Slow Burn

by Roxie Noir

  But that’s not how I feel about Ruby. Even though I barely know her, it’s just not. This feels different, strange, like she’s somehow gotten a hold on something deep inside me and isn’t letting go of it.

  So I don’t want her to know that I’ve got a past with dozens of women, and I really don’t want her to know why I’m here now. At least not yet. Not now, when we’re sated and drinking whiskey in the dark and this moment is just about as perfect as it can be.

  I grab ice from the freezer, plop it into the glasses, and hand one to Ruby.

  “Everything else has taken some getting used to,” I admit.

  She looks at me, then down at my dick. She stares at it for a few seconds, then looks back up at me, and I can’t help but grin.

  “You’re gonna have to wait about thirty minutes for round two, so drink up,” I tease.

  Ruby smiles and shuts her eyes, shaking her head.

  “Sorry,” she says. “It’s just, like, there and...”

  I take a long sip of my drink, my other hand on my hip, dick totally exposed.

  Ruby starts giggling, and I grin.

  “You’re not supposed to laugh at someone’s dick,” I tell her, giving it a slight wiggle.

  She laughs so hard she snorts.

  “My self-confidence is gonna be ruined now,” I tease her. “I’m a broken man, Ruby, and it’s all because you laughed at my dick.”

  “I’m not, I swear,” she gasps. “It’s just, I don’t know, it’s right there?”

  I lean down and give her a kiss.

  “I’m gonna go find my pants so you stop mocking me,” I say.

  “I’m sorry,” she says again, but she’s still laughing, and I head upstairs and get half-dressed, sticking another condom in my pocket just in case. The whole time I’m grinning like an idiot.

  I get it. Dicks are funny. Besides, it just made her come so hard her eyes rolled back in her head, so I’m feeling pretty confident about it right now.

  When I get back downstairs, she’s sitting on the couch, feet tucked under her, looking at the curtained windows to the yard. I grab my drink and sit as well, one arm around her. I’ve got jeans on again but no shirt, and apparently, she hasn’t found hers either, so we sit there skin-to-skin, and for a long moment, we just sip our drinks without saying anything.

  “My father said you’re tightening security,” Ruby says, all of a sudden. “I meant to ask you about it earlier, but I got... distracted.”

  “He didn’t say why?”

  She snorts.

  “He went into excruciating detail about the many reasons that I should put aside my pride and personal preferences, suck it up, and have ten children with Kyle, but no, he didn’t elaborate at all on what happened with the man who’s stalking me,” she says. There’s a bitter edge to her voice, but it’s not like I can blame her.

  But I do hate being the one who tells her this stuff, the only one who’ll bother to tell her the truth she deserves to know.

  “He was at the county fair,” I say, and then explain everything. Ruby looks into her drink the entire time without saying anything. I try to sound as professional as I can, the fact that we’re both half-naked aside, because the last thing I want is for her to be scared.

  Cautious, yes. Alert, aware, maybe a little nervous, fuck yes. Those things are useful.

  I finish, and she’s still leaning against my chest, quiet, swirling the ice in her glass.

  “You’ve read most of the letters, right?” she asks.

  “Right.”

  She thinks for another moment.

  “What’s his deal?” she finally says, and looks up at me. “Why’s he doing this?”

  “I have no fucking clue,” I say, taking a sip of whiskey.

  “Does he want something?” she asks.

  “Most people who do this sort of thing want control,” I say, slowly. I’ve got half a degree in criminal justice, even though I stopped going to classes when I got hired for the Secret Service. “It’s a power trip thing. I think he likes making you afraid, and he likes watching us all scramble to protect you and keep you safe.”

  I take a deep breath.

  “And I think he likes knowing that if he can’t have you, he can dictate what you do anyway,” I say, and take a drink before I say this next sentence. “I think he’s incredibly attracted to you, but I think that because — as he puts it — you’re no longer pure, he feels guilty about it and it gets all twisted in his head. So, he wants you but doesn’t want to want you, and he’s ended up writing a ton of fucked up letters about it.”

  “I wish he wouldn’t,” she says, sighing. “It’d be nice if he would just... go get laid or something.”

  “Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have your own personal bodyguard,” I point out.

  She looks over at me, a smile in her eyes.

  “I wouldn’t constantly be this close to a re-education camp for proper ladies,” she says. “I’ve heard lesson one is don’t drink whiskey half-naked with men you’re not married to.”

  “I doubt re-educated ladies are supposed to do that with their husbands, either,” I say. “As far as I can tell, based on my time in your household, ladies are supposed to make jam, take pretty pictures of jam, have a dozen children, and wait on their husbands.”

  “You’ve been paying attention,” Ruby deadpans. “Clearly, it’s no wonder I got divorced, since my pictures of jam all turn out terrible.”

  “That’s what turns men gay,” I agree. “Bad jam pictures. We see ‘em, and bam, next thing you know we love dick.”

  Ruby snorts, laughing.

  “I honestly wish it were that simple,” she says. “I can learn to take better pictures of jam, but I don’t think I can learn to want what I’m supposed to want.”

  She drinks the rest of her whiskey in a gulp, then leans across me to put it on a side table, getting onto her knees. I let my hand skim down her back, and my dick twitches as she kneels next to me, on the couch.

  “What are you supposed to want?” I ask.

  Ruby rolls her eyes, but puts her hand in my hair, playing with it.

  “You know what I’m supposed to want, you see it every day,” she says. “I’m supposed to want to have a nice, Godly husband who I bless with baby after baby, and I’m supposed to want to submit to his every whim and serve his every need.”

  I grin.

  “Sounds boring,” I say.

  “It is,” Ruby says.

  “Doesn’t sound like you at all.”

  “Nope,” she says, then tilts her head to one side, eyes crinkling with a smile. “Not that I know what I do want. Just not that.”

  “Well,” I say, sliding one hand up her skirt. “I have some thoughts on what you might want. I’m not sure how useful they’ll be overall, but for the next few minutes you can tell me what you think of them.”

  She laughs and blushes as I run my fingers under the elastic of her panties.

  “This is purely to help me figure my life out,” she teases, leaning forward until our foreheads are touching. “How selfless.”

  I run my fingers along her lower lips, and she’s soaking wet again, slick and swollen. She kisses me and makes a noise into my mouth, so I bite her lower lip gently as I pull her panties down for the second time that night.

  “For example,” I say, my voice low and dusky. “You might want to get on top of me and ride my cock, but you won’t know unless you try.”

  Ruby blushes even harder, and I fucking love it. There’s something about the combination of her blush and how wet she gets when I talk dirty to her that I can’t get enough of.

  She swings one leg over me and sits on my lap, her wetness right on top of my still-clothed cock, and I grin, kissing her again, harder, reaching behind her and getting her bra off. Ruby moans quietly when I take both her nipples in my hands, rolling them gently between my fingers, as her hips buck against me.

  I unbutton her ugly skirt, and she steps off me for a second, pushing it
to the floor. As she does, I undo my belt and jeans, get the condom from my pocket, and pull them off as well, my cock springing free. Ruby looks at it, and I grab it in one hand, grinning at her.

  Then she’s on me again, rolling her hips against me. She grabs the condom from my hand and tears it open, sitting back to unroll it down my length as I dip one finger into her wetness, making her bite her lip. Despite already coming once tonight, I’m catastrophically hard, my hands all over her as she strokes my condom-covered cock once.

  I grab the base and her hip, because she seems a little uncertain as she leans in and kisses me again.

  “C’mere,” I whisper, pulling her in. She reaches down and puts one hand over mine and then I’m at her entrance and her tight channel is taking me in, pure pleasure coursing through my body. Ruby sinks all the way down until I’m hilted in her and panting for breath, my hands locked on her hips so hard that she might bruise.

  We kiss and I can feel her muscles fluttering around me, intense and intoxicating, so I kiss her back and she rolls her hips, just enough to send another spike of pleasure through me.

  Slowly, Ruby starts moving, tentatively at first, and I remember what she said earlier, I’ve never done this before. I wasn’t lying when I told her I didn’t care, because watching her is goddamn magic. The way her perfect breasts bounce right in front of me, the noises she makes when I hit that spot inside her, the way her eyelids flutter.

  I don’t give a shit if she hasn’t done this a thousand times and doesn’t have finesse, because watching her learn to ride my cock the way she likes it is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

  Gradually, she gets into a rhythm, one hand on the back of the couch for leverage. Now we’re rocking together, my hands moving her up and down on me. I’m lost in a haze of pleasure, trying to force myself not to come before she does. I lean forward to kiss her neck, lick a nipple, and she wraps her arms around me.

  The angle inside her changes and I growl, somehow sliding deeper as she moans, her channel clenching around me as she does, the feeling heady and intoxicating. For once, I’m glad I’m wearing a condom so I don’t come too fast.

  I grind into her again, my arms wrapped around her waist now, and Ruby makes a noise that’s half-moan, half-sigh, her head back as I kiss her throat.

  “Was this what you wanted?” I murmur, her skin just below my lips.

  “Yes,” she whispers. “God, yes.”

  Ruby leans back with one hand, steadying herself against my knee. Now I’m watching her body as she undulates, eyes closed, her muscles already fluttering and spasming around me. It’s fucking intoxicating, and her fingers dig into my knee and my shoulder as she gasps, holding her breath, right on the edge.

  I grind my teeth together and bury my face in her neck, keeping myself from coming through sheer force of will as I pull her onto me roughly. She whimpers as I hit that spot, and instantly I’m lost and helpless and there is goddamn nothing I can do except growl into her neck and rock her back and forth, again and again until she grabs a fistful of my hair, exhales hard, and clenches around me so tight my vision goes white.

  It’s glorious. I’ve never felt anything like it, not in the dozens of women I’ve had, and I come seconds later, pumping myself again and again into Ruby until I’m completely and utterly spent but we’re still just rocking together, arms around each other. I can feel her breathe, her heartbeat, and I don’t want to stop, I don’t want to leave.

  And I don’t know what the fuck is happening.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ruby

  After a long time, I finally unwind myself from Gabriel and stand on shaky legs. I’m still tipsy, but more than that I feel dazed, almost high, until Gabriel also gets up and kisses me again.

  I take a deep breath, and suddenly remember where I am and what a bad idea it is.

  “I should go,” I tell him.

  “Now I agree with you,” he says, sneaking one more kiss.

  I put on my skirt and underwear, find my bra, and after a quick search of the kitchen my shirt turns out to have slid partly under the microwave stand. I’m sure I’m disheveled and smell like sex and sweat and whiskey, and I know that I should care, but I can’t be bothered.

  I’m sated and sleepy, and more than anything I want to stay there, with him, instead of going back into my parents’ house where everything I just did comes with a heavy price.

  He sees me to the door. We kiss again, and just before I leave he drops a kiss on my hair, and it’s strangely different. There’s no lust or desire in it, but it’s sweet and protective. Almost more of a blessing than a kiss.

  “Give me a wave when you’re in your room,” he murmurs.

  “Will do,” I say, and leave.

  Thank God I’ve walked this line a thousand times and don’t even have to think about it as I head back to the house, creep behind the rosebushes, and get back through the pantry window. After I get in I stay in that tiny, dark room for a long moment, just listening.

  Outside, a couple of guards walk by, talking about something or other, but there’s no noise inside the house. I exhale, trying to get my breathing under control, and then make my way upstairs to my bedroom. I shut the door softly and creep to the window, parting the curtains.

  A single slat on Gabriel’s blinds lifts, and I wave at it. The slat jiggles, and I can’t help but grin like an idiot as I shut the curtains, put on my pajamas, and then lie down in my bed.

  I can’t believe I just did that.

  And I’m definitely, definitely going to do it again.

  Strangely, the next couple of days are kind of fun. Nothing changes, outwardly — we have the same conversations, about yeast rising and our favorite icing flavors when we were kids and what kind of photo filter I should put on a picture of flowers, but there’s something charged about them, an undertone of something thrilling that makes me nearly giddy.

  We have a secret. We have a really great secret, a secret that no one knows but us, and so we’re acting like teenagers around each other no matter how much we try not to.

  At the same time, it’s even harder. Getting to have him at night, not just the sex but the being alone, getting to be myself, makes it nearly impossible to keep my hands off him during the day. I nearly drag him in a closet just to kiss him about a thousand times, but somehow, by some miracle, I hold myself back.

  I don’t think anyone notices. I get a few weird looks from my mother, but she’s always glaring at me for one reason or another, so I don’t think it counts.

  And I go back. Two nights in a row I can barely wait for all the lights to be off before I’m heading out of my room, down the back stairs, through the kitchen, out the window and into Gabriel’s apartment, where the second night we don’t even make it all the way up the stairs.

  Afterward, when we’re breathless and sated, we drink whiskey naked together in the dark. I finally ask him about the Marines, about Afghanistan, about whether it’s true that he still wakes up shouting sometimes, and it is. He shows me the scar from the tube that drained his punctured lung after an IED went off and broke half his ribs.

  He asks about my family, slowly draws out the details of my relationship with Lucas, the complicated entanglements I have here. I tell him that I know I need to leave, that I’m trying, I’m working on a plan.

  Gabriel’s quiet for a moment, shifting his whiskey glass in his hand. I’m sprawled half across the couch and half across him, because even though this is the fourth time he’s even seen me naked, I’m oddly comfortable around him. It just feels right that we’re doing this.

  “Let me know if you need help,” he says.

  I bite my lip.

  “Thanks,” I say. “But I need to do this myself.”

  He smiles down at his glass.

  “I thought you might say that,” he says. “Stubborn.”

  I just shrug, smiling. He’s not wrong.

  I’m just dozing off, the rumble of the tour bus finally lullin
g me to sleep, when there’s a delicate hand on my arm.

  “You look tired,” Lilah, Mason’s girlfriend, says. “Are you sleeping okay?”

  My eyes fly open and my stomach lurches, because I haven’t been sleeping okay, I’ve been having sex with my bodyguard and then hanging out naked until two or three a.m. for the past couple of days.

  “I know the campaign is stressful for everyone,” she says, smiling beatifically, taking her hand from my arm.

  “I’ve had a little insomnia lately,” I admit. “I’m sure it’ll go away.”

  “Have you tried warm milk and honey?” she asks, tilting her head to one side. “My mom used to give me that when I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Thanks, I’ll give it a shot, I say.”

  “And don’t stress so much, I’m sure your father has his race completely locked up,” she goes on, softly. “Nothing to worry about. Plus, I heard you and Kyle...” she smiles again and winks.

  That’s weird, I think, even as I smile back at Lilah with the overly sweet, fake smile that’s my default. Lilah’s my former sister in law, and even though her family completely disowned and disavowed Lucas, it’s strange that she’s acting like she doesn’t even remember him.

  “You know how it is,” I say, attempting chumminess, or something. “I start thinking about one thing, and next thing you know, I can’t turn my brain off.”

  She nods, her brown hair floating over one shoulder.

  “I sure do,” she says. “But try the milk, it really works.”

  On her other side, Mason says something to her, and she turns away. I lean back and close my eyes again, but I’m not about to go back to sleep.

  Is Lilah happy about Kyle?

  Is it strange that my ex-sister-in-law thinks it’s great that I’m allegedly dating again, six months after the divorce?

  I take a deep breath. On my other side, Joy squirms in her seat and bumps me, her nose in one of the ‘wholesome’ mystery books she’s permitted to read.

  The one time I visited Lucas’s family home since he left, everything of his was gone. Pictures — even family pictures with him in them — his things, even his books and DVDs. Like he never even existed, so maybe that’s what this is. She’s forcing herself to forget that she ever had a brother and that I was ever married to him.