Page 42 of Forbidden Dark Vows

Spooning her from behind, I kiss the back of her neck and stick my tongue in her ear, something that makes her arch her back and breathe heavily. I cup her breasts and tease her nipples between my fingertips, shifting her hair aside and tracing her neck and shoulders with my tongue until she grabs my hand and places it between her legs.

Ruby is always wet. She’s like a flower that opens up whenever we are together. Lying on her side, she raises one knee to her chest giving me access to penetrate her with two fingers, stroking her clit until her lips find mine greedily.

I pull my fingers out and roll her onto her back, spreading her legs wide. But this isn’t enough for Ruby. Gripping the headboard, she brings both knees up almost to her shoulders, tilting her pelvis upwards, her glistening pussy ripe for me.

“Lick me, Harry,” she murmurs.

“Very bossy.” I drag my tongue along her pussy. “Try again.”

“Lick me, Harry. Please…”

I lick her again, this time making sure my tongue gets right inside her.

“Again.”

Panting now. “Please lick me, Harry.”

I hold back, watching her, my mouth close enough to touch her sexy wetness. “Better.”

“Please, Harry. I want you to lick me.”

Smiling, I cup her butt with my hands and lick her gently, tasting her, teasing her with my tongue until she groans out loud. Then I push the tip inside her, find what I’m looking for, and drag it back and forth, feeling her wetness oozing into my mouth.

When she is still in the throes of her orgasm, I slide my cock into her, taking it slowly, filling her with my length. She thrusts against me, our hips pounding together, my mouth smothering hers to stop her from crying out and disturbing the sleep of the farmer and his wife.

I start to wonder if our life together will become a series of bubbles. Each one bigger and brighter than the one before, places in which to lose and discover ourselves at the same time. I don’t think about work. I know I must at some point, but right now, Ruby is the most important thing in my life.

The engagement ring is still in its tiny velvet box in my coat pocket. Just as the jeweler knew which ring I was looking for, I tell myself that I’ll know when the right moment presents itself. No rush. We have our whole lives ahead of us.

On the third day, when the wind drops and the setting sun is still warming our faces, we stroll along the beach towards the village pub, eager to sample the local fishermen’s catch of the day and try to beat our new friends at a repeat game of pool. They’ve whipped our butts twice, but Ruby promised them that we were merely warming up, lulling them into a false sense of security.

Up the slope from the beach and onto the road that leads to the pub, we both spot the police car outside the establishment at the same time.

“No.” Ruby shakes her head. “They can’t have found us here. They can’t have.”

I hear the incredulity in her voice above the drumming of my heartbeat.

“Maybe they’re inquiring about something else. Something local.” My words are swallowed by the sea shushing across the pebbly shore. “Maybe they’re here for dinner.”

Ruby’s shoulders slump inside her coat. “You don’t believe that do you?”

She’s right. I want to believe it, but it’s too much of a coincidence, the cops turning up again where we’re staying. Whatever problem Celia has with me, she’s not going to back down until I take Ruby home.

“Maybe it’s time.” I place my hands on Ruby’s shoulders and turn her around to face me.

Her eyes are large with tears. “I’m not going back, Harry.” Her voice is as determined as ever, and I feel a rush of pride in my chest for this beautiful woman. “I’m not letting her win.”

“Okay.” Deep breath. The cops only have to mention that they’re looking for an American couple and the landlord will know exactly which direction to point them in. “What do you want to do?”

“There’s no time to grab our stuff from the B&B.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, a tear spilling over her bottom lashes. Clothes are not important to Ruby, but I know that the marionette is. It’s a souvenir of our time here, a reminder of the precious time we’ve stored up inside our minds, snapshots of perfect moments to be brought out later and reminisced over.

Do you remember when we stayed in that tiny fishing village on the west coast of Scotland?

I pat my pocket with my hand. The ring is still there. I’m not going anywhere without it.

Two cops walk out of the pub, peering left and right along the street, eyes narrowed. That settles it. They’re not here to sample the beer-battered haddock fillets. They climb back into the vehicle, the headlamps throwing golden beams along the road towards us, and we both instinctively duck behind a moored rowing boat.

---