by Lily Cahill
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ruth
Henry’s strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close and bringing her just inside the front door. His hands moved over her face frantically, categorizing every inch of the skin there.
It was too much. She could feel the burn of hot tears against the backs of her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, trying to hold that weakness at bay. Adrenaline still coursed through her veins, making her muscles tight. Her entire body felt like a string held taut. Any more pressure and she’d snap.
Henry seemed to sense that. She hadn’t melted into his arms, as she had before. He backed away and turned the lock, making sure they were secure.
The house looked as it had last time she was there: neat in the way that implied disuse rather than cleanliness. She stared at her bare feet, rough and bruised, bleeding in spots. It was going to get on his spotless floor, she thought distantly. Henry hovered a foot away from her, looking but not touching, despite the fact that he clearly wanted to.
He wanted an explanation. He deserved one. Most girls did not show up on another person’s doorstep late at night without a good reason. She couldn’t find her tongue, though. Everything felt wrong inside of her.
She’d done it. She’d escaped. It was a good thing, no matter how she felt right now. She wasn’t possessed, she wasn’t evil—another day under her father’s roof, and she might have died.
She hadn’t needed rescue. Ruth had used her wits and ingenuity and powers to get out on her own. Part of her insisted that she feel proud.
Another part of her was in mourning.
Her father was crazy. It hurt to think the words, no matter how true they were. Somewhere in his fervor, he’d lost his grip on reality and could no longer see the truth: that sin was inevitable, but forgivable. She pitied him and his ignorance, and she pitied the people who would look to him for their spiritual guidance each Sunday.
But if her father’s way wasn’t the path to God, then what was? She was starting to feel it out for herself, find her own way, but it wasn’t easy.
Henry cleared his throat, snapping her out of her reverie. “Ruth?”
She blinked, felt herself focus back in on where she was and what was happening. “Yes?”
“Would you like to sit down? I can take a look at your cuts.” He hesitated. “And I’d like to know what happened, but if you don’t feel comfortable—”
Ruth shook her head. “I don’t know if I can ….”
He reached out and clasped her hand in his own, leading her to the couch in his untouched living room. It was distractingly floral, but much more comfortable than she would have anticipated. She folded her hands as he left the room. The tap started running in the kitchen, and a moment later, he appeared with a glass of water, a bottle of antiseptic, and a few bandages.
He set the water down on the coffee table in front of her, and she drank it greedily. It had been hours since she’d had anything to drink, and then she’d run clear across town as fast as she could.
“Do you want another?” he asked, voice low and calm, soothing her overwrought nerves.
She sort of did, but she didn’t want him to leave the room. Having him nearby grounded her. She felt safer with him in sight. She said nothing.
Henry fidgeted as he stood in front of her. Slowly, as if he was afraid he would spook her, he slipped into the open seat beside her on the couch. He cleared his throat. “We should clean up your cuts, make sure they don’t get infected.”
Her feet were torn up and dirty, and part of her realized they surely hurt, but she couldn’t feel it. Not yet. She nodded anyway, and he slipped closer, going to his knees between the couch and the coffee table. He propped up one foot in his lap, wincing when he saw the gash across her calf. He reached for the antiseptic and the bandages. He started to wash away the grit and grime on her skin. They were quiet while he wrapped the wound in gauze and tended to the scrapes on her feet. Finally, he said, “I was worried when you didn’t show up. I’d made up my mind to go out to your house and try to get you.” He gave her a comforting smile, and when she did not return it, his face fell. “What happened, Ruth? What’s going on?”
There was suddenly a lump in Ruth’s throat. She could hardly breathe around it, let alone talk, and she found herself choking on her words.
“He—he found out.”
Below her, Henry went still. “What?”
“He heard me sneaking out … it made him suspicious. So he went through my things. My sheets and my dresses … they were all burned, and he put it all together.” She shuddered. The words were coming easier, but it was still painful. “He locked me in my room, told me that he’d save me. He was going to ….”
Henry tentatively reached up to take her hand in his, and the comfort in that one small movement was enough to help her find the strength to keep going.
“He was going to exorcise me.”
His grip grew tight but relaxed immediately, as if afraid he’d hurt her. He said nothing, his dark blue eyes staring at her. Ruth couldn’t look at him, too afraid of what she’d see there.
“I was locked up all day, but I—I burned through the boards he’d nailed to my window and I crawled out.” She motioned down to her leg, to the gash he was tending. “I ran all the way here. I didn’t know where else to go. If you want me to leave ….”
Henry was suddenly on the couch, arms around her, pulling her close. “I’ll kill him,” he muttered, the words hot against her skin. She arched into them. “I’ll kill him for touching you. For hurting you.”
She could feel him pressing little kisses into her hair, her cheek, her neck—anywhere he could reach. Her body lit up to them, each one making something kindle hot inside of her.
She could have lost all of this. Henry, the moments they shared. Her heart beat double time at the thought. In a short amount of time, he’d gone from a man who was kind to her in the general store to the most important person in her world, and she could have died without him ever knowing that.
She could have died.
“Don’t say that,” she told him, even as she let her head tilt back for him to mouth at her neck.
His teeth nipped at the juncture of her shoulder, and something hot went through the very core of her. She felt the change in the atmosphere. Something about her confession, the relative darkness of his house, the closeness between them—both physically and emotionally—made everything suddenly seem much more intense, urgent.
Ruth turned her head in order to capture his lips with hers, and his tongue invaded her mouth immediately. Her hands went up to clutch at his shoulders, so leanly muscled in her hands. She wanted to feel those muscles against her.
She could have lost him. She could have lost everything, and she never would have had this.
Ruth pushed up against him, her breasts brushing the side of his chest. He slipped an arm around her waist to anchor her there, but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t want to kiss him side-by-side on the couch. She wanted more.
Ruth pulled back and pushed him down until he was sprawled on his back, wide-eyed. His hair was a disheveled mess, and the bottom of his button down shirt had come untucked from his trousers, exposing just an inch of flat, hard stomach with a sprinkling of hair that led down, down, down—
She didn’t get to finish her thought because Henry reached up and tugged her on top of him, pressing them together firmly.
Ruth bit off a gasp. His hardness was right beneath her, hot and tempting. Unbidden, her hips moved against his, and they both groaned. It felt good—so good. She felt like she was on fire in a completely new way, could feel herself getting lost in the sensation.
She needed more. She needed to be consumed by Henry, engulfed in him. She had to feel his skin against hers.
Pushing herself up, Ruth straddled his hips. She paused for a moment, enjoying the feeling of him against her, swiveling to savor the sensation.
Henry made a sound low in his throat, and she couldn’t take i
t anymore—she needed him, now. Ruth began to force his buttons open, exposing more and more of his toned chest. His muscles were tight and defined, and she liked the look and shape of them, the feel of his abs beneath her hand. She leaned forward to press a row of kisses down his sternum, moving lower and lower until she came to the front of his pants.
Henry’s hand flew out and grabbed her wrist, and Ruth looked up, catching his eye. They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them able to look away. Ruth didn’t know what he saw there, but he let go of her wrist. She slid the button out and slowly lowered his zipper.
Dark briefs peeked out of the opening, a large bulge disturbing them. Ruth had never seen this up close before. Girls weren’t supposed to know these things, even if sometimes they gossiped about it in the locker room after gym class. She traced a finger up its length, enjoying the way it made Henry shudder below her.
“Nope,” he said, pushing up into a sitting position and forcing her to do the same. Ruth couldn’t help the pout on her face, but it disappeared when she saw the intensity pouring out of Henry’s eyes. He looked at her like he couldn’t see anything else. She felt trapped by his gaze, and her internal temperature went up from that look alone. Her inner muscles contracted in a sweet sort of pain.
“Your turn,” he said.
The buttons on her long, plain dress traveled the whole way up the front, and he began to work at them from the top down, rewarding each new sliver of skin with a hot, open-mouthed kiss. She felt him press against her neck, her clavicle … a shiver went up when he exposed her breasts, nipples peaked beneath her slip. He palmed her there, over her dress, and she arched against his hand, mouth gaping.
Abandoning the rest of the buttons, Henry grasped the hem of her dress and began to tug upward. It took some maneuvering, both of them too frantic to slow down and work together, but a moment later she was free, before him in nothing but her pale, white slip.
Henry ducked his head and lapped at her nipple over the fabric. A sizzle of heat went straight through Ruth’s middle—her body wanted more, and it wanted it now. She tipped her head back and moaned, feeling satisfied when Henry answered the noise with one of his own. His hands went under her slip, and it joined her dress on the floor.
Ruth was naked. She’d never been naked in front of another human being before. Not since childhood, at least. She expected to feel exposed, awkward, embarrassed—and those feelings were there, in a way, but they were greatly overshadowed by her overwhelming desire to feel Henry’s hands on her.
His hands cupped her breasts, teasing the nipples with his thumbs, and Ruth squirmed. She felt achy with need, and when his hands left her chest and smoothed down her sides, that only made it worse.
She moved forward, finding his mouth again, kissing him with everything that she was feeling. Some deeply feminine part of herself was pleased that she could feel him kissing her back just as urgently. Henry, this beautiful, kind man, wanted her just as much as she wanted him, and it was deeply satisfying.
Leaving their mouths locked, she made quick work with her hands, tugging at his trousers. He smiled against her lips and broke away to stand up and step out of his pants. He hooked his thumbs around the waistband of his boxers, but she put a hand on his stomach, stopping the motion.
“Wait,” she told him. “I want to do it.”
His eyes went wide and then fluttered shut as she grabbed him by the hips and tugged him closer to her. She slowly peeled his boxers off of him, taking in the reveal of his erection.
It was long and lean, just like the rest of him, and Ruth had the strangest urge to put her mouth on it. She glanced up at him, his mouth parted, chest heaving, and knew it could wait—she wanted to feel his skin against her own, sweat-slick and glorious.
Slowly, Ruth laid back down on the couch. It was just long enough that she didn’t have to scrunch. Henry watched her intently, and she liked his eyes on her, liked putting on a show for him.
“Touch me,” she said, her voice hoarse in a way she had never heard before.
Henry gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then he knelt between her legs. His fingertips stroked over the apex of her legs, circling something small and sensitive there. She shuddered, knees bending without her permission, circling his body and drawing him closer.
His fingers kept up that light touch in slow, circular motions. The pace was driving her mad—she wanted, no, needed more, but she didn’t know how to ask for it.
Luckily, Henry knew without her saying a word. The tip of his finger breached her, and she gave a startled gasp, wiggling to encourage him. It went in deeper and deeper, stroking the insides of her delicate walls, places no one had touched her before. His finger drew back and then plunged back in, keeping steady pressure on the sensitive bud at the front of her sex.
One finger became two, and the stretch of it was uncomfortable, but only for a moment. She began to move her hips in time with the rocking of his hand, and suddenly two didn’t feel like enough. It felt so good, like every part of her was alight with pleasure, but it wasn’t enough, something was missing. Henry kept the rhythm going and leaned forward to lave at her nipples, and she cried out. That was almost it, she could almost—
He withdrew his fingers, and she gave a pitiful whine.
Henry pressed a kiss to her lips. “Can I …?”
He could have asked for anything and she would have agreed. Ruth nodded again, trying not to tense up when she felt the blunt head of his cock against her entrance.
Slowly, so slowly, he began to breach her. He felt too big, as if he was opening her up. The pinch and the pain were there, but his hand dipped down, pressing again and again against that sweet nub, and slowly, the pain dissipated, leaving only an aching need for more.
Ruth crossed her legs behind his back, urging him to move with her heels, and he did.
The feel of his hot cock sliding in and out of her, slowly at first, and then faster and faster, made the tightness inside her feel simultaneously pleasurable and painful.
Henry groaned as he buried himself again and again, his face contorted into a picture of pure bliss. A sheen of sweat dusted his brow as he worked to build that feeling inside of her, and he dropped down to his elbow to press kisses into her neck. When he tried to move his hand away from between her legs, she moaned in protest and he laughed, nibbling at her earlobe.
His thrusts picked up in speed, and he was plunging into her faster and faster. The tight coil inside of Ruth felt almost unbearable until it finally, suddenly broke. She flung her head back in a silent scream, cresting over and over, the feeling like waves inside of her. When she opened her eyes, Henry was staring down at her, his face adoring and awed, and she kissed him as he met his own release.
He collapsed onto her chest, his head between her breasts, and her hand went to his hair, stroking him. She felt shuddery and alive, and Henry’s breath was hot on her chest, and it suddenly seemed ridiculous that she had never told him.
“I love you, Henry,” she said, her hand never stopping its ministrations.
He tilted his head up, blue eyes shining despite the dark of the room. There was so much emotion in them. Even looking at him, at how beautifully disheveled he was, made her want to cry.
A smile, so soft and sweet, split his face. He moved up her body, hovering above her to kiss her again, and again, whispering, “I love you, too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Henry
Henry awoke the next morning with a strange crick in his neck. He blinked his eyes and stared in confusion at the strange ceiling. That wasn’t his overhead light fixture. This wasn’t his bed.
The previous night came flooding back to him, and his head snapped down.
Ruth was lying atop his chest, her hair wild, her breath coming out in small puffs against his skin. She looked sweet, peaceful. There was a gentle upward curve at the corner of her mouth, like she was dreaming of something pleasant.
His eyes moved past her face, peering
down the length of her. They’d snuggled under the afghan pulled from the back of the couch before they’d dropped off, but it had moved down her back in the night. She was still naked.
Had they really …? They had. Everything had felt so small and unimportant when he’d realized how narrowly she had escaped, and how close he’d come to losing her. She had seemed driven toward him by that same sense of urgency.
And it had been amazing. Nothing had ever felt so wonderful, no woman had ever made him feel so good. He’d never felt like this before, like he could hold a girl and watch the sun come in through the window and rise on her face. She was so small, so delicate. She fit against him so nicely.
The connection between them had gripped him from the first moment he’d met her, and now it felt so strong that he couldn’t believe it was real and happening to him. How could this creature, with all her beauty and bravery, be interested in him? How had he managed to get so lucky?
Ruth’s face shifted from that small smile to a frown, and she unconsciously burrowed deeper against him. She nuzzled her nose against him. It tickled, but he fought to hold still and not wake her.
He’d crossed so many lines with her, had completely forgone any sense of professionalism. He was a doctor, for goodness sake. But he’d barely given a thought to her wounds once she started touching him. And he had forgotten to use a condom! Not that he kept them in the house, but still: He of all people should have protected her from the possibility of pregnancy. Hadn’t it been enough to take her virginity? Did he have to take the risk of making a baby with her?
A baby. The thought of a smiling child with her thick hair and soft eyes tugged at his heart. A child they would both love in the way they had always yearned for.
She shifted against him again. The hand that had been balled at her chin spread out on his chest as she nuzzled into him.
As much as he tried to convince himself to feel otherwise, when he looked down at Ruth he didn’t regret any of it.
Would she?
A tendril of concern curled around Henry’s stomach and tied a knot there. Ruth was religious. That was an understatement. Ruth was the daughter of an overzealous preacher who saw no shades of gray in between “right” and “wrong.” She’d been raised to believe that those who did not follow her father’s words were condemned to hell.