I pick her up and set her on the edge of the kitchen table. She’s light in my arms but heavy with want, legs parting so I can step between. Her thighs frame my hips, and I grip them hard enough to leave prints, dragging her closer until there’s nothing between us but a thin slip of velvet and the heat of her skin. The robe falls away, and I run my hands over her bare shoulders, down her arms. Ruby’s breasts are full, her nipples pink and taut with desire. I want to taste them. I lean down and she places both hands behind her on the table, arching her back, making contact with the first one even more luscious.
She shivers when I take her nipple in my mouth, the taste of her skin mixing with the faint perfume of vanilla and spice. I swirl my tongue slow, gentle, then pull with just the right pressure until she lets out a sound that’s half gasp, half laugh. I do it again, because I want to hear her make that noise again. I want to keep her strung between pleasure and the anticipation of more.
“God, Beckett,” she moans, and the sound is nothing like the laughs she’s thrown at me for two days. I want to wring more out of her, every cry and curse. I want to make her remember this until the day she dies.
My hands slide up her thighs, thumbs hooking under the elastic edge of those peppermint panties. I drag the fabric aside, and she gasps, shuddering as my fingers find her already wet.
“God, you’re so ready for me,” I say. I circle her clit, slow, then harder, loving the desperate way she whimpers and rides my hand. She’s wild, so much more than I imagined, and the noises she makes are high and breathless, then low and begging. It’s enough to drive me past any sane stopping point.
I nudge her legs wider, crouch down to the floor, and yank her to the edge, panties dragged aside so I can have what I want. I taste her, slow at first, letting her squirm and grab at my hair, then harder, circling her clit with the tip of my tongue until she’s rocking against my mouth and clamping a fist over her own lips to keep from screaming. I want her loud, want the whole damn mountain to hear her come apart.
I run my hands up her thighs, holding her steady, then I flatten my tongue and suck hard, and her whole body bows up. Slowly, I insert a finger inside her and hear her gasp again. She’s tightly wound, but I drag another finger across her pussy and saturate it with her juiciness. Slowly, I watch as I insert that one as well. Now I have two fingers inside her and Ruby’s demeanor has transformed into something even hotter than before.
My eyes gaze on her wetness as I pick up speed with my fingers. Then I join in with my tongue on her clit again. She’s panting now, more desperate with every circle of my tongue, every thrust of my fingers. Her hips rock forward as if she can’t bear a second of distance. I brace her ass with one hand, digging my fingertips into her flesh, and let her ride my mouth.
I keep her there, riding out the tremors, my mouth greedy on her until she’s clawing at the table, begging me to stop, then begging me not to. I don’t move until she’s gasping, legs trembling on either side of my head.
When I finally stand, my jaw is wet and every nerve in my body is howling. Ruby is flushed, face glazed and damp, lips parted, hair stuck to her cheek. She looks like she’s just survived a car crash, and maybe she has … a collision with me, at least.I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, proud and half-wild, then lean in, kissing her belly, the inside of her thigh, just because I can.
She grabs the collar of my shirt, yanks me up. Her kiss is messy, eager, tasting herself on my lips. I want to fuck her right now, up against the cabinets, on the table, anywhere. But I want her on my bed, too. I want her in my sheets, tangled and gorgeous … totally mine.
I hoist her up. Ruby squeals, high and delighted, wrapping her legs around my waist as I walk us down the hall, ignoring Ranger’s wide-eyed dog stare as I shoulder the bedroom door open.
I toss her onto the bed, hard enough to bounce. The robe is gone. She’s all golden skin, flushed and trembling, panties halfway down her thighs. She watches me strip off my jeans, hands shaking as she reaches for me. I crawl over her, pinning her wrists to the mattress, and she moans, arching up to meet me.
“Please,” she says again, but her voice is so wrecked I have to stop and look at her, just to make sure she’s all right. Her eyes are wet and she’s so fucking open I can barely stand it. Every last defense, gone. Just hunger, trust, and the kind of need that makes me want to never leave this room, this bed with her in it.
I slow down, holding myself above her, just breathing her in. It’s all Ruby now, sweat and skin and something sweet that lives between her thighs. I kiss her slow, letting her catch her breath, then I slide inside, pushing slow and deep until she takes me fully, her body clutching at me like it never wants to let go. She gasps and I nearly lose it right then. But I hold still, holding her wrists above her head, pressing my forehead to hers and breathing her in, waiting for her to look at me, really look, before I move.
She does, eyes dark and wild, a smile breaking over her lips even as she’s trembling. “Holy shit,” she whispers. “You’re … you’re not holding back.”
“Neither are you,” I say, and I let go of her wrists so I can tangle my hands in her hair, down her back, splaying over her hips and thighs and everywhere I can reach. She moves against me perfectly, meeting every thrust. My head goes hot with it, the pure animal joy of having her like this.
Ruby’s nails dig into my back, raking lines down my spine. It’s not pain. It’s a signal, a dare to push deeper, go harder, to show her what she’s unleashed. I take her hips and roll, flipping us so she’s riding me, hair wild, thighs clamped hard around my waist. The view knocks the sense out of me. Her chest is flushed and heaving, her tits shaking up and down.
Then I notice the cute little Santa panties tangled around one ankle. I smile. There’s always something slightly humorous with this woman. She’s got me with her huge eyes and feral ways. Ruby rides me like she’s trying to outpace the storm outside, like there’s nothing in the world but the friction of us and the heat we make together. She moves with wild abandon, driving down on my cock with a rhythm that’s both fierce and desperate, and I let her take everything she needs. Her hands rake my chest, my shoulders, then slide up to grip the headboard, knuckles white as she chases the edge.
“God, Beckett, don’t stop …” she gasps, voice shattering on the last word. Her body clamps down around me and I feel her teeter, hanging over the brink, refusing to let go just yet. I sit up under her, arms locked around her waist, crushing her to me as she bucks and shudders. Her hair falls over us both, sweet and tangling, and I can’t get enough. I want to taste her, break her open, swallow every sound that comes out of her mouth.
Ruby comes with a wild cry, a high, desperate keen that echoes in the room. I hold her through it, rocking her down,letting the aftershocks run out in waves. Her hands fist in my hair, clutch the back of my neck, wild and gorgeous and more alive than anyone I’ve ever known.
I’m seconds — hell, microseconds — from losing it. I curse under my breath, hips jerking up to meet her on the final arch. Her body milks me, pulsing and relentless, and when I finally let go it’s a total blackout. I come so hard the rest of the world drops away until there’s just Ruby, trembling with pleasure and absolutely mine.
She collapses against me, panting, skin slick and sticky and perfect. My arms hold her tight, anchoring her to the world while she comes down, slow and sweet. I stroke her back, letting my hands memorize every trembling inch of her. For a long minute, neither of us says a word. The only sound is our breathing, ragged and shared.
Ruby slides off me and I groan at the loss of her heat. She’s all limp limbs and a wild smile. She sprawls across my chest, one thigh tossed over me, cheek pressed sweaty to my ribs, hair sticky and wild, breathing slowing as she rides the afterglow. She’s never been more beautiful. Not even close.
After a long silence, she laughs and sighs. “You’re a machine, Beckett Tinderwolf.”
I run my hand up her thigh. “You started it,” I say. “I’m just seeing it through. Speaking of machines … I have a little fantasy.”
“Oh, yeah?” She props herself up on my chest, hair falling everywhere. “Tell me your fantasy.”
“Every since Ranger found that pink toy of yours wrapped in cellophane, prancing around with it in his mouth like he had a prized dog toy, I’ve been wondering.”
“Wondering … how?” she asks, looking at me with a glint in her eyes.
“Wondering how it would be to use that thing on you and watch you get off.”
