“What do you do with them?”
Her curious tone helped unknot some anxiety. “I buy the models, then I paint them?—”
She rose with a gasp and swayed. I caught her elbow.
“You painted these?” She held on to me as she bent back over. She traced the plexiglass, leaving a smudge behind. “So many small parts.”
“That’s part of the appeal.”
She rose again and used the same finger to follow my old stretch marks. “You’re a real artist. What else do you do with them?”
My mind fogged with lust. What had she asked?
Right. Exactly what I had never wanted to explain to another woman again. “I get together with others—mostly guys—and we... play.”
She blinked. “Oh. That sounds fun.”
I blew out a gusty breath, surprised. “Really?”
“I mean, you could have a giant blow-up doll collection. Porn. Guns.”
“I have guns, but I don’t paint those.”
She giggled and spun around. When she bent over to look at another case, I bit back a groan and aimed my gaze at the ceiling. Too late. My heartbeat slammed through my dick.
“I bet you give really good orgasms,” she said.
Desire rammed into me. The war I’d been losing over my erection was done. I had to have heard wrong. “What’d you say?”
She straightened, then bypassed me and crawled between my sheets.
Dear god, she was in my bed. Her limoncello scent would be on my sheets. “Ruby?—”
“All that patience?” She scooted to the other end. Then she curled onto her side facing me and pulled the covers to her chin. “All those tiny details? The reverent way you have everything stored? A guy that pays that much attention to models can probably find a woman’s clit.” She snorted. “I don’t think Brock knew what a clit’s function was.”
How did I respond? Why was she in my bed? “It’s been a long time, but yeah. I know exactly what a clit is for.”
“So you don’t date and you don’t fuck?”
“I can control myself.” Tonight suggested perhaps not.
She rolled her eyes back and moaned. “Control and patience. Tenor, you’re like the hero in my fanfic. So tightly wound that when he blows...” She turned her sultry smile on me, her gaze traveling down my body.
“I’m not a hero in anyone’s story.”
“You saved my pride.” She patted the other side of the bed. “Come on. Get in. Can you shut the light off?”
I almost did as she asked without question. “You should go to your room.”
“You’re warmer. And you won’t touch me.” Her eyelids drifted shut. “I’ll have to make myself come again thinking about how you kissed me.”
“Jesus, Ruby.”
She cracked an eye open. “I said your name when I did too.”
A drunk Ruby was a painfully honest Ruby. My erection was growing painful. “Christ.”
“Nope.Yourname.” The blankets shifted. “I remembered what it was like to have you towering over me with that big body of yours,” she groaned. “So nice.”
