Page 64 of Keeping Ruby

Still sleep heavy, I push up to sit, and notice a dim light under the bathroom door. Beside me on the floor, Simba lifts his head to watch as I hold my breath, my ears trained to the bathroom.

That’s when I hear it. A thickly rich, deeply male sound.

My skin heats, prickling with awareness. Hot arousal spills into my panties, unbidden. My breaths rush faster, and my breasts feel heavy as a newly familiar ache throbs in my core. Quietly, holding my breath, I push back the blankets and tiptoe across the room.

The wood floor creaks and I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest as I listen for sound beyond the bathroom door, hearing nothing but the running of the shower. I could have sworn I heard his groan, not unlike the ones he gave me as he pounded into me over the sled earlier today.

It feels like a lifetime ago, and yet the memory is vivid enough in my mind to have arousal dancing across every inch of my skin.

I don’t hesitate as I reach for the knob, twisting, and pushing the door open. It’s a big bathroom, but I see him instantly. He’s there in the shower, rivers of water running over his body. In the calm glow of the dim light, he looks like a devil cast in sin, and shrouded in desire. He’s power, and ink, and man—and I can’t look away.

His head is angled back, jaw hard, lips set in a firm line as he grips the hard pipe of his arousal in a big hand. Muscles ripple in his chest as he strokes his thick length, the tip an angry, desperate bloom of burnished red, almost purple. Every inch of the man is hard. He’s muscle, and power, and brawny strength wrapped up in sex appeal and sin. He shouldn’t appeal, but my panties are soaked through now. I can feel the sticky heat of my need between my thighs.

I shouldn’t be watching this. I’m a terrible person.

Taking one step backward, I’m about to flee when his black eyes snap open, locking on me. He doesn’t stop stroking, but I see the way the cords in his throat work as he swallows.

Then he commands, “Stay.”

I freeze. What’s happening?

He gives himself another long, slow stroke, that has the knots in my belly cinching tight.

Is he really going to keep doing this? In front of me?

Am I really going to watch?

I feel so hot. Prickles of awareness needle my flesh, but I do as he commands. When he angles his body to the glass, I can’t help myself—I walk closer.

I’m transfixed. I’ve never seen anything like this ever before.

He gives his length long, slow pumps. There is a darkness to the expanse of his eyes that threatens to suck me in like a black hole. I’ve never been more willing to be consumed than I am now.

Closer like this, his dick is thick and lined with bulging veins. It looks both shockingly sexy, and terribly painful.

“Fuck,” he curses, his free hand colliding hard with the glass in front of me. “Keep looking at me like that.”

His thick accent, infused with sex and need, turns me on like never before. I can’t help myself as I squeeze my thighs together, trying to relieve just a little pressure. Dark eyes heating, his big hand around his big dick squeezes so tight—too tight. The tip bulges angrily, and a bead of glistening cream oozes from the slit.

I am struck with the shocking urge to fall to my knees and lick the cream.

I don’t realize I’ve done it—slid to my knees—until the cold bite of the tile nips into my knees. He’s looking down at me through the glass now with a ravenous hunger that is just a little crazed. He’s no longer squeezing his dick, but pumping himself with rough, hungry strokes. I wet my lips, hating the glass between us as I watch, spellbound.

He’s bucking into his hand now, those rich, deeply male grunts of sharp pleasure spearing from his lips. A ribbon of white splashes from his tip to hit the glass directly in front of my face, before another ribbon follows. Then another. The bulging veins in his hand and arm match the raging lines in his still hard dick. And I watch, a dark hunger growing wild and unchecked inside me as sticky release slides down the glass.

Slowly, my eyes lift to find his fixed on me. There’s a dangerous need lurking within those dark eyes as he growls low, “I tried to be a good man and take care of myself in here, alone. Away from the temptation of you. Of sinking deep inside your tight little cunt, fucking you raw until you screamed. Until you begged.” Another hot surge of wet drenches my panties. I nearly moan. His eyes flare as they spear my parted lips. I’m panting. “You better run back to bed, little wife, before I catch you.”

“What happens if you catch me?” I’m breathless.

“I’ll fuck you. And I don’t know that I have it in me to be gentle right now.” He swallows hard and hungrily. “So, like I said, run.”

Slowly, I rise from my knees, my eyes never leaving his.

I don’t know how or when it happened. When I was reborn from the Godfearing obedient I’d forever been, to this wanton, sex-crazed, woman. But it happened, and I’m finding there’s no turning back now.

Holding his gaze, my own challenging, I lift his shirt over my head and let it fall to the floor. I’ve never willingly bared myself to him, and I don’t miss the desire that flashes, or the sound of his low, animal growl.

“Ruby,” he warns.

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