“My naughty little Ruby.” His low, hot voice breathed into her ear, making her shiver. “But it’s an act. You’ve wanted to give yourself to me from the second we met.”
She stilled. “For some reason, around you…”
“What? Tell me what I do to you, Ruby.”
“You don’t understand; I’m normally not like this. I’m normally very responsible.”
“You think we’re being irresponsible?”
“Yes.”
She inhaled sharply when he slid his hand out of her pussy. He replaced her panties over her damp sex and then, arranging her dress over her thighs, he gently straightened the silky fabric. Then he grinned. “You’re so sexy when you fight your desire for me. It’ll be that much more fun when you’re screaming for me to spank you harder.”
She was about to argue, but he touched her lips gently, silencing her. With the hand that had been inside her he traced her lips with his fingertips. The scent of herself on his skin made her squeeze her thighs together, hoping the pressure would help ease the throbbing ache between her legs.
It didn’t.
She closed her eyes as he pushed one finger into her mouth. Then two fingers. She tasted her own, acidic essence on his skin. She sucked him deeper, tasting and licking, hoping to tease him a little as he’d done to her. But it wasn’t working; she was only getting hotter, wetter. Weighed down with wanting him.
He withdrew his hand, leaving her empty and filled with need. It took her a minute to focus after she opened her eyes. She could smell him, their scents mingled. She inhaled deeply, wanting to cement his unique, spicy scent into her nostrils. Knowing these memories would make her recollection of this night all the more real after he left.
He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed the back of her wrist. She wanted more, wanted him to take her finger into his mouth and lick her, suck her like she’d done to him. But instead he dropped their hands onto his lap and held them there for the rest of the ride home.
Her heart hammered the entire time. The tension in the limo was heavy, and the scent of sex and leather was making her breathless.
Finally they came to a stop. They got out of the limo, and she led the way to her Victorian apartment building. Her hand trembled as she unlocked the front door, and her legs trembled as they made their way up the marble steps to her apartment. Once inside, she placed her purse on the hall table and walked to the living room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she crossed the room, the sound echoing in her ears.
She turned to face him. “Can I get you something? A drink? Coffee?”
“I’m good.” He took in her place, inspecting her one-bedroom, second-floor flat. She followed his gaze to the huge bay window, beyond which the lights of the city sparkled. Even though tonight the fog muffled the view, San Francisco twinkled in colorful, blurry lights. It was this scene that had sold her on the tiny place nearly five years ago.
But the outlook didn’t interest him as much as her music collection. Soon he was flipping through a crate of records she kept next to her ancient record player. “You really do like jazz.”
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “They were my dad’s.”
He looked up. “You close with your folks?”
“Not really. My dad left when I was sixteen. When Mom tracked him down, she left to be with him. Now, I get the occasional e-mail or postcard. I think they’re in Thailand at the moment.”
He blinked at her but didn’t press her for information, which she appreciated. Instead he slipped a record out of a sleeve and gently placed it on the turntable.
Ruby loved the first few scratchy seconds right after the needle dropped onto vinyl. Silently they listened to the static, and then the soft piano of a Thelonious Monk tune drifted through the speakers.
Mark stood, and she followed his gaze to the black-and-white picture hanging over the fireplace. It was a photograph of a woman’s back. Rope came down from her neck, winding around her shoulders and across her arms, multiple times, ending with one knot that held her wrists tightly at the base of her spine.
Mark glanced at her. “You?”
She nodded. Her walls were filled with the black-and-white photographs she’d taken during her college years at RIT. But there was one that wasn’t hers, the only photograph she’d kept from her time with Ash. Of course, Mark had honed right in on it.
It didn’t show her face or even her tattoo. But he knew it was her. He already knew her that well. Even her own sister had never made the connection, which was why she’d kept the photograph on her wall.
“Gorgeous,” he said.