Through Fire (Portland, ME #3) (22 page)

“I’m claiming you, beautiful,” I declare to her, right before I press the crown of my cock between her lips and in one smooth stroke, slide it home into her body.

Ruby’s body arches off the bed, her head thrown back in full abandon. I’ve not seen a more glorious sight. Wild, dark brown curls fanned out over the pillow, a high flush staining her cheeks, and her mouth open, releasing a moan that seems to travel up from her toes.

I take my time, showing her the intimacy of a caring touch, a tender smile, the sweetness of a slow release.

Teaching her how to make love.

R
uby

“So I’m guessing things have been good?”

Pam’s voice sounds amused as she regards me from behind her coffee mug. I’ve just finished updating her since the last time I’ve seen her. I haven’t gone into details, but I guess the fact the last few days have been the best I’ve ever known shows through.

When I woke up that first morning, the throbbing pain in my arm was an instant reminder of what occurred the day before. The sound of  the shower from the bathroom explained the cold empty spot in the bed beside me. Tim is obviously an early riser, since the alarm on the nightstand showed barely seven o’clock. He’s also thoughtful, since there was a steaming cup of what smelled like coffee, a glass of water, and a bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand. I’d refused the hardcore painkillers they offered at the hospital, only too aware of the dangers of addiction. Been there, done that, and not about to tempt the devil. Over the counter would have to do. I popped two of the pills and swallowed them down with a swig of water when I heard the shower turn off. A minute later, a very naked Tim came walking into the bedroom, rubbing at his hair with a towel. I was immediately aware of my own nudity under the sheets as I watched him stalk toward the bed, his memorable package swaying with each step. His rumbled, “Mornin’,” was underlined with a shit-eating grin on his face when he bent down to kiss me.

That day he went out for a bit, running some errands, and insisted I stay home. I spent my time watching some TV, something I haven’t had a chance to do often. He found me a couple of hours later, totally immersed in a movie called
The Blind Side
and crying. Again. It didn’t help that he walked in with a few large bags, containing all of my earthly belongings, which isn’t saying much, but still. He’d apparently swung by my apartment with the key he absconded from my purse, and collected all my clothes and toiletries. The kindness of his gesture was a bit too much, on top of the already fragile emotional path the damn movie put me on. He dropped the bags, sat down on the couch beside me, and chuckled as he pressed my face into his shirt. Not that I minded, he smelled good enough to eat. One thing lead to another, but...we didn’t get any further than some pretty intense kissing and petting. When I’d asked Tim why he stopped, he said he wanted to be sure I understood it wasn’t all about sex for him. It’s difficult for me to see my own value beyond what I have between my legs, but Tim sure has ways of getting his point across. My father was a kind man from what I recall, but he was also a man who was used to having his will catered to. One who believed in more traditional roles for the sexes. The men I’ve encountered, since starting at The Skipper, have been strong-willed, but at the same time they seem to treat the women they are with as equals. They respect them. Much like Tim seems to respect me.

I can’t stop the smile from stretching my mouth.

“No need to answer that. The answer’s plain on your face,” Pam points out, breaking through my thoughts. “So have you guys talked? I mean, you did drop kind of a bomb.” She shakes her head and her amusement is replaced with concern. “Heard anything from the brother? Mark?”

“We talked a little, but not much,” I share shyly. Most of the past couple of days were spent in a total bubble, ignoring anything and everything outside the two of us. It wasn’t hard to shut the world out, when I stayed inside Tim’s house, even when he left for short errands. I was grateful not to have to go out in the now bitterly cold weather and was quite comfortable curled up on the couch, catching up on years of missed movies, while Tim sat at the table, working on his designs. So very domestic, and...normal. I’m not used to normal but I’m loving it. “Mark called last night, and he’s going to be by this afternoon, after Tim picks me up.”

Tim dropped me off at the shelter earlier. He’d received a call early this morning for some piece of equipment he’d been looking for. Must’ve been a good deal, because he was driving all the way to Boston to get it before someone else beat him to it. He suggested Florence House, and since I hadn’t seen Pam since Sunday, I welcomed the chance to catch up.

“I feel guilty,” I confess. “I don’t know why I deserve all this concern.” I cringe when I hear myself give voice to a nagging thought that I can’t seem to rid myself of.

“What d’you mean?”

“It wasn’t nice...what I did before. And I’m breaking the law just by being here. I don’t want to cause trouble for anyone.”

Pam leans forward and rests her chin in her upturned palms. “Let’s see if I understand. You expected to be judged for working as a prostitute and being in this country illegally. The fact no one you know now seems to be angry at you is confusing?” When I nod in response, she shakes her head. “Not that any good person would judge you either way, but you realize you didn’t choose to be a hooker? Nor did you enter this country of your free will. I don’t think anyone looks at you as a burden or as causing trouble. What you don’t understand is, all the people in your life right now care about
you
. Not what you’ve done or where you’re from, but just you. They’re your friends. We’re your friends.”

I’m trying to let what Pam’s saying percolate. Friends. That’s unfamiliar territory and I obviously have much to learn. Some days I feel older than dirt, only to discover that in other ways I’m as naive as a newborn.

“Your guilt, on the other hand, is understandable.” I look up, surprised at that. Pam’s eyeing me with one eyebrow raised. “Yeah. I’m not saying it’s appropriate, I’m saying I get it. Shit went down and people got involved. They want to help you get out of the mess you’re in. And you’re hiding out in Tim’s house, sticking your head in the sand. God forbid, even enjoying yourself, while others are worrying on your behalf. Am I right?”

I nod in response. She’s right. I have been avoiding. Both Syd and Viv have called Tim’s phone and I’ve let him talk to them. I didn’t want to talk about the shitstorm that followed me to Portland. I just wanted to be normal for a while. “Yeah,” I say out loud. “I just—”

Pam’s hand comes up, palm out, to stop me. “No need to explain. You deserve a little time pretending there’s not a world out there for you to deal with. But you can’t hide out forever. I can’t predict what will happen—don’t know how things will end up—but I do know that you have a group of people around you who will do everything in their power to keep you safe and to keep you here. You owe it to them to look out for yourself.”

Ouch. That one hit target. “I do,” I softly admit, earning a gentle smile.

“Glad you’re talking with Mark today. Let him and Tim help you sort through what steps you need to take to get through to the other side of this. Trust them.”

Trusting Tim is becoming easier by the minute, since he’s done nothing to indicate otherwise.

Trusting his brother, the cop? Now that’s a real challenge.

T
im

“$3,000 is my bottom dollar.”

The guy puts a proprietary hand on the large, industrial-sized planer that looks well-used. Granted, the list price for the thing was probably closer to seven grand, but when he called this morning in response to my ad, looking for one of these babies for around two and a half grand, he told me he was in the ballpark. I’m pretty pissed he’s talked me into driving all the fucking way to Boston, where he told me he wanted three and a half to start. The three he now offers is a good deal for the high quality machine, but I’d budgeted for five hundred less. I also still need a joiner kit and a hand planer. So I tell him.

“That’s my entire budget. The extra five bills you’re asking are for a couple of other tools I need.”

“What else are you looking for?” the older man wants to know, waving his hand around the old warehouse. Used tools are everywhere, and I have to admit, I’ve been scanning the place for other deals. When I tell him what else I need, he walks over to a folding table in the far corner. “This is a DeWalt.” He shows me the joiner, which appears to be in near new condition. “Hang on, I think I have a portable planer somewhere, same brand.” Off he goes again, rummaging through boxes until he finally surfaces, a familiar black and yellow casing on the tool in his hand. “Yup, DeWalt as well. A little older than the joiner, but working fine. Everything I buy is checked and cleaned. Plug it in there, if you want to see for yourself.” He waves in the direction of a workbench with a power block attached to the side. “Three G’s for the lot. Final offer,” he says.

“Done,” I give in, shaking his proffered hand, after making sure all of them work. I’m pleased I stayed within budget and happy with the new contact I’ve made. Well worth the trip, even if it meant leaving Ruby behind. I’ve gotten pretty addicted to being around her. Not that I have much in experience, never really having had a relationship worth any mention, but Ruby’s easy to be around.

It takes the two of us, plus one of his laborers, to load the damn planer on the back of my truck, but half an hour later, with the purchases strapped down and my wallet a lot flatter, I set course home to Portland. My mind is divided with thoughts on how to get this damn machine in my garage and the fastest way to get Ruby home and naked. Ruby naked wins.

There’s a reason I’ve opted to just sleep with her in my arms these last two nights, but I’ll be damned if I can remember it clearly. Something about wanting to show her she means more than just someone to bang. That first night was fucking amazing, but I didn’t want to presume. The few hefty make out sessions we’ve had since, were killer to put a halt to. Not sure how many more times I’ll be able to pull back. Ruby’s become more and more enthusiastic in her participation, to the point where I almost feel I’m doing more damage than good by pulling back. If the cute little pout of her full lips is anything to go by. Damn if that doesn’t make me want to start kissing that mouth all over again. For a novice kisser, Ruby sure has learned fast.

The more I know her, the more she surprises me. Mostly uneducated, she is still smarter than a lot of folks I know. A natural intelligence that only makes the package even more attractive. Especially when she showed an affinity with numbers and helped me work out not only the budget, but also a workable layout for the limited space in my garage.

Her soft giggles as she watches TV distract me from my work, but I could care less. Unsolicited responses like that are like little gifts. Small tastes of the lovable person she is developing into. And she
is
lovable. Not sure when I realized that I’d already fallen. Maybe it was when she asked me to make love to her. Or maybe it was long before that, the first time she curled, trusting into the protection of my body.

Fuck.
I’m in love with her.

-

“J
esus that thing is a monster,” Mark says, wiping his hands on his jeans.

We’ve just managed to wrangle the planer into the garage, with the help of one of my friendly neighbors, who saw us struggle.

Mark had arrived shortly after I’d come home, having picked up Ruby first. She’s the one who suggested getting the machine unloaded before sitting down to talk. Now she stands in the doorway, nervously rubbing the palm of her hands on her jeans. I notice again that her clothes are serviceable at best. Not particularly fashion forward, and pretty sparse from what I could see when I packed up her things. Be nice to buy something nice for her sometime.

“Thirsty?” is the first thing out of her mouth when we step past her in the hallway, kicking off boots and coats as we go. She tries to scoot past me toward the kitchen, but I catch her around her waist and swing her around. The hard kiss I land on her mouth has her eyes glaze over. Suddenly, I want my brother to be gone so I can explore the fuck out of her warm body. A not-so-discrete clearing of the throat reminds me he’s very much there, and watching with interest, apparently. “Beer would be great,” I tell Ruby, at the same time shooting Mark, whose eyebrows are raised in question, a warning glare. I’m easily distracted by Ruby’s backside making its way into the kitchen.

“You’re so gone for her,” Mark states half in jest, not expecting an answer, but I’ll give him one anyway.

“I am. Deal with it,” I warn him. “Any disrespect or hurtful comments and I’ll take you out. Brother or not.”

“You serious?”

“As a heart attack,” I whisper, as I lean into his surprised face. Not that I think it would ever come to that, but he best be warned where my loyalty would be.

“You ready to bring her to see Mom and Dad?” I know it’s a challenge. I know he’s asking if I’m ready to face down any judgment that might come from them, should they find out her history, and I am. Not that I really believe my aging hippy parents would judge anyone much.