Page 95 of Show Me

“Fuck.” His voice is wrecked, barely human, and he stills for half a second, breathing hard, forehead pressed against my shoulder. “You’re so–”

He cuts himself off, shakes his head, and then he’s moving again, erratic, frantic, fevered, each thrust driving the air from my lungs in sharp gasps.

I wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, and he groans, deep and guttural, his rhythm stuttering then finding a new desperation. He’s not controlled now. Not careful. Need, raw and relentless. The tension building in him, the way his muscles lock and release, the way his breath comes in harsh grunts against my neck.

“Ruby.” My name, broken, desperate, and then he’s kissing me again, messy and uncoordinated, his tongue in my mouth in the same rhythm as his hips, and I’m climbing again, impossibly, the friction perfect, the angle just right, and I didn’t think I could but I can, I am–

“Come on.” His hand slides between us, finds my clit, works me in tight circles even as he loses his rhythm, becomes unmoored, unmade. “Come with me. Please–”

I shatter, crying out against his mouth, and he follows, burying himself deep and stilling, his whole body rigid, pulsing, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as he groans long and low and endless.

Silence.

Our breathing fills the room, ragged and slowing. I become aware of his weight on me, heavy and real, the way his hand is still between us, the way my nails have scored his back. I should move. I don’t.

He doesn’t either, not at first. Then he shifts, enough to roll to his side, pulling out slow, dealing with the condom without looking at me. I stare at the ceiling, watching the shadows from the hallway light shift across the plaster. My mind is blank, then not blank, then flooding with everything I don’t want to feel.

That was…. I can’t finish the thought. I don’t let myself.

“Wow.” His voice is rough, barely audible. “That was….”

“Yeah.” I swallow. My throat is dry. “Yeah.”

More silence. The fan clicks overhead. Somewhere outside, a dog barks.

We lie there, side by side, not touching except where our arms press together. I count cracks in the ceiling, count breaths, count the seconds until one of us moves, leaves, remembers this was supposed to be casual.

Then his hand finds the blanket bunched at the foot of the bed. He pulls it up, slow, and covers us both. The gesture is so unexpectedly tender that my chest tightens, and I have to close my eyes against the sudden sting.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer. Just stays, arm pressing against mine, and we lie there in the dark, close enough to share heat, far enough to pretend we don’t need it.

Neither of us sleeps. Neither of us leaves.

Interlude

The Watcher

The house is different tonight. Light spills where it used to go dark. Movement behind windows that once stayed still after sunset.

From the edge of the tree line, the view is partial. Branches break up the angles. Distance softens the details. Not enough.

Two shapes move through the kitchen. Not one. The taller one crosses first. The smaller one follows. Familiar. The way she pauses. The way she turns her head when she’s listening. The way she lingers instead of walking away.

Too close. The distance between them disappears for a moment. Then stays gone.

A knot tightens. The cameras blink beneath the eaves. The yard remains quiet. The house doesn’t. Not anymore.

The taller shape steps closer. The smaller one doesn’t move away. Once, she would have. Once, there had been space. Now there isn’t.

The space between them disappears. Unacceptable. The hallway light catches them. Close. Closer than before. The difference is impossible to miss. They turn. Move down the hallway. Disappear from view.

A door closes somewhere inside the house. The kitchen light remains on. Too easy. Too comfortable. The knot twists tighter.

A branch scrapes against the siding. Wind moves through the trees. Nothing else. A slow step back into deeper shadow. Then another.

The house stays in view. The windows. The lights. The glow spilling into the yard.