Ruby Gryphon

by Ruby Ryan

  I wondered what Roland would say when he saw me. I had a speech rehearsed in my head, a verbal version of the text I'd already sent. I felt my hair and wished I'd spent a few minutes curling it; it probably looked crazy after being cloistered in my apartment all week. I wasn't even wearing makeup.

  Good, said a voice inside my head. You're not going over there to impress him.

  It took me 15 minutes to find his apartment; all the buildings looked the same over here, and I hadn't paid much attention the morning I left. Eventually I found it, and made the slow walk up three flights of stairs to the top floor. The door's brown paint was cracked and faded, and I hesitated for several heartbeats while deciding if this was what I wanted to do.

  I knocked three times.

  Now I really felt foolish. My flight impulse tugged at my legs, begging me to run away and never come back. Whatever I was looking for here, I wouldn't find it. All Roland would give me was more pain.

  I stood my ground and waited. I couldn't hear anything inside; no footsteps, or TV noise, or anything else. Was he even here? I'd made the trip for nothing.

  The door opened, and then there he was.

  14

  ROLAND

  I knew it was her before I even heard the knock.

  It was like a veil was being lifted from my eyes. The agony that had incapacitated me all week slowly diminished, enough that I could open my eyes and see my apartment. Thoughts began to materialize. I blinked, and processed what was happening.

  I wondered if I was dreaming. The pain in my head had been so ubiquitous that it almost felt wrong for it to be gone. A normalcy that was no longer normal.

  And then I thought of her. Harriet, the girl with the golden curls and the shy smile that made her dimples stick out. I don't know what made me think of her in that moment, but there she was.

  And then she was there, knocking on my door.

  I threw off the blankets and piles of clothes covering me on the bed and got to my feet. My muscles ached from lack of use, but with each step I felt my strength grow. By the time I reached the door I was a new man, ready to take on the world.

  She was more beautiful than I remembered.

  Harriet stood in the hallway with her hands in her coat, looking uncomfortable. Her eyes brightened when she saw me, eyebrows raising slightly. She was surprised to see me, even though she was the one here at my apartment.

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again, and a smile fought its way onto her face.

  I felt so much for her right then. Relief that she was there. Sorrow for how I'd treated her. Excitement that I had a chance to make up for it.

  And then, white hot like a fire and building fast, lust.

  I wanted her. I had to have her.

  I had to have her right then.

  15

  HARRIET

  Anything I'd been about to say disappeared from my mouth the moment I saw him.

  His hair was a mess and his face was flushed, but his eyes widened with happiness at seeing me. Like a light switch being thrown, everything changed.

  And as if he was reading my mind, he pounced on me.

  He pulled me into his arms and kissed me, our lips locking together like they belonged there. He was so strong he held me close without even trying, my breasts pressed against his broad chest, the muscles hard and warn even through his tight T-shirt. He pulled me back into the room while never letting his lips leave mine, and somehow the door closed behind us.

  Roland yanked my coat off like it offended him, then ran his fingers along my back, gripping the fabric of my shirt and then pulling it over my head until I only wore a bra. I tore his shirt over his head, and my breath froze as his muscles came into view, pecs and abs and obliques so gorgeous it was like they were painted on. I touched his chest lightly with my fingers as he found my bra clasp, and my breasts fell out into the cool air, but then he smothered me with his chest to keep me warm as we kissed again.

  His hands raced to my jeans, unbuckling the belt and clasp and then pulling down the zipper. He fell to his knees before me to yank the jeans down, and while his hands pulled them below my calves and feet he let his face brush against my thighs, kissing the skin wherever he ended up. And before I knew what I was doing I was pulling my panties off, desperate to remove their inhibition, and as I did Roland kissed up my thigh, closer and closer, until his auburn hair was brushing against my sex, then his nose...

  "Ohhh," I moaned as his tongue hit my clitoris, rolling across it in passing. I shivered and wondered where Roland's roommate was, but only for a fleeting instant, because then he was rising again and removing his own shorts until his huge member came into view, red and throbbing with need. Roland wrapped one arm under my ass and picked me up, but instead of taking me to his bedroom he deposited me on the couch, and I bounced there and looked up at his statuesque body.

  He lowered himself to me, kissing my lips sensually, then pulled back enough to look deep into my eyes.

  "I've missed you," he said, and my heart did a backflip and I leaned in to kiss him again.

  But then he twisted away from me, facing the other way, moving his hands down my torso until he reached my legs. His face licked along my ribs and belly button, into my tuft of pubic hair, his hot breath on my clitoris and the wetness of my sex.

  He forced my legs open with his arms, which made the muscles in his back ripple with strength, and lingered there for an eternity.

  Then he dove into me like a starving animal who needed to taste me, sucking my entire clitoris and surrounding skin into his mouth and then letting it slide out, then lick past it to my juicy lips. His tongue was a whirlwind up and down my sex, hitting every nerve and even some I didn't know I had. I moaned and ran a hand along his back, enjoying the wonderful view of his chiseled ass while he ate me out. All the while he kept a strong grip on my thighs, holding them open on the couch.

  I let my hand slide down to his left ass cheek. It was a stone boulder, potent with strength. My hand moved down the back of his thigh and back up again, savoring his smooth skin while he ate my pussy.

  But I wanted to pleasure him at the same time. To let him feel what I was feeling.

  My hand moved back up his thigh, then in between his legs. I caressed past his balls until I found his enormous cock, hanging underneath him. I tightened my grip and began stroking, and he moaned into my pussy, which of course made me stroke him faster.

  We fed off each other's energy and pleasure until finally it wasn't enough.

  He pulled away from me quickly, then grabbed my legs and spun me around to sit normally on the couch. Then he spread my legs with both of his hands and lowered his body into mine, letting the tip of his member rub up against my wet slit. I sucked in a breath as he guided it in without his hands, keeping my legs spread wide for him.

  "Ugh," he grunted, concentration and sweat plastered on his face. "Harriet, you feel amazing..."

  All I could do was moan in return as he pushed inside with a single long, slow stroke. Everything I'd worried about that week melted away under his touch: my thesis, and then finishing my two classes early, and worrying about him. I tilted my head back and opened my mouth in a silent sigh of ecstasy when he was as deep as he could go, his thighs pressing against my thighs and his pubic hair mingling with mine.

  I couldn't believe how amazing he felt. And judging from the look on his face, he thought the same.

  He moved slowly, back and forth a few inches at a time while his face remained tense. "I need you so badly," he said, sighing while he gyrated his fighter's body against mine.

  "Take me," I whispered.

  He moved faster and faster, a wild animal that couldn't control himself as he took what he wanted. I loved it. Letting him have his way with me was exactly what I needed, to see his desperate lust, uncontrollable in our special joining. He began to moan, and I moaned with him while pleasure cascaded through my sex, and his eyes widened with shock and ecstasy.

  "Oh my God, Harrie
t!" he cried, staring deep into my soul. "Harriet!"

  Hearing my name on his lips almost drove me over the edge by itself. Roland gasped and trembled, fucking me hard for several climactic strokes while I pressed my hand against his chest, feeling the sweaty muscles as he finished in side of me, drinking in the sight of him that I had been denied for so long.

  *

  "So..." I said afterwards, laying on his nude chest on the couch. "How have you been?"

  I felt his chest rumble with a low chuckle. "You say that like I don't owe you an apology."

  I said nothing, waiting to see what he would do.

  "I'm going to be completely honest," he said finally. The vibration of his voice reverberated through my cheek. "I have no idea why I was... the way that I was. At the restaurant. I wasn't in the right state of mind. It was like I got sick while I was in Belize. I've actually been bedridden all week, with chills and a migraine and night sweats."

  "You seem awfully energetic to me," I said, poking him gently in the ribs.

  "I am now. As of 20 minutes ago, right before you knocked on my door."

  "That's a convenient excuse," I mumbled.

  "I know it sounds like that, but it's the truth. I even went to the doctor, but they couldn't figure out what was bloody wrong with me." He shook his head, chin brushing against my hair. "But it doesn't matter. The way I treated you at the restaurant was inexcusable. Harriet, I hope you'll accept my apology."

  "Apology accepted." I sighed. "It's my fault for prying into what you did for a living, anyways."

  A silence stretched.

  "So what do you do for a living?" I said, hoping he took it for the joke it was. I twisted up to face him and grinned to let him know I didn't mean it.

  Roland got a faraway look in his eye. I got the sense that he was making an important decision, one he still wasn't certain about.

  "My dad died five years ago."

  I recoiled. "Oh my God!"

  He made his mouth into a thin line. "He'd been having weird muscle issues for a while. Stumbling while walking, even when he was totally sober. Speech issues like his mouth was numb. We finally had him get it checked out..."

  Roland hesitated, but I knew exactly what he was going to say, so I said it for him. "ALS?"

  "The doctors gave him three years, but he didn't even make it to two."

  "Oh Roland, I'm sorry." I squeezed myself against his body, which was stiff with tension. "I'm so sorry."

  He remained very still while he talked, his Irish accent more pronounced than normal while he told me the rest. "I was an accountant in New York when he was diagnosed. Dad went downhill fast. He had hospice care for the last few months, but I quit my job and moved home to Belfast to help take care of him anyways. I didn't want some stranger to be the only one he saw while he slowly died. And then he was gone, and I didn't know what to do with myself. I could've gotten my old job back, probably, if I'd tried. Or gone anywhere else. I had my degree. But that was all from some other life. A different Roland I no longer knew, or recognized. It felt like a betrayal of my dad to go back to the way things were. I don't know. You probably think I'm a fool."

  "Don't ever say that," I said.

  "So. My dad's estate was liquefied, and my inheritance was plenty to live off. Bloody hell, just the dividends alone from the investments is enough. I'll never have to work again. And so--" he spread his hands, "--I don't."

  I pushed up to an elbow so I could look him straight in the face. "Why are you embarrassed about that?" He'd been so angry at the restaurant at the question, and it was more than just some Belize flu.

  He shrugged in a non-answer, but I kept my eyes on him, and eventually I could see him wearing down.

  "I just..." he began. "I moved back to Boston on account of I like the States, and the bare-knuckle boxing here is better than anywhere outside Belfast. And don't take offense at this, but I'm around people like you. Every hour of every day, Harvard and MIT students, the smartest people in the world. Men and women doing something with their lives. Incredible futures ahead of them." I could hear the vulnerability in his voice, his reluctance to go on. "By comparison, Roland Dunphy is a nobody. I'm just a man who is there, taking up space and breathing the same air as better men."

  I started to protest, but then he was pouring himself out.

  "I'm a prime boxer, and they come and watch, cheering me on or booing me to death, and sometimes I'm a hero for a night and they buy me drinks like I'm their mate. But at the end of the night they go back to their degrees, and their research, and the Fortune 500 jobs waiting for them in the real world, and they leave me behind, because I'm not one of them. Because they think they're better than me.

  "And the worst of it?" he added. "If they knew what I really was, some boy living on his father's money, they'd judge me even worse. Treat me differently for that instead. No matter what they think I am, I'm nothing to them."

  By the end he was whispering, though the heat remained in his words. Tears shone in his eyes, and his face was as red as his hair.

  I put a gentle hand on his cheek. "Oh, Roland. I promise not to treat you differently. And..."

  "You don't need to tell me I'm wrong," he interrupted. "You may be different, but I know what I know."

  I was going to say exactly that, that he was wrong, but held my tongue. "If you're rich, why do you live in a place like this?" I quickly held up a palm. "Not that there's anything wrong with it. I live in a tiny studio apartment myself. But..."

  He shrugged one shoulder and stared at the ceiling. "I like Carter. He doesn't know anything about me, and he treats me like a real man. Judges me on my boxing. And how clean I keep the apartment."

  "Is that the only reason?"

  He sighed. "Aye, you're right. I'm too embarrassed to live somewhere else. I tried renting an apartment on the river, but it was too posh for a fighter like me. I didn't feel welcome in my own bloody home. And besides, what if the other fighters found out? They'd never respect me for who I am. No, I'm better off here. A man doesn't need to be surrounded by things to be happy."

  I leaned in and kissed him on the lips, and he returned it with a mouth that tasted like cloves. "I'll vouch for that."

  I sighed, then added, "So... how much money are we talking?"

  "Pardon?"

  "Tens of millions?" I asked, arching an eyebrow. "Cause I won't be impressed unless you're at seven digits or higher."

  "I bet you think you're bloody funny."

  "I sure do!"

  Something sparkled in his eyes, and then he sat up. "This place does have its benefits, though. Come on. Get dressed."

  I gave him a healthy pout. "That requires clothes."

  "I do speak the Queen's English, yes. Come on!"

  I squeaked as he rose from the couch, which sent me falling backwards until he caught me in mid-air and lowered me to the ground. While I got dressed he went to his room, and when I was fully clothed I joined him.

  "Uhh," I said as I got a look at everything. Clothes piled on the bed. A box of tissues on the side table, with at least a dozen dirty glasses and two jugs of orange juice on the ground. He'd been a lot cleaner the first night we hooked up.

  "I told you I was sick," he said, shimmying into a fresh pair of jeans. He turned his back to me and grabbed something from the bed that I couldn't see, shoving it into his pocket. "That wasn't just an excuse, you know."

  "Alright. Between your dad with ALS and whatever plague caused all of this, you're totally forgiven for your outburst at the restaurant."

  He pulled a shirt over his head and gave me a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, love."

  I followed him back out to the living room, where he opened the window leading to the fire escape. Out into the cold we climbed, with the lights and noise of the street below us. I tried not to look down as I followed Roland's shape up the stairs to the roof.

  The downtown Boston skyline was lit up to the south-east, framed by the tall Prudential Building on one end and the poi
nted John Hancock building on the other. All the lights of our city glimmered wonderfully, an order of magnitude more beautiful from this height.

  "I like to come up here to think," he said, wrapping his arms around me to keep me warm. "Though it's more enjoyable in the spring."

  "I love it," I whispered, but then my heart sank. Because I wouldn't be here in the spring to see it. And that reminded me of the original reason I'd even come here tonight. The reason which I'd somehow allowed myself to forget for 30 blissful minutes.

  "Roland," I said, turning around to face him. "I came here to tell you something."

  16

  ROLAND

  "I came here to tell you something."

  I gave a cheeky grin. "You're not pregnant, are you? Cause that's a step beyond what I'm ready for just yet."

  She gave an awkward smile. "I'm leaving Boston."

  My heart shattered into a thousand pieces, and the shards sliced through the inside of my chest. No! She couldn't be leaving, not now. I'd just been vulnerable with her, told her something almost nobody else in the world knew. And now she was leaving? I recoiled from the thought, emotionally and intellectually and physically, and the latter must have been more than the rest because she quickly grabbed my arms to hold me in place.

  "I won't be back for three months. I'm going to Africa. For my thesis."

  I relaxed, but only a fraction.

  Harriet felt perfect in my arms. She belonged there, with my head buried in her tangle of red curls and her breath fogging in the air. I didn't want to let her go.

  But I would have to. For three months.

  I wanted to tell her no. That she was mine now, that I couldn't be away from her for that long, and that even though we'd only been together two times it felt like I'd known her all my life. I wanted to tell her a lot of things.