Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(57)

“You’re funny. Don’t you remember my promise to you?”

Ruby’s nonchalant attempt to keep eating fires the situation further because she runs her tongue along her lip and licks the milk off, a gesture that edges me closer to her.

“Was that a promise? I thought we’d gone back to friends.”

“Did you?” She’s not wriggling out of this, and she’s lying. The undertones have followed us; the looks, the touches, the teenage style glances. Either Ruby does this or I give up. I brush my lips against her cheek.

“Does anywhere hurt still?”

Her blue eyes meet mine. Of course, she hurts. I can see that but I can also clearly see her want matches mine. “No.”

“About f-ucking time.”

I want to kiss her gently. I really do, but I can’t. The need for her that’s built in the last two months explodes and I take Ruby’s face in both hands and close my lips over hers, roughly pushing my tongue into her mouth. For a millisecond, I kick myself for my stupidity, waiting for her to shove me away, and yell at me Ruby-style.

Instead, she welcomes my tongue and holds my face in return. Devouring kisses follow, pulling us further into each other. The kiss less than a week ago was amazing; this is f-ucking stratospheric. I place my arms either side of Ruby, caging her. In response, she stands and shoves my arms down, so I pull her against my hips.

My desire for Ruby blinds common sense, and I slide a hand up her leg to run my hands across her skin, beneath her dress until I reach her ass.

Shit, shit, shit. Groaning, I attempt to back her toward the counter again and she stands her ground, placing a hand on my chest but not removing her lips from mine. I get it. I can’t corner her. She needs to lead but it’s f-ucking difficult. Ruby breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against mine as our mingling breaths come in short pants.

“Okay, I can’t breathe; you’re right,” she says.

“Suffocated?”

“No, the effect you have on me.”

“What’s that?”

Ruby slides her hand along the front of my jeans and runs a finger along my obvious erection. “The same as I have on you.”

We’ve reached the line. The one I swore I wouldn’t cross with this woman; the one that I’m scared will resurrect the * who f*cks around with women’s feelings. Or worse, this might be the final fall into something I can’t handle. Dylan’s bullshit about love has circled my mind. I don’t love, not in the consuming, selfless way he does. I was never loved, so how do I understand when it happens, if it ever does?

For f-uck’s sake, Jem. Stop thinking and be yourself.

“Did I kiss you like I mean it?” I whisper, running my tongue along her neck.

Ruby shivers at the sensation. “Yeah.” She pushes her hands beneath my t-shirt, dragging her nails across my lower back. “Kiss me some more.”

“So now I get to kiss you other places?”

“You’re funny.”

“How?”

“Jem Jones making requests.” Her warm breath tickles my ear as she speaks.

I loosen my grip and slide my arms to her waist. “Because I’m not going to take from you what you don’t want to give.”

Ruby’s eyes soften and her response is a soft, slow kiss. She tastes sweet, of Ruby and muesli; I’m going to f-ucking love the taste of muesli for the rest of my life.

Pink-cheeked and mouth parted, Ruby touches my lips. “Can I make a request?”

“Anything,” I say, hoping to Hell that it’s not ‘stop’.

Curling her fingers through the belt loop on my jeans, Ruby tugs me closer and whispers in my ear. “I want to go into your bedroom with you and not come out until this URST thing is dealt with.”

“URST,” I chuckle. “Fine, but don’t think you’re getting the kids and the house in the country.”



****



Ruby



I’m in Jem Jones’s bedroom. Jem’s bedroom.

Jem disappears into his bathroom, leaving me a trembling mess of excitement and anxiety. What if I’m not good enough for him? I pull my dress over my head, dump it on the floor, and slide beneath his thick bedding. I tug the soft material to my nose, inhaling the spiced scent of the man who more than kissed me like he meant it, and keep myself in my Jem frame of mind.

Jem reappears with a box of condoms in his hand and halts, frowning. “What are you doing?”

I grip the duvet. “Um. Waiting for you?”

“Waiting for me?”

Why does he sound annoyed? “Yes. Why? Did you change your mind?”

“What the hell?” Jem crosses to kneel on the bed and cups my chin with his hand. He runs his tongue across my bottom lip, triggering the heat that had waned with my nerves. I part my mouth for his kiss and he pulls away. “I’m not doing this to you, Ruby. I’m doing it with you.”

“Okay.” I push his t-shirt up and he rests a hand on mine to stop me.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he says hoarsely. “I’m not f-ucking this up. If I do f-uck up and you never want sex with me again, it’d kill me.”

He wraps an arm around my waist, I eagerly accept the way his mouth claims mine. Jem’s kisses are unusual because I don’t do this type of kissing. Dan couldn’t care less whether we did or not, as long as I opened my legs for him. With Jem, I’ve learned there’s an intimacy from a kiss that goes deeper, an inexplicable extra connection. With Jem’s come an unspoken care and affection, his desire to be with me on my own terms reflected by the way Jem gauges my reaction to each stroke of his tongue or movement of his lips. And I can’t get enough.