Page 92 of Show Me

Her cheeks color faintly. “No.”

“There’s something here.” I leave it at that. No label. No definition. Her eyes stay on mine. Waiting. I shift back, resting my arms against my knees again. “If we leave it alone, it stays simple. If we don’t….” I don’t finish that either.

“What’re you suggesting?”

“We don’t pretend it’s more than it is. We don’t ignore it either.” The words sit there between us. Less clean than they were in my head.

I hold her gaze as my heart skips a beat. There’s no way to pretend I don’t want her. I do. The thought of Ruby’s lush curves has the blood rushing to my cock.

Now that I’ve touched her, there’s no shutting that door. I want more. But only if she understands and agrees that it’s temporary. Pain flicks in my chest. I fist my hand and rub over the spot.

Her expression doesn’t change right away. She’s thinking, weighing it. Not just the idea but what it costs.

I wait. Not moving and not filling the space. If she says no, that’s it. If she doesn’t…. I don’t look away. I can’t decide if this is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made, or the only decision that I’ve ever made that makes sense.

Chapter Forty-Five

Ruby

“Something casual.” I roll them over once, then again, like they might change shape if I give them enough time. They don't. Across from me, Xavier doesn't move. He watches, steady, waiting me out without pushing.

No pressure. No promises.

My fingers tighten together in my lap, then loosen. I think about the way he stood in my kitchen after someone started stalking me. The way he checks the locks without making a show of it. The way he feeds my pigs as it matters. The way he leaves before I wake. Like he doesn’t trust himself to stay.

But that’s not what he wants. That’s not who he is. I can’t forget that. He’s offering something casual. And nothing more. That has to be what I agree with. Can I handle that?

A breath catches low in my chest. This isn’t something happening to me. This is a choice. A choice that feels right after the notes, the flowers, the poem, the break-in, everything. This feels like taking control of my life back.

It’s not like his presence hasn’t already messed with my head. It has. I want more, but I’m not going to get it. Is this enough?

I glance up at the ceiling, watching the dust dance in the ceiling light. I never do anything for myself. Take pleasure. Enjoy the moment. And kissing Xavier was the most enjoyable thing I’ve ever done. I can’t begin to imagine how everything else would feel.

That’s it. There's no other choice to make. I’m choosing me. “Okay.”

His shoulders tighten. “Okay?”

“No expectations.” My voice steadies as I say it. “No pressure.”

His jaw flexes. “You’re sure?”

“I’m not asking you to stay.” The words come out before I can soften them. Something flickers across his face, gone too fast to read.

“Okay,” he says again.

The space between us doesn’t feel the same after that. Not lighter. Just… different. Neither of us moves at first. Then his hand lifts, slow, like he’s giving me time to stop him, and settles against my cheek. Calloused. Warm. Strong.

I lean into it without thinking. I’m not stopping him. This is what I want. His thumb brushes once along my skin. That’s all it takes. I close the distance.

The kiss isn’t careful this time. Not hesitant.

My fingers catch in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he lets me. His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, holding me there as the kiss deepens. His thumb keeps moving, small circles against my pulse point, and I feel the touch everywhere-behind my knees, between my ribs, low and gathering between my legs.

Heat spreads fast, but not the vague warmth I’d expected. It’s specific. A tightening that makes me press my thighs together, then open them again, restless. I want friction. I want his weight. I want things I don’t have words for because I’ve never let myself want them this clearly.

His other arm comes around my back, pulling me fully against him until my knees rest on either side of his thighs. Solid. Steady. Real. I press closer without thinking, one hand sliding up his chest, feeling the shift of muscle under my palm. The fast and erratic beating of his heart.

He exhales against my mouth, the sound low, rough, and it pulls something tight in my chest. My name slips out of him, low, almost lost. I don’t answer. I kiss him again. Harder this time, pressing my lower body into him, and I feel him-thick, hard, straining against his jeans. The knowledge of it makes me dizzy. I rock against him once, experimentally, and his whole body goes still.