by Lisa Swallow
“Fuck, you’re wet for me. I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re enthusiastic.”
“Jem, I want this.”
Breathing hard, Jem kisses my face, my cheeks, my mouth, moving along my body kissing and licking. He moves downward, dipping his tongue into my bellybutton before he swirls his tongue to my hip.
He shifts, kneels on the floor and draws me to the edge of the bed, where he slowly kisses from my ankle and along my calf. Jem’s lips reach my inner thigh, venturing higher and part of me is screaming for him to keep going, over the building anxiety. I’ve no experience of this; it wasn’t on Dan’s list of things to do.
“Your legs fucking kill me, Ruby. The first day I saw you I wanted them wrapped around me.” The words are spoken against my skin and he hooks both thumbs into my panties and tugs.
I tense and look away, body tingling with anticipation of what he’s going to do as he pulls them off until I’m completely naked in front of him. Jem runs both hands up my thighs, circling his thumbs at the edge of my flesh, eyes focused on his action. I feel exposed but before I have a chance to catch up with the thoughts, he runs his tongue along the seam of my sex. My mind splinters as he finds my clit, ripping any rational thought from my mind.
“Fuck!” I breathe out the word and arch against him. Jem laughs against me, the vibration intensifying the pleasure, setting my nerves alight.
Pulling my legs onto his shoulders, Jem holds my hips so I can’t move, exploring me with his hot tongue. When he eases a finger inside too, I’m lost. Lost to Jem, to here, to never going back from this new world. Jem focuses on me, swirling his tongue, sliding his fingers, shifting his pattern as he pays attention to my reactions. I try to disguise the sounds, but these are the touches and kisses of a man tuned into me and inhibition won’t work. As I edge further to a place that’s blinding me with stars threatening to explode in sensation Jem stops. I groan at the loss of his mouth but his fingers remain where they are.
Kissing his way back up my body, Jem’s lips meet mine again, and the taste of myself on his tongue shocks and arouses me.
“That was unfair,” I push myself against his palm, not wanting the new sensation to end. Jem shifts and smiles at me; a lazy smile of a guy who knows what he’s doing and knows that he’s good at it.
“Didn’t I sound interested enough?” I ask, genuinely concerned I’m not doing this right.
“You’re enjoying yourself.” His whisper is a statement, not a question and is matched with the slow slide of his fingers, teasing a place inside I never knew existed, a place hardwired to the rest of my body and flooding shocks to my nerves.
“I want you inside me before…,” I say. “I mean, if you don’t stop you’re going to make me…” I can’t say the words, wish my brain would let go that little bit further.
Jem moves his face to my ear, hair and breath tickling my skin. “Come?”
I squeeze my eyes closed. “Yes.”
“Good.” Jem plunges his fingers with a harder rhythm, rubbing my clit at the same time, whispering what he wants to do; what he’s going to do as I spin away from the shyness I shouldn’t have around this man who is already part of me. Every time I find myself reaching for the edge, he stills his hand and focuses somewhere else –taking my nipple in his mouth or leaving a trail of heat along my breasts and stomach with his tongue. My short breaths have become pants; the moans at each time he stops are met with a smug smile and heated desire in his eyes.
“Jem, please…” I say when he stops again.
“Now?”
“Inside,” I pant out.
Jem shuffles back and I close my eyes. I hear the noise of the foil wrapper and jerk in surprise when he runs his tongue across my clit again as he rolls the condom on.
“Fucking amazing,” he whispers, stroking me with his tongue. He pauses and I’m ready to scream at him. “I want to make you come first though.”
“No, Jem!” I protest and he laughs, sitting back.
I prop myself up and stare at him kneeling on the floor in front of me, the sight of his muscled body, his hard length, tightens my stomach with anticipation.
Should I be doing more?
Jem moves up the bed, tautly muscled body covering mine as he presses me into the bed and settles himself between my legs.
“For now, we can do it this way.” His eyes glint. “Later, other ways.”
I’m shaking with the need for this, to have him finish what he’s started. I inhale sharply as the tip of him touches my sensitive flesh, as Jem rubs with the same rhythm as his tongue once did and for the first time ever I’m giving, not accepting. I shuffle my hips closer as he slides down my wetness, holding himself at the edge of where I want him. I wrap a leg around his waist, attempting to pull him closer.
“I have waited too long for this and what makes it better is you’re fucking loving it,” growls Jem.
I dig my nails into his side and he rocks against me, slowly, teasingly pushing himself inside then edging back out. I lose the last control I’m holding onto. “Jem, just fucking do it!”
“Ah, your mouth… Jesus…” Jem lets go, plunging into me and I gasp as he fills me completely.
I grip him tightly, wrapping my legs around Jem’s waist and dig my nails into his back. Jem has me consumed; body, heart, and soul whether I want him to, or not. We hold each other’s gaze, an intimacy I’ve never had. The final connection, looking into each other’s vulnerabilities, of seeing everything we’re feeling in each other’s expressions ramps up the physical sensations crashing through with each thrust.
Jem slides in and out of me, harder each time, and I match his rhythm with my hips, wanting all of him too. He moves a hand beneath my ass, pulling me upwards as he pushes deeper, bumping my sensitive clit with each thrust, sending me spiralling further to a new place. I hold Jem tightly; and he groans pushing his tongue into my mouth, joining the movement we create. I grasp his neck locked into my overloaded senses.
Unable to hold out any longer, the pressure built inside explodes. The tingle spreads, reaching from my scalp to my toes, deep inside. I’m aware of crying out; of gripping him tightly inside as the pleasure comes in waves and I open my eyes, vision blackened by the intensity.
Jem watches as I fall apart in his arms but keeps thrusting. “Holy fuck, Ruby…” He swears repeatedly and his face changes to pleasure that matches mine, lost in his own intense moment as he closes his eyes and slams into me one last time. He drops onto me, heart thudding against mine, gripping my hair, and covering my face with kisses.
I cling to Jem and he holds me close as we stay in a silent understanding, panting becoming sighs, kisses back to tender and our skin burning against each other. I bury my face into Jem’s shoulder and he strokes my hair. We don’t have words, although I burst to tell him what he did to me, how he showed me that I matter. The intense pleasure still coursing through my body is because this was for us, and not his own satisfaction and I’m fighting the tears that realisation is pushing into my eyes.
“Be right back,” he whispers.
When Jem returns from the bathroom and climbs onto the bed, I rest my cheek on his damp chest and play my fingers along the defined muscles of the body that just connected with mine the way nobody’s ever has. Sex takes on a new understanding, more than a one-sided act for gratification, not something that’s done to me. But with that rushes the fear I shared more than my body at the point he looked into my eyes and saw my soul unhidden. Did Jem give me a glimpse of his too?
“I don’t do all the post-sex loved-up bullshit, by the way,” he says, winding a finger through my hair.
I smile; this is the Jem I expected. “I don’t want you to lie to me. That’s fine.”
“Yeah, mind-melting orgasms I can do, sweet nothings, not so much.”
“It’s okay; you don’t need to apologise.”
“I’m not apologising. I’m stating a fact.” He rubs his nose against mine. “Give me a few minutes and you can ha
ve something better than sweet nothings.”
“A few minutes?” I say doubtfully.
“Oh, you bet. There is so much more I want to do with you.”
Jem drags the duvet up so the soft cotton covers our bodies and our hearts slow together, to a shared rhythm. Sometimes words chosen contradict the reality. In this space, with this man, something is different. Whatever sparked between us, and was denied for weeks, has been kindled into something that burns stronger than I think either of us will be able to control.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jem
Ruby’s light shines through the broken glass of my world creating rainbows and filling my life with colour. What worries me is rainbows are illusions and when the darkness returns they disappear.
We’re closer but the barriers are still there; me and Ruby don’t talk about emotions or share ourselves outside of the physical intimacy. Not that we’re hiding who we are in public, there’s no way I can avoid touching Ruby’s skin or stealing a kiss if I need a kick-start from the darkness.
A week passed since she gave herself to and trusted me, believed I had no expectations. We joke about the fact we’ve dealt with this and have moved on; but Ruby spends the next two days in and out of my bed. I tell myself it’s the sex without drugs that makes the experience different with Ruby; the physical intensity of every sense operating at full capacity is the drug itself. Gradually, I realise I’m lying to myself. It’s Ruby who makes it different.
I crave her more than anything in my life before, her presence a blinding light pouring into the shadows I’m surrounded by. I need her to stay, to never take her radiance away or leave me lost in the dark again.
But I can’t fall in love with Ruby.
I don’t love.
We return to everyday life, back to the studio and moving Ruby’s life in the direction she spoke about: forward. The first time I slid an arm around Ruby’s waist and kissed her cheek, the horror on Jax’s face was unmistakable. I don’t care what he says; Jax wants Ruby. They share a bond through the band and the music they create together. Ruby’s adamant she’s never seen Jax in a romantic way, but I know he does. Jax spoke to her about us the first day, throwing glances at me as he had a heated conversation with her in the sound booth.
From the look of her hand gestures, Ruby gave him a mouthful of unpleasant words.
The Ruby who lives in my house, who exists in my space, is a milder version of her public persona. I get that; I’ve done the same for years. As soon as you show people the slightest hint of vulnerability they poke until a hole opens up that lets out more than you want, and in turn lets in too much. Only because Ruby has vulnerabilities of her own can I let my guard down a little. Our unspoken agreement not to push each other into revealing any more of our hidden thoughts works. For now.
Inevitably, I fuck this up.
Since returning from the States, I lost myself in Ruby Riot and then Ruby. I forgot loose arrangements made. I missed a meeting with a pissed-off Liam and didn’t notice today’s date until it arrived. And until Kristie arrived.
I’m in bed and Ruby answers the front door. A few minutes later, Ruby comes into the room with pink cheeks. She’s dressed in my t-shirt, always pulls one off the floor the morning after a night in my bed, and walks around in the shirt and her panties for half the day, which is bloody distracting.
“You have a visitor,” she says coolly.
“Bryn?”
“Kristie.”
I sit and pull back hair from my face. “Crap. Okay. I’d forgotten she was coming.”
Ruby stares wide-eyed for a moment, then her face straightens into her neutral, closed-down expression. “I told her you would be down in a minute.”
“‘kay.”
Shit.
Kristie Dawson is a friend from years back. She’s older than me, widow of Sam Rayne, the front man of Easy Ride, who was as big as Phoenix in the ‘90s. Kristie has her own band, proving she had talent after accusations she only got a recording contract because she was riding the coat tails of her husband. When I was in LA last month, we hooked up as we always do. I completely forgot I arranged to meet Kristie when she came to London. She’s over for a media tour promoting an art house movie she’s in, playing someone who’s basically herself. We share a drug-filled past and were fuck buddies before the phrase even existed.
Kristie is in the kitchen, sitting on the counter, when I get downstairs. Her platinum blonde hair is bobbed but styled to look like she just got out of bed. She favours the same style of make-up as Ruby and still wears the ‘90s bohemian mix of skirts and tatty jackets she always has. Although Kristie is ten years older than me (I suspect more) she’s smoothed some of her drug-damage with plastic surgery.
“I’m sorry, Kristie,” I say from the doorway. “I forgot we were meeting up.”
“Hey, no problem!” She walks over and places a hand on my cheek, her strong perfume reminding me of sex with this woman. “I’m good for a few hours. We can go for lunch? Is that little cafe still open? Loved the fries there!”
“Yeah, I guess.” I rub my tired eyes. “You should’ve called.”
Kristie laughs and pokes my ribs. “Because of the chick? She’ll know the score if she’s fucking Jem Jones.”
I cringe at Ruby being seen in that light. “She’s cool.” I hope.
“Shame, I was hoping you’d be alone,” says Kristie and runs a finger along the skin above my open shirt. “We always catch up when we’re in the same city, huh?”
As she moves to press herself against me, I turn to pull out coffee beans. “Make some coffee while I shower,” I tell her.
“Me?”
“You do know how to make coffee?”
“Yeah, babe, but I don’t normally make it for other people.”
“Fine.”
Kristie slides a hand in mine. “But, I guess you’re not other people.”
With a small smile, I tug my hand away and head back upstairs. Here’s a new emotion I haven’t had for a while. Guilt. But why guilt? I hooked up with Kristie last month but I hadn’t kissed Ruby at that point, she was just a girl in my daydreams. But in my experience, chicks don’t react well to other girls turning up at my house. Especially, when they’ve both been in my bed.
When I return to the bedroom, Ruby’s cross-legged on my bed and engrossed in my iPad. She glances at me as I come into the room then returns to what she’s doing.
“I know her,” she says. “I should’ve guessed you guys would be friends.”
“Yeah.”
Why isn’t she mad? I attempt to read her expression but we both know how good each other are at hiding.
“She said you’d arranged to meet up with her. You going out today then?” asks Ruby.
“If that’s okay.”
She arches and eyebrow. “Seriously, you’re not asking for my permission, are you, Jem Jones?”
Now I’m a bit lost. Good, she’s not being pissy and accusing me of sleeping with another woman and all the drama that entails, but not good if she doesn’t give a shit whether I do or not. Plus, I’ve noticed she uses my full name if she’s trying to distance herself by making me Jem Jones instead of her Jem.
Her Jem?
“I haven’t seen Kristie since I came back from LA.”
“You don’t need to justify yourself.” She scrolls through the iPad, not looking up. “I’m sure I’ll be able to entertain myself.”
“Just lunch.”
Ruby shrugs, focused on the screen. Confused as hell, I head for the shower.
****
Ruby
There is no reason for me to get upset about this. We never discussed exclusivity. I was dumb enough to think it was implied.
Tell that to the blotchy faced, teary girl in the mirror.
Did I honestly think Jem Jones would treat me any differently? That the guy who cares about nothing would care about me? Yes. Because he treats me as if I’m important. Hell, Jem even told me I was. Now I�
��m convinced I’ve spent the last week projecting the fantasy over the reality.
Well, then it’s time I stepped back to that reality and away from the weird world I’ve ensconced myself in with Jem.
Jem returns early afternoon. I hear the heavy front door and his familiar footsteps as I’m packing up my things from the spare room I haven’t slept in for days. One set of footsteps and no voices.
“Ruby?”
My hands shake as I pack a sweater into the rucksack, heart pushing into my mouth as Jem heads down the wooden hallway, approaching the room.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
Straightening, I take a deep breath, switch off, and turn to him. “I thought it was time I went home, back to the share house I mean.”
Jem leans on the doorframe and crosses his arms, and all I picture is Kristie lying against him, his long fingers stroking her hair. I shift my look to his mouth, remembering his touch and kiss, and furious with myself for caring.
“I knew you were bothered,” he says.
“Bothered? About what?” I pick more clothes from the bed.
“Seriously, Ruby? Don’t give me that bullshit. About Kristie.”
I straighten. “You went out for lunch with a friend. I presume she’s some kind of fuck buddy, too. Why would I get annoyed about that? It’s not as if…” Shit. I focus on packing.
His tone hardens. “As if what?”
“It’s not as if we’re a couple. I mean, a committed relationship, in love, type of couple. It’s cool, Jem.”
He continues to watch me silently, and the hidden, stupid teen Ruby Tuesday wills Jem to come over, hold her and declare his love. I refuse to look around and instead behave as if he left.
“No, I don’t suppose we are,” he says quietly and walks away.
Taking shaky breaths, I inhale and squeeze my eyes shut, head tightening with the attempt not to cry. I slipped into this. Jem didn’t pull me. It’s not his fault.
Bag packed, I head to the lounge to grab my keys and phone from the coffee table. Jem’s watching TV, one arm across the back of the sofa as he flicks through the channels. He fills my life, and until this morning, it was as if nobody exists outside of us, but I know now he’s not mine. This happening is good; I was falling back into something I wasn’t ready for.