“Fuck,” I moan as my tongue tastes the past on her neck. It tastes like honeysuckle.
She reaches up, snaking her fingers through my hair, giving urgent little moans as I suck at her throat. Those noises spur me on, and I’m so consumed by my need that I’m nearly frozen in place.
I take in a long, deep breath, trying to remember why I came here. It wasn’t to get inside her. It was to tell her how I feel. How I’ve always felt.
But perhaps she’s right.
All those words we left unspoken left us so brittle. I feel like sex is the bandage putting us back together.
So I kiss her. I touch her. I whisper soft words of want.
Her hands work at me, desperate and quick as they remove my shirt, my jeans, my boxer briefs until I’m pulling off my socks, naked in front of her.
She stares up at me, her eyes glowing, mouth parting with desire, and I can hardly believe that this is happening. This is my Ruby. She’s the same and she’s not the same. I’m the same and not the same.
I push her back on the bed, crawl over her.
The sweet heat of her tongue slides against mine.
My cock slips in between her legs, one easy thrust and I’m pushing inside her.
It’s never been like this, never been so comfortable, like we’ve both spent years looking forward to this moment, like we knew it would happen again.
I groan against her neck, the slick purchase of her body clinging to me, making my eyes roll back in my head. My own body gets hotter, tighter, the pressure of a thousand tangled knots building at the base of my spine.
I love this woman.
More than words can fucking say.
But I have to try and say the words.
“Ruby,” I whisper to her as I start thrusting harder, deeper, like I’m trying to bind myself to her, like I’m sliding into her darkest parts, not to shine light on them, but to meld with them. Joining her in the shadows.
“Shhh,” she says to me, scraping her nails down my back, shivers culminating along my spine. “Just be with me. Please be with me.”
My breath hitches as her words hit deep, and I start pumping into her with the same kind of intensity. I revel in the feeling of our bodies coming together again in pure precision, our sweat, our gasps, our moans, filling the air.
Soon she’s coming. She lets out a sharp cry and I stare down at her, at the beauty of her surrender, at how much time changes us and yet also lets us be. This is my Ruby, still, different and the same, and a hundred contradictions, just as she always was. This is my love, coming hard around my cock, staring up into my eyes with tears in hers.
“I love you,” she says through a gasp.
I feel like she punched a hole right into my heart, filling it with fireworks.
“I love you,” she says again, her eyes rolling back in her head as I keep working at her.
I let go.
Tumbling in the freefall.
I come so hard I think I might have a heart attack, because everything seizes for a moment and then it’s like I’m hit from behind. I let out a raspy groan as I pour inside of her, her own body squeezing and milking me for every last drop.
Years and years and years rush through me, feelings and emotions from every hidden crevice all coming to the surface. The heat of tears builds behind my eyes and I have to keep breathing in and out, strong and deep, in order to keep them at bay.
But the tears have found her. They’ve found my Ruby girl.
They trickle from the corners of her gorgeous blue eyes.
I lean in, placing my lips on her cheeks, kissing them away.
“Amo-te,” I tell her, my heart growing as I say those words. Finally. “I love you.”
There’s nothing else to say in this moment.
I stay inside her as long as I can, holding her close, so close, until I finally fall asleep in her arms.
Twenty-Two
Ruby
“Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby,” Luciano sings the Kaiser Chiefs softly in my ear. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”
I laugh, snuggling up into his chest. “I’ve definitely heard that song before. Do you know how many songs there are about a girl named Ruby? Like, a million.”
“If I had any talent, I’d write a song about you too,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
“It wouldn’t be fair if you were a god between the sheets, on the pitch, and with a guitar.”
“Actually,” he says. “When I was a teenager, I had aspirations of quitting soccer and joining a ska band.”
I giggle, resting my chin on his pecs, staring up at him. “Wouldn’t that have been something? To think how many lives we all might have had depending on the choices we made.”
“As long as you’re in all of them,” he tells me. He gives me a soft smile, the kind I feel in the marrow of my bones, his eyes glowing with affection as he stares at me. He reaches out, stroking a finger down the side of my cheek.
I still can’t believe this is happening. That, after all this time, he’s still here, still mine. I feel like I’m tempting fate too much, like no one deserves to be this happy, and that something awful is about to happen to tear this all apart. It’s like I’m too scared to enjoy it in case it gets taken away again, and yet I’m reveling in him, reveling in us.
This man loves me.
Still.
After all this time.
And I love this man.
Still.
With every bone in my body.
And I want to hold onto him, tight, with everything I’ve got, in case he slips away, smoke through my fingers.
But I also know what lies ahead of us.
This isn’t going to be easy.
Then again, it never has been.
It’s been a few
