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, tuckingher 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 likedyou." 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 myarsenal 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.
