Through Fire (Portland, ME #3) (16 page)

R
uby

. My lips open under the probing of his tongue. Although he resolutely takes over the kiss, the power of unleashing such a response in him, just by the press of my lips, is intoxicating. My hands slide up and around his neck, where my fingers tangle in his shaggy locks. His hands aren’t still either, one sliding up under my hair and the other exploring my behind.

A deep, rumbling groan rolls against my mouth when I press my body closer, driven by this need to have his imprint on me. The feel of his hard dick, pressing in the soft of my belly, causes an unusual tingle between my legs. Abruptly, Tim pulls his mouth away.

“If I don’t go now, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop before I’m buried balls deep inside you. And I’m not so sure you’re ready for that.” His voice sounds gravelly as both of us seem to be breathing hard.

“Okay,” I reply, because he may be right, I’m not so sure I’m ready either.

He gathers his stuff and leaves me to close the door behind him after planting one last, lingering kiss on my lips.

Long after his footsteps have faded, I’m still standing with my back pressed against the door. Trying to process the unfamiliar heavy feeling in my breasts and the vague ache low in my stomach.

-

I
t had been a restless night, but unlike many nights before when I’d lain in bed scared of my future, last night my mind had been busy conjuring up images of what, at least my immediate, future might look like. I won’t say I’ve never had fantasies before, because I have. But never ones that involved a real, live, breathing human being. Naked. I feel heat creeping up my cheeks at the thought of some of the things I’d imagined him doing.

Tim fully clothed is impressive. Tim in the buff, at least in my mind, is jaw-dropping.

Of course in my fantasies, I never quite see myself, just a vague awareness of where I am. Over the years, my body had become like  a detached entity. There, and mine, but not really connected to the person I am. At first, it had been a way to cope. A way to distance myself from what I was subjected to. Later it had become a battleground of sorts. Carlos had been strict on our diets, wanting us to keep our bodies in prime condition. When I got older and was relegated to the much less desirable Johns, I realized I could perhaps use my own body to regain some power.

I began eating. A lot. Everything I could get my hands on. It didn’t take long for my size to catch his attention. And his anger. Club Innosins had a reputation to maintain, he told me. He tried to beat it into me. Tried to starve me, but my body happily clung to all the pounds I’d gained. No matter what he dished out, I wasn’t going to let go of that sliver of control I’d found. Finally, he put me to different use, had me tend bar, where my body wouldn’t be on display, or tend to the new girls as they came in. It gave me a purpose. It made me a person and not just a body.

Ever since landing on Pam’s doorstep, mainly under her tutelage, I’ve slowly started accepting my body as part of me again. The people I have in my life now, seem to see me as a whole person. None quite as clearly as Tim these past weeks, though. Maybe because I initially thought he didn’t see me at all.

I’m still not clear on what brought about his sudden focus, but he makes me very much aware. Self-conscious in a way I’ve never really felt before, both emotionally and physically. Stranger still, I don’t feel the automatic repulsion at his interest. No sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when he looks at me, or touches me, with lust in his eyes. Excitement—yes. Unfamiliar feelings when my body responds in ways that surprise me—absolutely. But not awkwardness or repulsion.

The buzzing of the downstairs doorbell pulls me from my thoughts, and I quickly dry the suds off my hands. My nervous energy had me empty out my sparse closet and wash my clothes. I know there’s a laundry room in the building, but I’ve always washed my clothes by hand and have no desire to go down to the dark basement.

“Hello?” I say, when I pick up the phone.

“Buzz me in?” Tim’s voice sounds slightly distorted over the intercom.

Two minutes later he’s at the door.

“Hi.” I sound a little breathless when I let him in.

“You sound surprised.” He leans in for a quick brush of his cold lips on mine. “You forget we have some cooking to do?”

Right. So apparently he’d been serious about the Chiles Renellos. I’d spent a good amount of time convincing myself he hadn’t really meant that last night and this morning. “I wasn’t sure you were serious, and then when I didn’t hear from you, I...”

“Oh, I’m very serious, Ruby,” he interrupts me, suddenly pulling my body so close, all my soft parts are meshing with his much harder ones. He makes good use of my stumped silence by lowering his mouth to mine. This time, it’s not for a brush of the lips. No, this time he goes for a full on assault that has my toes curl in my shoes. At some point, my arms wrap around his neck and my fingers become tangled in his outgrown hair. The brush of his short beard against my mouth and chin creating a delicious warm friction on my skin. Fully sensitized, I faintly register the rough pads of his fingers finding purchase on the strip of skin he’s bared between my jeans and sweater, and then gently slip into my waistband. His other hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back and exposing my neck. I’m gasping for air as he nips and licks down my chin and over the soft skin of my neck, causing a charge to run down my back.

“Tim...”

“Serious as a heart attack, Ruby,” he mumbles in the crook of my neck, before his mouth travels south onto the swell of my breasts.

I’m so lost in sensation, my eyes closed, that his sudden retreat makes me shiver. When I open them I find his blue ones staring back. “
Chiles Renellos
,” he reminds me, but his voice is rough with need. “Get your coat.”

It takes me a second to register, and then I move to follow his instructions, wondering why he just stopped. I’m pretty sure of what he meant by being
serious,
since evidence of that had been intimately pressed to my body just moments ago. I must’ve still looked a little lost, because his fingers come up to trace my swollen lips. “You make me lose control,” he softly says. “I don’t want to lose control with you, Ruby. Not yet. I’m trying to go slow, be mindful, even when all I can think of is how to get you out of those clothes fastest.”

Oh
.

I’m suddenly in a hurry to pull on my coat and grab my purse and keys. Plastering what I hope is a friendly smile on my face, I turn to the door. “Let’s go.” My voice comes out on a much higher pitch, and I’m pretty sure I look more deranged than friendly as I rush past him out of my apartment. Why the thought of being naked in front of this man suddenly terrifies me, when I never gave baring myself to a man another thought, is beyond me. Except—I realize as we make our way outside—I’ve never cared about what those other men thought. I care about what Tim thinks. I care about
him
.

Without a word, he takes my hand and leads me to an unfamiliar truck, and I look around me a bit confused. “Where is your car?”

“Traded it in,” he says, a small grin forming on his lips.

“Really? Wasn’t it almost new though?” I ask, looking at the not so brand-new truck.

“Yup. But it doesn’t fit in with my plans.”

“Plans?” I feel like an idiot asking question after question, but I’m having a hard time understanding why you would trade in a new car for an older truck. Sure, it was in good condition. No rust, or any major dents or dings, but still.

“I bit the bullet,” he says with a big grin. “But there’s more to tell you about it. I’ll explain when we get to my place.”

And he did tell me all about his visit with his parents, his talk with them about his plans to start a business, and the surprising news that his father and brother might join him. His excitement shows and I can’t help but smile at him. “That’s wonderful. So the truck is...”

“Hard to move wood, tools, furniture, and things like that in a sporty Audi. That was good for the old Tim. The truck is perfect for the new one.” He smiles, and it occurs to me how much more relaxed he seems to be now than I’ve ever seen him before. Even before he lost his job. Of course it helps that he was a definite attention grabber in a suit, seeing him in jeans, boots, and sometimes even a flannel shirt, is a showstopper.

“It looks good on you,” I compliment him, making his eyes crinkle.

“Yeah? How so?”

“You seem less buttoned up. Less stressed.”

He slips his arms around me and pulls me in tight. “Like me less buttoned up? There’s a lot of places I could take that,” he says, before the persistent growling of my rebellious stomach draws his attention. “But I won’t, because I’ve got to get you fed first. When did you eat last?”

I frown, trying to remember, but other than a banana with my coffee this morning, nothing comes to mind. “Oops,” I tell him. “Breakfast?” The truth is, when I’m not being fed by Viv or Dino, I tend to forget. Or maybe I’m just too lazy to care. Either way, it’s clear Tim does not approve, judging from the frown on his face.

“Gotta eat, Ruby,” he says seriously, and I’m suddenly choked up. I’m used to Viv or Dino, even Syd, caring, but it’s different from him.

I swallow against the lump in my throat and take a deep breath. “Okay,” I reassure him, in as firm a voice as possible, but it still sounds pretty wobbly. I quickly slip out of his arms and lift the lid to check on the chicken. “Feed me then.”

The heavy moment lifted, I turned to the recipe he’d printed off to which I’d added notes in the margin for my own future reference. “What’s next?”

-

T
he food was out of this world delicious, and I can’t believe I had a good hand in making that, or that I just ate seconds. Sitting back on his couch to relieve some of the pressure on my stomach, I watch Tim walk toward me with mugs of hot cocoa. He offered to make coffee, but with a light snow starting to fall outside, I had a sudden craving for something homey and warm. After the spicy goodness of the shredded chicken and cheese stuffed Poblano chiles, something rich and sweet will hit the spot. I accept the mug from Tim and sip cautiously from the hot liquid as he sits beside me on the couch.

“Oh, this is good,” I hum in appreciation. “There’s something in here besides cocoa, what is it?” I turn to Tim to find him staring at my mouth.

“Just a pinch of cardamom and a little bit of cinnamon,” he says, his eyes never wavering.

“So delicious,” I hum again, as I take another sip and suddenly find the hot chocolate taken from my hand.

“You drive me crazy with those sounds you make,” he growls, as he puts both mugs on the table. Before I have a chance to object, I’m lifted onto his lap and he’s kissing me. Fiercely.

I have no choice but to respond in kind. What his tongue is doing to my mouth is forcing all thought from my mind and leaves me to simply float on the sensations. My hands somehow find their way to the back of his head, where they play mindlessly through his hair. His hand strokes my back, and the other one travels all the way down my legs, where he wraps it around my ankle before traveling back to my waist. I feel like I’m melting from the inside out as his tongue makes love to my mouth. I groan, unable to hold back. In response, he tightens one arm behind me, while his other hand slips under my sweater, where it curves around my breast. So lost in my senses, I don’t even register that he must’ve felt the rolls at my waist. Not even when he impatiently pulls the cup of my sturdy bra down and shifts his attention, with lightning speed, from my mouth to the breast he just exposed.

I feel more than hear, the deep groan rolling up from his chest, right before his mouth settles over the tip, pulling hard. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Like a live wire running from where his mouth is sucking my breast to between my legs; every pull of his lips sends a charge of electricity to my pussy, leaving me wet and aching.

I’ve had hands and mouths on my breasts before, but never with this effect. I’ve experienced wetness between my legs, but rarely ever my own. With his upper body, Tim presses me back against the armrest until I’m almost laying down, splayed over his lap.

It isn’t until I feel his hand make quick work of my button and zipper, and slips inside my panties, that I feel my first flutter of hesitation. What if I don’t please him? What if he’s disappointed?

“Stop thinking,” he mumbles, with his mouth against my skin. “
Feel
.”

Oh, I feel. I feel his fingers slip through the wetness at the apex of my thighs, probing gently.  I certainly feel the slight flick of his thumb in passing over my sensitive clit. I feel it all and I roll my hips, wanting more.

“Fuck, Ruby, so responsive. So slick and warm.”

His finger slides tentatively into my opening a few times and I lift up for deeper penetration. A second finger joins and I’m deliciously full. Slow, deep strokes drive me out of my mind with a need that takes me by surprise. Tension tightens up every nerve and muscle in my body; it’s almost unbearable. When his thumb finds my clit and presses down firmly,  I feel myself free-falling with his name on my lips.

Soft kisses and gentle strokes: that’s all I feel while catching my breath. Until I can feel all his movements still.

“Ruby? Are you crying?” My eyes open to find him just inches from my face, staring at me intently. “Are you okay?”

Breaking out in a huge smile, I lift my hand to stroke along his jaw. “I’m wonderful.”

He closes his eyes briefly, the relief obvious on his face. “Thank Christ,” he mutters, before turning that dark blue gaze on me again. “And yes. You’re fucking phenomenal.”

T
im

Fuck, she scared me with those tears. For a moment I thought I’d hurt her. Pushed her too far. The relief to see her smiling, through her tears, instantly slows down the pounding panic of my heart. Jesus, she’s gorgeous, all that soft flesh flushed with arousal. The sounds coming from her mouth...I’d been so hard it was painful, but the tears served like a cold shower on my libido.