by Lisa Swallow
“A lot of people say that,” he says with a smile.
Jem’s face has lost the pallor he had when we first met, the lines softened. He looks at my mouth and then turns his darkened eyes to mine. Is he going to kiss me again? I want my mouth on his; but it would hurt, and my lip twinges in annoyance. I touch Jem’s face, tracing the contours of his defined cheekbones, rubbing my fingertips along his scruff. Is he holding his breath?
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“You’re looking at me in a way nobody has for a while.”
“And how’s that?”
“Like I matter.”
“Jem…” I press my lips against his, briefly, gently, and then withdraw before he kisses me properly. Jem’s lips move across my uninjured cheek before he buries his face in my hair.
“Every time I touch you, I hate that fucker more because I want to kiss you so much.” He looks up. “When your mouth is better, I’m going to kiss you until you can’t breathe.”
He obviously misses my current struggle with breathing around him. “Suffocation doesn’t sounds pleasant, Jem.”
He laughs. “No, I mean the effect it’ll have on you. I’m a fucking awesome kisser.”
“I remember.” He smirks. “Actually, no. It was crap.”
Jem rests his head back on the chair. “Oh, really? I don’t believe you.”
“I’m sure your expertise in all things umm… physical is admirable, Jem, but there’s a difference. You can kiss me like you mean it, or not at all.”
Jem cups my chin in his long fingers. “I’ll mean it, Ruby Tuesday.”
His brown eyes tell me he already does and I ache with the frustration of wanting him to show me now. Instead, I shift around, curl into Jem and rest my head on his shoulder. He runs his fingers along my arm and strokes as we listen to the music in the peace we’ve created. I wait for him to be Jem Jones, to continue the path he started to something sexual but he doesn’t. This is Jem, intuitive about the Hell I found myself in last night, and understanding how tender is the road to where he wants to go.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jem
We bunker down in my house for a few days. I tell myself it’s because I can’t be fucked facing the media, but it’s not. Even though Ruby pretends she’s okay, the attack has shaken her badly. She doesn’t want to leave the house, tells me it’s because of her face but the larger part is she’s traumatised. Ruby hates being weak, needing protection, and I don’t want to be the one who craves to keep her safe. But I do, and I’m going to, whether or not she likes.
Opening up and sharing shit I’ve never told anyone scares me, but the pressure from keeping everything in built too much. I never knew saying the words to somebody else could help relieve some of that. Ruby is the person who pushed me to do this without realising, and all because she shared her own. She took the risk I never could.
She’s under my skin, burrowing into my heart and soul, and I want her. The frustration is killing me. I catch Ruby watching me when she thinks I’m unaware; the confusion and desire reflected in her eyes. I hate people in my personal space; can’t stand anyone touching anything that belongs to me. Hell, some days I don’t want to share oxygen with people.
Ruby belongs here.
I have no explanation or experience of this, but I crave her. Not just the naked Ruby who’s spent the last couple of months living in my fantasies, the one I’ll get into my bed as soon as she’s ready, but the comfort of her presence and understanding.
No longer hiding in bedrooms as we did last time she stayed, we spend hours together talking about music, life, everything but the past. We’re in the world we were trapped in alone, but now we’re there together. Secretly, I’ll touch Ruby’s hand, run my fingers along her arm, and we’ve even gone as far as cuddling up on the sofa watching TV like an old married couple.
Natural. Safe.
And fucking frustrating.
After the other night when I held her fragile figure to me, I’ve tried to touch her in the same way again but she stiffens. Ruby explains she won’t do anything unless I kiss her, but she doesn’t say why. I examine her lips twenty times a day, watching the split heal. When Ruby tells me she has a way to speed up the healing, pulling creams from her bag to apply, the anger seethes again. This has happened before, more than once, and Ruby deals with it as if she has a reoccurring medical condition.
Following a third restless night fighting against asking Ruby to get into my bed, I wander downstairs and find her sitting on a stool in the kitchen, long, naked legs crossed. She’s dressed in a short black summer dress covered in a pink skull pattern. With no make-up to hide behind, the bruises visible on her face yellow. I watch as she slowly eats cereal, focused on her phone.
My heart is gripped by the inexplicable joy of seeing her in my space, relaxed as if it were her space too, although her brows are tugged together in consternation.
“Hey,” I say.
She looks up. “Jax wants to know when we’re back into studio time.”
“Jeez, that guy. I’ve told him next week, about ten times.”
“I think he’s worried you’re going to change your mind because of the… complications.”
Unable to resist, I cross and kiss her soft hair. “You’re not a complication.”
“What am I then?” Her question is loaded and I step back, watching her warily. “What are we?”
“Whoa. Ruby. This is a bit left-field.”
“Sorry.”
She takes another mouthful of cereal.
“Friends?” I suggest.
She huffs. “Liar. You don’t want to fuck your friends.”
Actually, I have done. Often. “I don’t want to fuck you.”
“Liar,” she repeats with a small laugh.
“Your mouth.”
“Because I used the word fuck?”
“No.” I move mine close to hers. “It’s not sore anymore, is it?”
Ruby’s breath rushes out, then she attempts to disguise the reaction. “Yeah, feeling better, thanks.”
“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 fucking 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 fucking 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 fucking 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 asshole who fucks 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 fuck’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 fucking 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 fucking this up. If I do fuck 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.
I push at Jem’s t-shirt again and this time he drags it over his head. In return, Jem pulls away the duvet covering my chest. His eyes darken as his gaze soaks in the sight, and my skin tingles as he runs a finger along the quote beneath my breast.
“Worth the wait,” he whispers and his mouth finds mine again.
I wrap my arms around Jem’s neck, pressing against his naked chest. My nipples brush his taught skin, sending a frisson of sensation to my core as Jem holds me, one hand on the nape of my neck and the other in the small of my back.
I could spend all day kissing Jem, exploring the new sensations from the touch of tongues, the taste and heat of our mouths. An eternity pressed against his warm body beneath gentle hands wouldn’t be enough.
But that won’t be what he wants, and isn’t what I’ve waited this long for.
I move to unbutton his jeans and Jem shifts, helping, then shuffles out of them and kicks them to the floor. I shift back and pull him close, lying against the pillows, then begin to wriggle out of my panties.
Jem puts his hand on mine to stop me. “Is this what you do?”
“What?”
“Do you just lie back and have this done to you?” He props himself up on his elbows. “I’m not going to let you lie down while I fuck you missionary style, Ruby. That’s not enough.”
Crap. I’m in a situation with Jem Jones who has more than likely tried every sexual position I can imagine and some I haven’t. I won’t be enough for him. I close my eyes in embarrassment and leave my panties on. “Sorry, what did you want me to do?”
Jem sits back. “Jeez, Ruby. Have you ever had sex with a man who cares about how it feels for you?”
I tug the duvet under my chin again. I can’t answer. There’s only been Dan, and a couple of five-minute sessions with guys from school, and I certainly wasn’t the focus. I’m uncomfortable. Sex is something I do, I don’t talk about it as well.
“I guess that’s no, then,” he says quietly and pushes my hair from my face. “I don’t understand guys like that. Having a woman really enjoying herself is the biggest fucking turn on.”
I chew a nail, increasingly out of my depth, and when he moves to kiss me again, I tense.
“Ruby… Come here.” Jem drags me onto his lap and looks up at me with darkened eyes. “I have fantasied about this for months so this isn’t going to be over quickly or without enthusiastic participation by you.” When I turn away, he takes my cheek and moves my head so I have to look straight at him. “Otherwise, I’m not doing this, okay?”
“Okay, but I don’t think I’m very good at… things,” I whisper, desperate for him to stop talking and do what he’s promising.
Jem traces the shape of the heart tattoo on my chest. “No problem, I’ll make everything about you this time, and then I can show you how to be good at things.” His eyes shine with the promise of his words as he looks up at me, a tug of a smile on his lips. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
Holding my head, Jem kisses gently, tongue teasing my lips. His attempt to cool the situation won’t work; my awareness of Jem’s muscled body against mine, of his arousal pressing against my thigh takes me further from my anxiety. He slides his hands along my back, heating my skin with his gentle stroke. I shift closer, wanting harder kisses, to lose myself in us away from the awkward I created. The whole time, Jem holds me as if scared I’ll fall apart if he lets go, or he’ll break me if he embraces too tightly.
The kisses intensify, his hands harder against my skin, exploring every inch with his fingers, until I’m shaking with the need for him. Jem shifts me from his lap and we tip onto the bed; I lie on my side, wrapping my legs around his, not wanting to lose contact for a moment.
“You’re fucking beautiful, Ruby Tuesday.” The hoarseness in his voice and truth in his eyes almost makes me believe him. He spots my doubt. “And I won’t stop showing you until you believe me.”
“I’m okay with that.” I trace a finger along his firm abs, lower, and Jem inhales sharply as my hand moves to the band of his briefs.
He curls his fingers around mine. “Don’t. I am so fucking turned on right now; that’s not a good idea.”
My heated cheeks hide my reaction – not embarrassment but a pleasure in the fact I have this effect on him. I shift to face him. “Don’t stop.”
Jem grins. “Don’t worry about that.” He dips his head, leisurely moving his tongue across my collarbone to my breasts. I suppress a moan as he circles my nipple with his tongue before taking it in his mouth and sucking. Involuntarily, my body arches toward him and I grip his hair. His gentle touch changes, in response to my body’s desire for him to take over, the gasp that escapes showing I’m more than ready to be enthusiastic.
As he continues his attention to my breasts, Jem slides a hand down my side and pulls my leg over his hips, pressing himself against me. The evidence how turned on he is pushes against my thin cotton panties and adds to the gathering heat between my legs, the longing for his touch taking control of my thoughts.
I push my fingers into the knotted sinew of his shoulders, as Jem’s focus remains on my breasts and intensifies this ache. Every place on my skin Jem touches jolts arousal and I move against him. Weeks of wanting this, of fantasising about Jem wanting me, and I’m here.
Jem’s mouth finds mine again, as his large palm closes around my ass. Fiercely, I kiss him and pull Jem onto me, desperate to be as melded with Jem as our mouths are. He needs to know, though I may have been shy, this isn’t doubt. Jem matches the ferocity of my kiss, as our tongues slide in desperate want; a greed for each other no longer held back. His hand moves down my belly, toward the edge of my panties and I moan into his mouth, and close my eyes.
He pauses and when I open my eyes, Jem looks back with eyes darkened by desire. He stopped though, is this not what he wants? Gaze remaining on me, Jem slides a finger between the fabric of my panties and my belly, across my skin, teasingly close, and I wriggle against his hand, needing him to move lower, find how much I want him.
Jem hesitates again watching for a reaction, chest rising and falling as rapidly as mine.
“Jem, please…” My heart thumps, skin alight and the blinding need to be touched consumes like never before.
My words are enough. Jem’s kisses me again, a dizziness spreading through at the intensity, as he edges his fingers downward. Jem reaches my wet heat and skims a finger between my legs. I gasp, and buck against his hand as he strokes, but this isn’t enough, why didn’t he let me take off my panties before? I hold his shoulders and am suddenly aware he’s trembling the same way I am, holding himself back.