Beautiful Secret

  Her hips lifted from the bed, fingers obediently moving to her thighs.

  My heart hammered against my sternum. I wanted so much to join her in this game. “Your breasts are perfect.”

  She moaned, closing her eyes.

  “I always keep one hand on your breast while I kiss you here.”

  “You do,” she agreed, sliding a hand up her torso, cupping her breast in her palm. “I love that. But your teasing makes me crazy. Please let me feel you.”

  “Just a glancing kiss, my darling.”

  With a relieved moan, Ruby grazed her fingers over her clitoris again, crying out.

  “Let me slide my tongue into you.”

  Her eyes flew open and she watched my face as she eased her finger inside. I watched it disappear, in and out of her, before looking up at her face. She seemed almost on the verge of tears.

  I was lost in the game, drugged by the sight of her. I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t anyone I knew. She made me this way. “Do I love your taste?”

  With apparent effort, she said, “You know you do.”

  “It makes me wild, doesn’t it? Makes me . . .”

  “Hard,” she finished for me.

  I laughed, stepping so my knees touched the mattress, only a foot away from her. Bending, I placed a hand beside each of her hips, careful not to touch her. “I’m already painfully hard, darling. I was going to say it makes me possessive. Makes me want to fight any other man who’s ever tasted you.”

  She let out a softly ragged breath. “You’re hard?”

  “Well, look for yourself.”

  Her eyes dropped to the zipper of my trousers, seeing the ridge pressing there.

  “Let me see,” she said, licking her lips.

  I shook my head but ran my hand over the front of my zipper, letting her see the shape of me.

  Christ. What is happening? What am I doing?

  “Not tonight,” I whispered.

  She started to sit up, mortification slowly cooling her expression.

  “Because I wouldn’t be able to stop,” I assured her quickly. “I’m barely hanging on, Ruby, please don’t stop what you’re doing.”

  “Is this okay?” she asked. Her cheeks pinked, sobering.

  I nodded, not wanting her to break this moment. “It’s more than okay. It’s a bloody dream.”

  “I want to touch you,” she said, barely audibly.

  “You can’t.”

  Her eyes moved to my face. “Ever?”

  “Shh,” I murmured, leaning back over her. “I’m kissing you between your legs; how can you think of anything else right now?”

  With her eyes glued to mine, she began to stroke herself again, slowly, as if waiting for me to tell her exactly what to do.

  “That’s it. Let me suck on you, yes . . . just there. I want to hear you come.”

  Ruby arched off the bed, her fingers sliding in tiny, tight circles. “I . . . I . . .”

  “So soon?” I whispered, fighting every urge I had to bend and suck at the skin at the hollow of her throat that was only beginning to glisten with sweat.

  “I’m insane for you,” she choked.

  “You feel so good on my tongue,” I murmured. “My senses are full of you.”

  The sight of her was unreal; easily the most erotic vision of my life. Her thighs were soft and toned, spread before me. I would only need to bend down and put my mouth on her to make this game a reality. I pressed my palm against my trousers, and moaned.

  Her eyes flew open as she came, lips parted, voice tight and desperate.

  I knew in that heartbeat I would never get the sound of her orgasm out of my head, the little gasping noises, the sharp cry.

  Her entire chest flushed, nipples tight as she lazily touched herself, smiling up at me. I was envious of her fingers, sliding around such luxuriant slickness.

  “Let me touch you?” she whispered. “Please.”

  “You are touching me,” I told her, leaning back over her again. “Your hand is stroking me.”

  A teasing smile played at her lips. “My hand? That seems a pretty sad gesture of reciprocation.”

  “Well.” I shrugged. “It so happens your mouth is greedy for mine at the moment.”

  Understanding bloomed in her eyes. “Oh.”

  “You love to taste yourself on my tongue.”

  Her eyes flamed, lips parting in a sharp burst of air. “I do.”

  “I love to indulge you,” I told her, and she nodded. “Besides, you love the weight of me in your hands.”

  Ruby’s throat moved with the frenzy of her pulse. “I do,” she said, breathless and wild. “And I could kiss your demanding mouth for days.”

  “You do sometimes.”

  “God, why aren’t you inside me?”

  I smiled at the sound of her sweet, gentle whine. “Because we haven’t made love yet.”

  Her eyes went wide at this sudden reveal in our strange, surreal little game. “We haven’t?”

  I shook my head. “We’re waiting.”

  She laughed, and the sound was so sweet I nearly bent to taste the echo of it on her lips. “We do everything else?”

  I nodded. “Nearly.”

  Her eyes were still so wide, so genuinely hungry when she asked, “What are we waiting for?”

  “To be sure.”

  And finally, I reached my thumb out, sliding it back and forth over the skin of her bare hip.

  “Sure about me?” she whispered.

  I stared at her sweet, full lips, the tiny anxious furrow to her brow before telling her, “Sure about me. Sure about all of it before I can’t turn back anymore. I don’t take any of this lightly.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “I can wait.”

  Truth had settled in. And how odd, too, that it happened after the most erotic vision of my life. I felt unsteady, as if the past twenty minutes had been a dream.

  It could have been awkward; we were coworkers and only last week she’d been a stranger to me. Now she was completely naked and had just masturbated while I spoke to her. It could have been the most terrifying moment of my life. But with the alcohol in our blood, and satisfaction loosening her body, it wasn’t.

  I grew brave enough to slide my palm over her hip, cupping it.

  She reached down, covered my hand with hers. “How do we sleep together after we’ve done this?”

  “With me curled around behind you,” I said and then swallowed thickly. “You fit into me perfectly.”

  “But you never wake me for sex.”

  “I wake you to touch you again, because I’m insatiable for you, but not yet for that.” Did she understand? Or did it make me odd that, in this day and age, the idea of sex changed things? Meant something?

  She closed her eyes, moving her hands to rest over her pounding heart. “Do you know how much I want to feel you?”

  “I do know,” I told her quietly.

  “I hope you kiss me someday.”

  I swallowed, reality pressing back in. “So do I.”

  “Do you always kiss me good night when you leave?” she asked, returning to our game. Her eyes, so wide and vulnerable, warned me to be careful. They told me, maybe, that even Ruby herself didn’t know how careful I needed to be with her heart.

  “Always.” But I wouldn’t tonight. I couldn’t, at least not on her mouth. Instead, I bent and pressed a single kiss to the skin just beside my hand, over the soft skin of her navel. Her hands ran briefly through my hair, sending a renewed pulse of heat through me.

  As I stood, Ruby sat up. Watching as I grabbed my coat, she didn’t bother to reach for her clothes.

  “Is it going to be weird tomorrow?” she asked quietly, eyes sobering. “Have I ruined this already?”

  It was all I could do to not go to her, kiss her senseless in reassurance. I didn’t know what I needed in order to be able to take this final step.

  “To the contrary.”

  She smiled a little, but I suspected she wanted what I wanted, whic
h was for me to stay the night with her. Even not touching, it was better to be near her than anywhere else.

  “Good night, Ruby, darling.”

  “Good night, Mr. Stella.”

  Her name was a constant, looping mantra in my thoughts, but not once had I heard her call me Niall.

  Seven

  Ruby

  I opened my eyes to the sun beaming in the window, the phone ringing with my wake-up call, and an immediate dousing of cold, hard Holy Hell what have I done?

  You know, just an average morning after I drunkenly masturbated in front of Niall Stella.

  I rolled face-first into my pillow and groaned.

  As the details returned—and oh, they did—I wasn’t embarrassed exactly. I remembered the he-said-she-said. I remembered how hard he’d been, how breathless. I remembered how he stared so intently at my hand between my legs, completely unashamed to simply look. Seeing him there, hungry in that way, completely open in his desire . . . I’d been a woman possessed.

  My fear was that, after a few hours alone to contemplate what we’d done, he would be mortified. If the suggestion of a kiss in the office yesterday turned him stiff and silent, what happened last night might make him crawl back into his shell and never emerge again.

  How often had I fantasized about something happening between us? Countless times. And in every fantasy, I was brave enough to tell him what I wanted, and it unleashed something in him to know that I could be a safe place for him.

  That I understood his reserve and would let him shed it when he needed to.

  Then last night—suddenly—he was right there. And for once I wasn’t mute, I wasn’t a babbling mess.

  He’d looked so gorgeous, eyelids heavy and cheeks warm with alcohol, the uptight and buttoned-up persona barely hanging by a thread. He’d worried he was being presumptuous, or that he was somehow taking advantage of me, but he was wrong.

  I’d wanted to see that final thread unravel. See him unravel. I’d wanted it so much I could hardly breathe. My skin felt like it was on fire, so sensitive I might turn to ash with just a touch. He may have thought keeping his distance had been for his benefit, that we’d been drinking and he wanted to be in full control of his senses when we did more, but somehow, it had been exactly what I’d needed.

  I bet he thought intimacy happened in ordered stages: admiring, flirting, consensus about feelings—but not too much discussion—permission to touch, kissing, hands up shirts, hands down pants, the I Love You, and then, finally, sex. I wondered if, in his mind, what we’d done—or hadn’t done—last night still allowed him a certain amount of emotional distance.

  How could he not know that it had been more intimate than any sex I’d ever had?

  How could I show him?

  I knew I needed to get up and get going, but I wasn’t ready yet. My stomach was in knots and my muscles hummed with a tangle of nervous energy too big for my skin. I missed my friends and having someone to talk to. I missed shuffling out into the living room on Sunday morning and having coffee with the girls, huddled over steaming cups while we talked about our lives and work and school and men.

  Tucking the blankets around me, I rolled over and reached for my phone. I was three hours ahead of California, but I reasoned that this was still far preferable to the UK time difference, where I was getting up just as everyone else was going to bed. I’d stayed up late countless nights so I could listen to London or Lola unload; it was their turn to do it for me. I needed to talk to someone.

  Without another thought, I sent a group text. Most of Lola’s late nights were spent working, so there was little chance of her answering. She was the sensible one, the driven-to-succeed-since-she-was-tiny one, and probably would have her phone set on do not disturb hours ago. Mia and Ansel rarely answered the phone after the sun went down, and Harlow, more often than not, was up on Vancouver Island newlywedding it up with Finn.

  London, my best friend, was my best bet.

  Anyone awake? I need help :(

  My phone buzzed almost immediately.

  You have a phone so you MUST know what time it is, came London’s reply.

  I know and I’m so sorry. But . . . something happened. I held my breath as I hit SEND.

  Something or ~something~?

  I’m not sure which something I’m supposed to use??

  The phone vibrated with a call just a few seconds later, and I answered before the first ring had even finished.

  “I assume this is somehow referring to Niall Stella.”

  I groaned. “Of course.”

  “So when I say something,” London began, sounding tired and groggy. She worked as a bartender, and I wondered what time she’d actually got off this morning. She cleared her throat and if I hadn’t been so thankful to hear her voice right then, I might have felt the tiniest bit guilty for waking her up. “What I mean is, something like you had coffee together? Or something like he’s seen your vagina?”

  I rolled onto my back, blinking up at the ceiling. “Uhhh,” I started. That was disturbingly close to the mark. Could she hear it in my voice? Was there something in the way I sounded that screamed, I bared my entire body to him last night, but yeah, he mostly stared at my vagina.

  “Oh my God, you little shit. You had sex with him?”

  I brought my hand to my forehead. “Not exactly,” I answered truthfully.

  “Not exactly? Ruby, honey. You know that I love you, but I’ve been up late every night this week with work. I need some sleep, not a brain teaser.”

  “Okay,” I started, trying to work out how exactly to explain what had happened. “Imagine having phone sex, but in person.”

  I could hear rustling in the background, the sound of London getting comfortable, or smothering herself with her own pillow. Honestly, it could be either. “You went from ‘he doesn’t know I’m alive’ to masturbating in front of each other in less than a week?”

  “Well . . . if we’re going to get technical, it was just me doing the masturbating,” I told her, imagining the face she must be making. “Also, I don’t ever want you to say ‘masturbating’ again, starting now.”

  The rustling stopped. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Ruby Miller, are you telling me you put on a little show for your dream boy?”

  “I guess? I mean, obviously?”

  “You’ve been talking about him for the last, what? Five months? I assume you’re thrilled with all of this masturbation.”

  “London, you just broke the oath.”

  “I said ‘masturbation,’ a different word. And why are you calling me at four thirty in the morning? Are you requesting a long-distance high-five or someone to hear you melt down in mortification?”

  “Maybe both?” I groaned. I didn’t even know how I felt; how could I possibly expect someone else to help me? “I don’t regret it, but I’m not sure where we stand right now. We’re not together, we’re colleagues. I’m actually not even sure we’re friends. Plus, he was drunk and I was mostly drunk and this morning I can almost hear him freaking out across the wall.”

  “Freaking out as in he’s regretting it?” she asked, and I thought I could hear her sit up.

  “I don’t know.” I chewed on my lip, considering. “I hope not.”

  “But he’s into you, too?”

  “Yeah, I mean. Yeah. As much as he can be this quickly? He went through sort of a bad divorce and it’s left him a little—”

  “Ruby, I know this must have been your way of putting yourself out there, but what did you expect would happen?”

  “Um . . .” I started, because to be truthful, I wasn’t really thinking at all in that moment.

  I sighed. Was I thinking that he would realize he’d loved me all along and sweep me off my feet? That he’d admit to looking for me all his life and there I was, willing to get myself off in front of him the entire time? Um, probably not.

  “I’m not sure really,” I said instead. “Maybe that it would be the first step.”

  London yawned an
d I heard the sound of blankets being rearranged, as she settled herself back in bed. “That’s a hell of a first step, but make it work. Go into the office today, face him like the kind of woman who masturbates—sorry, sorry—in front of the love of her life and doesn’t regret a thing. You know I don’t have a ton of faith in the male population, but if he’s half the man you’ve described—because really, why else would you fall for him?—he’ll be smart enough to catch on. Go get him, Gem.”

  Making last night the first step proved to be a bit more complicated than I’d hoped. It seemed Niall Stella was going to go out of his way to keep things exceedingly, frustratingly normal between us. He’d gone in early, and was packing up his laptop for a meeting when I arrived, head down and phone pressed to his ear. He acknowledged me with a small nod, a smile, and then he stepped out past me, into the hall for privacy.

  In the handful of seconds it took me to walk around his chair and reach my own, I came up with at least twelve different ways to translate his small smile and semi-avoidance, each more insane than the last.

  It was one thing to dissect everything he said in a meeting or to a colleague when there was zero chance it had anything to do with me, but this? There was no way he wasn’t also thinking about what we did last night. Everything had a meaning today.

  I heard him talking, still just outside our office door. Was he waiting for me? He’d looked like he was packing up to leave; was he coming back in first?

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” he said into the receiver, his posh accent the only thing keeping his words from sounding clipped or flat-out annoyed. “The timeline we were given for estimated completion was a full six months before the date you’re giving me today. The alternative is unacceptable.”

  My ears perked at this; I’d never seen or heard him sound angry before.

  He was silent while he listened to the person on the other end of the line, and I had the strangest sense of his eyes on me. I unwrapped my scarf, slipped out of my coat, and hung it on the hook behind the door. His attention pressed on my skin and I shook my head, careful to let my hair fall forward and hide the warmth I could feel blooming in my cheeks.

  “Tony, I’m not leading the Diamond Square project to be a yes man, I’m leading it because I know what the bloody hell I’m talking about. Tell them that, or better yet, let me. I won’t have any problem setting them straight,” he said, followed by the distinct sound of his exasperated sigh.