Beautiful Secret (Beautiful Bastard #4) (27 page)

Ruby hadn’t said anything about what to expect, and maybe she’d assumed I’d done this before—but the truth was, I never had. I’d seen the symphony, the ballet, and endless musicals with Portia over the years in the London theater scene, but never had I experienced anything as visceral as this.

The lead singer’s voice in one song was smoke and rough pavement, and then in another was honeyed and smooth. The lyrics made my imagination do things I’d never expected, made things like regret and guilt, anticipation and relief bloom thickly in my chest. I felt oddly nostalgic for my wasted years of misery, and massively hopeful about
what life could be, starting from this very point in time and onward. It was nearly too much, too intense with the lights bursting across the crowd, and Ruby lifting her arms over her head and singing along to every word of the song.

In front of me, she danced in a hip-swaying, shoulders-dipping move that had me mad for her, wild to grab and pull her backside directly against my lengthening cock. My fingers gripped her hips, my eyes rolled closed, and I relished the sound penetrating every inch of space in the room, relished the seductive movement of her against me. Her hands reached up behind her, tangling into my hair and pulling my face to the side of her neck.

I sucked and bit, groaned into her, and then—when I began to harden, my mind turning away from the song and focusing solely on the gorgeous creature in front of me—I had to decide whether to pull her into one of the many tiny alcoves or let her remain here to enjoy the music. I stood up straighter, deciding to simply let the moment wash over me.

The band tore through the set, barely stopping to greet the crowd or take a sip of the beers precariously perched on their amps. It was unlike anything I’d seen or heard, and I felt as if I was getting a glimpse into Ruby’s heart: her love for energy and adventure, spontaneously nabbing tickets to see her favorite band in an unfamiliar city. I admired the trust she put in her own instincts, bringing me here. She knew all along that my reaction to the music and the lights and the pulsing rhythm of a hundred people jumping all around me would be profound.

At nearly six foot seven, I’d grown accustomed to bending to hear others speak, to instinctively ducking through doorways, to standing on the outside of circles to not feel as if I was crowding anyone away. But on the subway home, as we stood rocking with the motion of the train, I could tell Ruby wanted me stretched to my full height, holding the bar overhead so she could lean into me, wiggling and practically climbing me in her post-show excitement.

Her belly rubbed my cock again, and again, while her hands slipped beneath my open coat and under my shirt so she could press her cold hands to the flat of my stomach. Fingertips teased at the hair on my navel, at the buckle of my belt. I felt her slip an index finger just below the waist of my jeans.

And fuck, she knew exactly what she was doing to me. I could see it in the mischievous twinkle in her eye. Her smile was a sly thing, sliding in from the side, pushing her lips out into a flirty smirk and I listened to her chatter on about the show, the crowd, various songs, my mind bending with each scratch of her nails down my stomach, with every press of her soft body to my hips. I weathered the torture in silence, eyes never leaving her face, absorbing the treasure offered with each giddy word. With every jolt of the subway, every sway along the tracks, I mentally calculated how long it would be until I could devour her.

We rose from the station and she seemed to pause for
air. Long enough, in fact, that I could press her against the wall of a building just down from our hotel, bend to inhale the honeyed rose of her skin and hiss, “What are you doing to me?”

“Hmm?” She stretched, catlike in my arms.

“Where is the order in my brain? Where is my sense that I need to tread carefully with you?”

“You
don’t
.”

“You’re muddling my every thought. We were doing so well taking our time.”

Her hands slid up around my neck, pulling me into a kiss so intimate I felt something turn over in my chest. The soft slide of her mouth shattered me, the way she offered up her lips and tongue so earnestly, her quiet whimper when she felt me licking her bottom lip, sucking it between my teeth.

“We’re still doing so well. I won’t make love to you until it
is
love for you,” she said.

No, not said—
reassured
. She was telling me that she knew she’d stolen my mind, possibly my heart, and would treat both things with care.

Somehow this promise that we wouldn’t make love until I was sure only heightened my delirium. I drew away, pulling her down the street.

Two seconds inside the hotel room and I’d jerked her coat off, thrown mine across the room, and had her flat on her back just inside the door. Her trainers landed somewhere near the bed; her jeans were roughly tugged down her legs and tossed aside.

I’d never known a hunger like this; my skin was tight and practically vibrating. Ruby stared up at me, washed only in the streetlight coming in the window, her eyes wide with thrill. Her expression of anticipation and the rigid ache of my cock pressed equally in my thoughts. Somewhere far in the back of my mind I knew I needed to temper myself but in the moment, with my heart drumming so hard I could hear it in my ears, I couldn’t be fucking bothered to slow down.

“What are you—” she began before I shoved my own jeans to my knees and fell heavily over her, my boxers and her knickers the only thing keeping me from taking her for the first time on the floor.

Between her legs, my cock pressed against where I could enter her through the thin material, and I felt how slick she was beneath the satin. Groaning, I thrust my hips against her again and again, hurried and desperate, shoving her top and her bra up over her breasts to grip her, plump her in my hand.

I could imagine how it would be—
how it will be
—her legs around my waist and her eager hips pressing up and around, up and around, meeting every single one of my greedy thrusts. Ruby’s hands gripped my backside, urging me faster, crying out.

I held my weight from her, perched on my elbows but kissed her madly, too frenzied; my teeth slid over her skin, mouth sucking at her tongue, her lips, her neck. She
didn’t seem to mind my recklessness—it seemed to thrill her, rather—and her sounds and lips and grabbing hands made me feel bloody
savage
.

I was close so soon—
too
soon—but I could take my time with her after. I needed relief from the wildness that built in me being so near her, tasting her, feeling her under me. Aching relief gathered in my back, shooting electrically down and building until, with a deep rock of my hips forward, I came, shouting into the dark room.

Ruby gasped, hands in my hair as I immediately pulled away, jerking the satin down her legs and off, bending to press my mouth to the sweetest slickness, burying my tongue between her legs.

Oh, the relief of it, of taking her, of tasting her this way.

Her cry came out choked, her hips left the floor and somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I needed to be gentle and loving but as I spread her open with my fingers, sucked her and fucked her with my tongue, she only grew more frantic.

“Niall—” My name disintegrated into a gasping, breathless cry. She tugged at my hair, pulling my mouth from her. “Put me on the bed,” she managed. “Let me watch you.”

I stood, kicking out of my pants and pulling my shirt over my head before lifting her, carrying her to the mattress and helping her out of the tangle of her rumpled top. My body had slowed enough that I could stop and gaze down at her, kissing her neck until she pulled me up to her face.

“I love this,” she whispered between kisses, repeating my words to her the other night, our first intimate night in her hotel room. “Love to taste myself on your tongue.”

I felt her goose bumps beneath my palms and closed my eyes, let myself enjoy the sweet sucking kisses she gave me, the way she took my hand and led it down her body and between her legs.

Pulling my lips away, I moved to her neck, her chest, giving attention to her breasts and stomach, before settling between her legs, kissing her hip.

She ran her fingers into my hair, studying my face as I let my eyes move up and down her naked body.

“You’re so quiet all of a sudden,” she whispered.

I spread her with my fingers, and relished the feel of the pad of my thumb, wet from her, tripping back and forth over her clit. “I’m concentrating.”

And why would I want to speak over the sweet, rasping sound of her breath catching, of the sheets pulled tight in her fists?

I made pressing, steady circles and her hips rose slightly up from the mattress, rocking.

“I . . .” she started, words falling away in a strangled gasp.

“Shhhh . . .” I bent, pressing my mouth over my thumb, licking and stroking her in tandem. I’d stopped letting myself fantasize about oral sex—giving or receiving—as it was never something Portia wanted to do after our first few years together. She wanted missionary sex, music in
the background so our noises weren’t so obvious, eyes closed, lights off.

But I loved the taste of a woman, loved the way this act felt at once sweet and devious. Kissing a woman here always seemed like the pinnacle of fevered sensuality: a man wanting to taste the source of his pleasure. And here, on the bed, Ruby pushed herself onto her elbows to watch me with wide eyes, her lashes so thick and dark and seeming to draw her lids down under the weight.

As I swirled my thumb and circled my tongue, her chest rose and fell under sharp breaths, her mouth opened slightly, her tongue sliding back and forth over her bottom lip.

“Do you like doing this to me?” she asked, voice barely audible.

“I don’t think
like
is the word I would use,” I told her, kissing her, teasing. “I don’t think anything in the world would give me more pleasure right now.”

Her breathing slowed, hips pressed up and froze when I pulled my mouth away.
So close
.

“
Niall
. Please.”

“Please what, darling?” I nibbled her hip, the delicate skin beside my hand, slowing the movements of my thumb.

“Put your mouth back . . .
there
.”

I fought my smile. “Where, exactly?”

Her eyes met mine, softening. “You know where.”

“Your cunt, darling?” I whispered.

She squirmed under me.
“I need it.”

“You still only
want
it,” I told her, relishing this return to our game when I could actually touch her, taste her, and make good on my promise to let her come against my kiss.

I saw her lip shake before she trapped it between her teeth, her eyes pleading with me.

It was so easy to bring her here, to this point. Nothing made it sink in more fully that she’d fantasized about this hundreds of times than the way her body fell so easily into pleasure under my touch.

“Tell me,” I whispered, bending to exhale over her clit.

She squeezed her eyes shut, reached out to wrap her fingers around my wrist, urging and needful. She was so wet; she shook against my hand, her body clenched so tight, breath trapped in her throat.

I was delirious for her pleasure, lost in the sight of her mouth parted, her pulse ticking wildly in her throat, the taste of her still on my lips. “Tell me, dove.”

Bending, I slid my tongue over her, again and again, and again.

Her thighs shook beside my head. “I’m so close.”

“No,
tell
me,” I repeated into her skin, pulling away again.

She seemed to have to force her eyes to open, and they looked down at me, confused. “Please, I—”

“I have all of these idle fingers,” I observed, giving her a tiny smile. “That seems incredibly wasteful. Tell me . . . is there something I should do with them?”

She groaned when I bent and licked her in earnest, her
entire body shaking, and I could feel the way my question sent her tumbling over the edge.

I’d simply wanted her to know what was coming, and without hesitation, I pressed my fingers together and into her, deep—hard—as I sucked her into my mouth and nearly lost my mind when she screamed, back arching sharply from the bed and she came violently, legs closing against my shoulders, thighs trembling beside me.

I carried her into the bathroom, her legs wrapped around my waist and lips on my neck, kissing, scratchy voice quietly confessing she’d never felt anything like what I’d given her just now.

I hadn’t, either.

Ruby shook in my arms, weak and overwhelmed, and I carefully lowered her into the shower, shielding her body from the pounding spray as I followed after her and lathered every inch of her skin. She braced her hands on my waist, watching me silently, with eyes full of an emotion I was suddenly terrified she would name aloud. Ruby’s eyes hid nothing: I knew, without a doubt, that she was in love with me, and that it wasn’t just the pleasure of my mouth just now, or the idea of my stoic reserve melting under her charm, but honestly in love. With me.

And if it were that simple, I would be making love to her right now, for I knew my feelings had quickly
crossed over from initial attraction to a far deeper emotion. Love, maybe. But having stayed with Portia for so long under the pretense of what I sincerely believed was love, how could I trust my own definition? I was dedicated to her, yes. Loyal to a fault. But love? I wasn’t so sure anymore.

A memory burst through me, from the evening of my wedding, while we danced in front of every guest, and when I felt oddly effervescent, brightly hopeful.

“Why is it so alluring you’re wearing white? It’s like a secret.” I’d bent, kissed Portia’s neck. “
Our
secret.”

“What do you mean?” she’d asked, and if I were a smarter man then, I might have caught the edge in her voice, the look I would come to know so well that suggested I tread carefully.

But I was not a smarter man. “I’ve already had you, love,” I said. “I’ll have you again and again tonight.”