Page 154 of Show Me

I laugh, and he catches the sound with his mouth. After that, the kissing turns messy.

My hands in his hair. His palms moving over my back and hips. My knee wedged against the couch beside him while he keeps pulling me closer every time I shift away enough to breathe.

Squirt grunts loudly from the other room. Neither of us stops. Another grunt.

Xavier breaks the kiss just long enough to mutter, “Your pig has terrible timing.”

“He's judging you.”

“He should mind his business.”

“This is his house.”

Xavier looks at me for one beat. “I'm willing to fight him for couch privileges.”

A laugh bursts out of me. He smiles, but it fades when I touch his face. Something quieter passes between us. Not uncertainty. Not fear. Just awareness.

I kiss him again, slower this time.

Chapter Eighty-One

Xavier

I wake up when it's still dark. Not fully. Just enough to know where I am. Warm. Ruby.

My arm is wrapped around her, her back pressed into my chest, our hands interlaced like sometime in the night we both shifted closer without thinking about it. Like distance wasn't even an option.

I don't move right away. Just lie there, listening. Her breathing is slow. Even. Peaceful.

My hand tightens against her waist, more instinct than intention, like I'm making sure she's there. She is. Of course she is. But that doesn't stop the unease that always smacks me in the face when I think about her pulling away. About her deciding this isn't enough.

I lean forward, pressing my mouth to the top of her head. A soft kiss. Barely there. She stirs anyway as if she senses I'm awake. A soft breath, her body moving against mine, not pulling away but instead, settling deeper.

Her hand moves, fingers curling tighter like she remembers exactly where she is. “Hey.” Her voice is rough with sleep.

“Hey.” I don’t let go. Don’t loosen my hold.

She turns, tilting her face up toward me, eyes half-lidded, hair falling across her cheek. There’s no rush in it. No edge. Just... awareness.

I brush that strand of hair back, my fingers lingering a second longer than they need to. Her gaze tracks the movement. Stays on me. Something shifts in the space between us. Not sharp. Not urgent. Just... deeper.

My hand slides to her jaw, thumb resting beneath her cheekbone. I give her time to move. To pull back. She doesn’t.

Her hand comes up instead, resting against my chest, fingers spreading like she’s grounding herself there. That’s all it takes.

I kiss her. Slow. Careful. Nothing like the last time. No tension pushing it forward. No frustration driving it. Just... her.

The way she answers it. The way she leans in, not hesitant, not holding back, just there with me, makes my chest squeeze.

My hand slides along her side, pulling her closer, fitting her against me like she belongs there. And she does.

She exhales against my mouth, her fingers curling into my shirt, then lower, her palm pressing over the hard outline of me through the fabric. A soft sound leaves her, not a question, just acknowledgment. I groan against her lips, my hips shifting toward her touch without my permission.

“Ruby,” I murmur, but she’s already guiding my hand down, past her waist, between her legs where she’s warm and wet through the thin cotton of her underwear.

I push the fabric aside, groaning again when I feel how ready she is, how slick and hot against my fingers. She arches into my touch, her breath hitching, and I take my time, circling her, sliding one finger inside her, then two, feeling her tighten around me, her hips rolling to meet each slow thrust.

“Please,” she whispers, and it’s not begging, it’s just truth.