by Lily Cahill
He was certain his mother would never let go of it. Not for him, the boy who had killed her beloved husband.
“I don’t think she’d be willing to part with it,” Henry said, going for diplomacy. “You know how she feels about things like that. Things my father owned.”
Dr. Pinkerton hummed out his reply. “You have just as much a right to it as she does. Bring it up with her. She might surprise you.” His grandfather looked lost in thought for a minute, but he quickly recovered, shooting Henry a smile and shooing him out of his seat.
“It’s too nice a day to be cooped up in here. Why don’t you leave a little early? It’s nearly five o’clock, anyway. Go see that sweetheart of yours before you start packing for tomorrow.”
Henry perked up at the thought. He’d missed Ruth all day and had worried so constantly about their awkward moment at breakfast—the sooner he spoke to her, the better he would feel. His grandfather started to laugh when he saw the noticeable change in Henry’s posture.
“You look like a prairie dog. Go on, get out of here.”
“Thanks, Granddad.” Henry stood up from his desk, whipping off his long white coat and gathering up his briefcase.
It felt good to patch things up with his grandfather, even if it was all a bit false. He knew the peace only remained so long as he didn’t push the issue about the mysterious tests his grandfather was conducting behind his back. This return to form between them felt delicate and fragile, and he didn’t want to ruin it any more than Dr. Pinkerton seemed to. They both steadfastly ignored the fact that the issues between them were still very real.
It was the only way they could function right now. It wasn’t ideal, but Henry would take it.
He bolted out the front door and had to hold himself back from sprinting the whole way home.
Henry unlocked his front door and stepped inside to find that the lights were dim. Ruth was not in the living room off to the right, which was nearly pitch black without any of the lamps lit and all the curtains shut tight. There was something glowing in the kitchen straight ahead, and he took a few confused steps forward.
“Ruth?” he said, loosening his tie as he walked.
“In here,” she called back. Her voice seemed strange in a way that Henry struggled to describe. It seemed lower than usual, raspier. She didn’t sound like herself.
“What’s going …?” He stepped into the kitchen and choked on the rest of his sentence.
Ruth was sitting on one of the chairs closest to him, but it was turned so that she was facing him, her back to the table. The dress she was wearing was one Henry had never seen; it was dusty pink and shorter than anything he’d ever seen on her before. The hem hit just above her knee, and she deliberately crossed one leg over the other so that it rode up a few inches on her thigh. He couldn’t see a slip, and she wasn’t wearing any stockings.
Her hair had been tamed to something sleek and shiny, and it reflected the glow of the candles sitting in the center of the table. She looked golden in the dim, flickering flames.
This was not the Ruth he had expected to be waiting for him. She smiled, the movement slow, deliberate. “How was your day?”
Henry was gaping like a fish. He knew he was. His mouth was falling open every time he tried to close it. Ruth was a picture. He had never seen her like this, with her back so straight and her chin so high. She looked—delectable. Henry felt his trousers getting uncomfortably tight just at the sight of her.
“What,” he said, trying to piece together a sentence. His tongue felt thick and dumb in his mouth. “I mean.”
Ruth tilted her head, striking a sort of pose. It didn’t exactly fit her; she was obviously putting on a show, rather than being herself. But still—it was a very attractive show. Henry would’ve had to be blind not to enjoy it.
He had thought she would want distance—but then what was going on? None of this was what he had expected when he’d walked through the door.
She was all smooth skin and glowing features. He took a shuddery breath. “How did you—this is amazing. You look—”
Ruth got to her feet, swaying her hips as she sashayed toward him. It took him out of the moment … it was so unlike her. This girl looked like Ruth and sounded like Ruth, but the way she moved—it was as if she were someone else entirely. She pressed herself to the front of his body, and his body decided it mostly didn’t care.
“I missed you,” she said, pushing up on tiptoe so she could press her lips against the skin exposed under his loosened tie and collar. “I’ve been thinking about you all afternoon.”
Her breath was hot against his throat, and he stifled a groan. Why was she doing this? She didn’t need to do anything special—he found her perfect just as she was. His body was going haywire. He wanted to lean down and capture her mouth with his, unwrap her from this dress, but his brain couldn’t just let it happen.
“What are you …?” His voice came out raspy, and he let out a strangled noise as she slid his tie apart and undid another button of his shirt so she could mouth at his collar bone. “Ruth, stop. Stop.”
She pulled back. The hurt in her eyes hit him in the chest, and he swept his arms around her. “I’m not—this is all wonderful. I mean—my God you could tempt a man. But I’m trying, Ruth, I’m trying really hard to … respect your feelings about sex. And I don’t want you to feel pressured to—”
Ruth scoffed and ducked out of his embrace. Her mouth was set in a grim, determined line. “Respect my feelings? How do you even know what my feelings are, since you haven’t asked me?”
He paused, blinked. “I just assumed—”
“Henry, I don’t regret last night.”
The words felt like a cool balm to his soul after a day of stewing in worry. He practically slumped in half from relief. “Oh, thank God. I was so worried you would hate me—”
“Why would I hate you? I was there, I chose to do what we did.” She bit her lip, a little line appearing between her eyes. “Unless—do you regret it? Was it not ….”
Even though she trailed off, it was clear what she was thinking. He leaned down to kiss her, letting it linger. “You were wonderful. You are wonderful. I just wanted you to know that I—that I was willing to wait, if you wanted to wait.”
She tilted her head, confused. He wanted to kiss the expression off her face. “Wait for what?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “Well … marriage.”
Ruth stared at him, a smile slowly creeping up at the corners of her mouth. She reached up and yanked at the tails of his tie, pulling him down for a kiss. He responded instantly, and she opened her mouth against his without hesitation or prompting, threading her hands through his hair and directing his head the way she wanted. Henry wrapped his arms around her, supporting her at the small of her back. She leaned back into his hold as he pulled away, panting open-mouthed.
It was all Henry could do to remember to blink. Ruth caught his eye and seemed just as overwhelmed until she suddenly snapped into her previous role and pouted her bottom lip. “Why did you stop?”
It was a good question. Henry didn’t have a good answer.
He liked the way Ruth looked—he’d be lying if he tried to claim otherwise. He liked the daring flash of her thighs and the way her breasts pushed against the top of her dress as she breathed heavily. Certain parts of him liked these things very, very much, and for a moment he felt like a fool for stopping what was obviously going well.
Without looking away, he grabbed Ruth’s hands and squeezed them gently in his own. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do this for me. I mean, don’t misunderstand—you look amazing. If this is how you want it to be between us, I am okay with that. But …,” he lifted their clasped hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “You would be just as alluring to me if you were wearing a burlap sack. You’re so beautiful, and—”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence because Ruth’s lips were very suddenly against him. She swallowed the r
est of his words, pulling away only to murmur, “Oh, thank goodness.”
Henry laughed against her mouth, and she joined in a moment later. “You didn’t have to do anything special for me,” he said.
“Well, I was trying to seduce you. June told me how.” He threw his head back to laugh harder, and she joined in, even as she lightly slapped his arm in protest. “Stop this very minute!” She giggled, ruining the effect of her order. “It’s not funny! This is very serious.”
“You’re right, it’s not funny. You’re an excellent temptress. Can you show me that walk you did again?”
She put both of her hands over his mouth, trying to stifle both his mirth and her own, failing completely on both counts. “You’re awful. Now I’m glad I’m a terrible seductress because I’ve changed my mind.”
Henry tried to look contrite. It was ruined by the fact that he was constantly fighting back a smile. “I didn’t say you were terrible! Don’t put words in my mouth.” He let his eyes travel her form, lingering and obvious. “How do you feel about wearing all your dresses this short?”
“No, thank you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I dropped the book of matches on the floor as I tried to light the candles, and when I leaned over, I think my entire bottom was exposed.”
The image flew up in front of Henry’s eyes: Ruth bending forward, revealing more and more of her thighs until just the edge of her panties could be seen ….
“Henry?” Ruth’s voice cut through his thoughts. He nearly blushed—if she knew what he was thinking ….
He blinked. If she knew what he was thinking, she would … probably be okay with it. After all, she’d dressed up for him, had set up this elaborate seduction. Henry did not need to treat her as if she were made of glass: She was his just as much as he was hers. He could trust her.
Leaning down to accommodate for her height, he kissed her. He reached his hand behind him and patted blindly around the table cloth, trying to reach for something, anything. When his hand connected with something cool and smooth—a spoon, maybe?—he grasped at it and tossed it onto the floor. The dull thud of its impact made Ruth pull away in surprise.
She looked from the spoon to Henry, brow creased in confusion. The grin felt like it was going to split his face. “Oops. Little help with that, Ruth?”
Ruth laughed, shaking her head. “You’re a disgusting dog.”
“I’m your disgusting dog.”
“And that’s the only reason I’m doing this.”
She took two steps back, still facing him, a small, sly smile on her face. When she whirled around, her skirt flew up in a flirty circle. She looked over her shoulder to hold his gaze as she started to lean over slowly, so slowly.
Henry felt trapped by her eyes, unable to look away from them until she tipped her head toward the floor, seeking out the spoon. Free of her spell, Henry eyes traveled down the curve of her bodice, over the poofy layers of her skirt, to ….
His breath caught. He could see the edge of her panties where they cupped the subtle curve of her bottom, and the tops of her thighs coming down in a long line …. And then Ruth was standing again, bright red and holding the spoon, staring at him with big, brown eyes, trying to discern what he was thinking, feeling.
It was more than any person could take. Henry closed the distance between them, grabbing the spoon and tossing it away before pressing their bodies together and seizing her in a kiss.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Henry
Henry wrapped his arms around Ruth, pulling her to him as tightly as possible. They were as close as two bodies could be, and somehow it still wasn’t close enough. He couldn’t stand for them to be separate. He wanted all of Ruth, every part of her—mind, body, and soul. And from the persistence of her lips against his, he guessed she felt much the same.
They needed to get out of the kitchen.
Henry slid his hands down her back with aching slowness, memorizing its every dip and curve. When he came to the top of her bottom, he cupped it. Ruth keened at the touch, pressing herself further into his hands.
She felt too far from him, and so Henry used his hands to pull up. Ruth paused in her kissing and pulled her head back. Her eyes were dizzy and unfocused as she said, “… What?”
Words were hard. Henry felt like there was no blood left in his brain. “Jump,” he said. She gave him a skeptical look and he pulled at her again. “Trust me.”
Tentative, Ruth hitched her right leg up until her thigh rested near his hip. She teetered on her foot before Henry swept it out from under her, unable to wait another moment. Her body understood better than her mind, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing her against the front of his trousers. They moaned into each other’s mouths at the contact.
Henry stumbled forward, trying to walk and carry Ruth at the same time. She threw her arms around his neck, and he took one hand away from her adorable bottom to blindly reach for the wall. His hand touched plaster, and he pushed Ruth’s back against the wall, pinning her weight with his body so that his hands could roam freely.
He slid his palms down her sides, tracing the delicious curves of her body. He lingered over the smooth skin of her thighs, pushing his fingers beneath the hem of her dress and inching them higher and higher. Ruth writhed against him, and the contact felt so good his eyes rolled back in his head.
Pulling away from her mouth, Henry panted against her lips. “If you keep moving like that, this whole thing is going to be over much faster than either of us want.”
Ruth’s chest heaved, pushing her breasts against him again and again. She arched her back, and her lips parted around a small groan. “I don’t know if I can stop.”
Henry leaned close, licking at the place below her ear. He could hear her huffing out little frustrated sounds as she moved against him again and again and again. Her heart was thumping madly; he could see the pulse jumping in her neck. The beat matched his own.
Slowly, Henry moved his hips in tandem with hers.
Ruth threw her head back, leaning it against the wall behind her as she cried out. “Oh! Oh, do that again!”
Henry’s hands tightened on her thighs as he thrust his growing hardness against the juncture between her legs. Her hands scrabbled for purchase, grasping at his shoulder, bunching the material of his shirt in her fists. He couldn’t handle it—she was hot against him, even through the layers of their clothes. He already felt like he was losing his mind, and they hadn’t even done anything yet. The rhythm was building between them, their bodies moving in harmony. It was a sweet preview of what was to come.
Moving his hands out from under her skirt and up to her waist, Henry paused his movements. The sweetly agonized noise that Ruth whined out made him dizzy with want. It was enough that he almost started up again, just to oblige her. But it wasn’t what either of them wanted, not really.
“Ruth,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Ruth breathed heavily, as if to remind him that he had yet to touch her breasts. Now that the thought had occurred, it seemed to Henry a fairly grievous oversight. He had to shake his head to clear it. If he went down that path, they would never make it out of the kitchen.
Ruth swiveled her hips deliberately, biting her lip. “You stopped,” she accused.
“We should move upstairs—bed—”
Ruth’s eyes snapped to his. For a moment they stared at each other, her large doe eyes burning holes into his own, before she nodded. She unhooked her legs from behind him and slid back to her feet, keeping their bodies close the whole time.
She took a deep breath. “Let’s go upstairs.”
They stumbled up the steps, pausing every few moments to kiss, hands sneaking places that weren’t exactly productive for their journey. Henry’s bedroom was the first door on the right, and he directed Ruth there. He turned on the lamp as soon as they were inside, wanting to see every inch of her skin.
“Look at you,” he breathed out. “You’re so beautiful.”
Th
e words were sincere, but as soon as they left his mouth, he could hear how silly they sounded. She laughed as she moved close to him again, going up on her tiptoes to press their lips together again. Would he ever get tired of this sensation? There was nothing better in the world than kissing Ruth Baker.
Her hands wandered behind him, pulling him close.
Henry trailed his fingers up her side and then darted them to the zipper at her back. She froze against him, and he pulled his head back so he could study her face. Suddenly, she pushed him away. It wasn’t a violent shove, but it was enough to put a little distance between them.
She stared him straight in the eye as she reached behind her back for the zipper, then maneuvered her arms out of the sleeves. The dress fell forward, revealing her chest. There seemed to be miles of perfect skin. She wasn’t even wearing a brassiere. The softness of her stomach, her small, pert breasts, her nipples already stiff from arousal. The zipper gave way completely and the dress fell to he ground. She stepped out of it, and then, after a deep breath, she pushed her panties down her legs. They joined her dress in a heap on the floor.
Henry felt like someone was sitting on his chest. It was nearly impossible to catch his breath with something like this in front of him.
Ruth bit her lip and let her hair fall in front of her face. It wasn’t as effective a shield as it had once been, but it hid her expression enough so he reached out to tuck it behind her ears.
“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” Henry confessed. Without taking his eyes from her, he reached up and began to work open the buttons on his shirt, revealing himself to her as she had done for him.
The shirt fell open and he removed it, and then the undershirt. They were both tossed carelessly to the ground. Ruth’s gaze was hot on him. She didn’t move closer, but her eyes roamed over him, lingered on the muscles in his chest and arms. He reached for his belt and unclasped it, sliding it away from his pants. He crouched down so he could remove his shoes and socks, and when he stood up again, Ruth was right in front of him.