Then there’s no need for me to do anything but feel smug as Lily enthuses about Ruby’s work, and clearly knows the books the images are referencing. Within minutes, Ruby has given Lily her phone number to talk about illustrating a new special edition, and my wife is radiant with the praise of her work, even as she’s shyly claiming it’s nothing.
Probably I should make conversation with Croydon, but I prefer to hang on my wife’s every word and bask in reflected glory of how talented she is.
Lily and Ruby are firm friends by the time we leave, much later. They’ve been giggling over in-jokes that must be from books, and making plans to meet up, which is perfect. And when she thanks me on the way home, I realise I’ve never wanted someone else’s happiness like I do Ruby’s.
I also want to rail her and make her come repeatedly on my cock, which I will ensure makes her very happy too.
Book delight will have to do for now. But it’s a long night. I don’t exclude anything.
Ruby has made me an unexpected optimist.
17
RUBY
I had the best evening. Lily wants to commission art from me for a special edition, which is amazing. But being in bed with Dante is even more exciting. Last night I was too overwhelmed to take it in when he held me, but tonight, the anticipation is unbearable.
As I lie in the dark, my mind replays him coming out of the shower and dropping the towel before putting on his shorts. I’m hot and achy.
My clit feels three times as big as usual.
He said I should remain here for my own safety from his enemies, but there’s a far more dangerous problem that I should have anticipated.
I’m in danger of losing my heart. If I haven’t already.
“Are your feet cold, Ruby?”
Not really, but I’d lie in an ice-bath for two days if it meant Dante touched me to warm me up. My lips are really cold! My clit is so cold. Freezing! The inside of my pussy is sub-zero.
“Yes. A bit,” honesty compels me to add.
“Come here.” He reaches over the gap and pulls me into his arms, like he did last night, and ohhhhh…
The way I’m lying against him I can feel more of him. His solid torso. His thighs.
I consider saying something. Maybe that I would happily lose my virginity to him.
His arm around me isn’t really sexual. Probably he isn’t thinking about sex at all. Besides, how many times do I want to be rejected by this man? Surely once is enough.
Instead, I snuggle into his side, and try not to be an inappropriate creeper. But I do take a long breath—as subtly as I can—and inhale his scent. He smells like trees, earth, and sunshine. Delicious.
When I’m not his wife anymore, I might have to break into his house in the middle of the night and slide into bed with him while he’s asleep, just to get my fix of the feel and smell of him.
I wonder how he’d taste?
Not just his mouth, which was rich with the wine he’d been drinking that evening at the wedding.
His cock.
That lights me up. I haven’t seen him naked from the front, only behind as he’s momentarily bare.
My imagination for what his cock could look like is a bit hazy. I have no experience to draw on, after all. But I bet it’s proportional to him—that is to say, huge—and as perfectly handsome too.
Would he let me suck him, if I could get the courage to ask? I wonder how he’d feel in my mouth? Hot, perhaps a bit salty with sweat, or fresh and sweet from his shower.
My mouth is watering. Maybe I’d do it right, and he’d groan with how good I made him feel.
If he’d call me his good girl again, I might expire from happiness.
