugh spills from her lips, and she hops down to the ground.
“Come on,” she says, dragging her hands down my arms and pulling me by the hand. “Come and meet my friends.”
Ruth’s friends turn out to be two men, and a small girl with messy pigtails who’s clutching a stuffed dinosaur in a white-knuckled fist. It’s good to finally put faces to some of the names I keep hearing about, but I’m not so sure about the way her brother’s eyes narrow suspiciously, keeping track of my every movement. I feel like I have to be careful with my hand placement as I fall into step beside Ruth, resting my palm just above the base of her spine. Just high enough to be demure, not quite low enough to be accused of feeling her ass. Although, I can’t wait to feel her ass.
“Aunty Roo,” a small voice says from over my shoulder. Ruth turns her head without breaking stride. “Why is that man’s hand on your bottom?”
One of the men behind me snorts, and I feel furious energy radiating from the other. Unsurprisingly, Ruth’s brother—the man who held my hand so tight and shook it so hard I thought I’d end up with broken fingers—is the one glaring. Cam, the one carrying the little girl on his hip, is trying his hardest not to laugh out loud at his daughter’s wide-eyed, innocent question. Ruth’s eyebrows almost hit her hairline.
“It’s not on my bottom, Mae,” she chokes out. “It’s on my back. You know how sometimes Daddy puts his hand on Mama’s back?”
“Daddy touch Mama’s bottom,” Maisy answers seriously. The stuffed dinosaur is held tightly in a small fist and tucked under her chin. “Sometimes she not tell him to stop.”
Cam snorts again, cheeks turning a faint shade of pink, and this time, Jay’s chuckle follows.
“Busted,” he says lowly. “She’s got your number, bud.”
I snicker, and Ruth bumps me with her elbow, then soothes the jab with a wicked smile. She’s fucking beautiful—but under the watchful eyes of her goddaughter and her brother, I daren’t touch her again. Not until we’re alone. I settle for brushing my arm against hers as we make our way to Cam’s SUV, and I wrap my arm around her shoulder when I get to sit beside her in the back seat.
“That’s a cool dinosaur you got there, Maisy,” I say. It’s blue, slightly threadbare in patches, with a dirty face like he’s been cuddled and kissed for years.
“It’s Roger,” she says seriously. “He magic!”
“He’s magic, huh? Does he have any cool tricks?”
“He can fly!” Maisy’s face lights up in the prettiest grin as she waves her toy through the air. “Daddy, look! Roger flying!”
“He’s flyin’, huh?” Cam glances in the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of his daughter, lips twitching into a wide smile. “Better keep those windows closed so he doesn’t fly away!”
Maisy’s musical giggle becomes a hysterical shriek of laughter, and Ruth rests her head on my shoulder as she watches with soft eyes. I squeeze her shoulders. It feels good to have her back in my arms again.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” I push Ruth against the door as soon as it closes behind us, sealing my lips to hers. They’re as warm and pliant as they’ve ever been, and she opens for me immediately, rubbing her tongue against mine. Fuck, I could come just from kissing Ruth Bevan. There’s nothing quite like the way she mewls into my kiss, tiny whimpering breaths mingling with the dance of our tongues. The way she sucks my lower lip into her mouth before releasing me for air. I take a breath and latch my lips to her skin, trailing a hot line of kisses down her jaw to her throat.
“Want you naked,” she says between heavy breaths. Needy, trembling hands fight with my belt buckle as I shrug my shirt off my shoulders. “Want you inside me.” She pushes my jeans down over my hips. With deft fingers, I unbutton her shorts and let them fall to her ankles, and then lift my lips from her skin just long enough to tug her tank top over her head before I return, sucking against the sensitive skin just above her collarbone. She’s not even wearing a fucking bra. My hands move immediately to tease her nipples, pinching and rolling them until they’re pebbled and peaked beneath my fingertips.
I kiss a line over her shoulder and down to her tits, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the space between them and down to the apex of her thighs.
I’m eye-level with her pussy, and it’s glistening through wine-red lace, beckoning me. “Are you wearing these pretty panties for me?”
I look up to see Ruth nod, eyes fixed on me.
