Ruby grew agitated again. “No, no, I won’t make a baby in Petra. I promised. I want her to be happy. I just want her to be happy. Tell Petra I won’t make a baby.”
“No, it’s Ashleigh, not Petra—” Liam began.
Rubio clawed at the front of his friend’s shirt. “I love her. But I’ll pretend not to, if she wants. If she’ll come back to me. Tell her I don’t love her, okay?” He fell back, wincing. Liam glanced at Petra.
“I’ll tell her, Ruby, but I don’t know if she’ll believe me.”
“We’ll just dance,” he said, his voice getting slow and measured again. “Professional. Maybe someday she’ll love me and then I’ll marry her and put babies in her. But not until she wants.”
Liam winked at her. “That sounds like a good plan. But you should rest now. We can talk later, when the sedatives wear off.”
“Sedatives,” he said, his body relaxing. “What is that?”
“It’s kind of like truth serum,” Liam answered. “But don’t worry about it.”
Petra stroked Rubio’s glossy black hair. “Mãe?” he asked again.
“No, your mom’s not here. It’s Petra.”
“Petra,” he said, drawing out the ‘r.’ Liam and Mem left quietly, shutting the door behind them. Ruby reached up to cup her face, then grunted in pain. “Merda, my side. Come, please. Come closer.” He put his hand on her neck, stroking her pulse. “You’re alive. You’re here.”
“Yes, I’m here.” She stared down at his sculpted features, at the hint of stubble coloring his cheeks. He was so beautiful even half asleep, drugged out on meds.
“Ohhhh,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’m so glad. I love the smell of you. Tonight... Petra...I was so scared. I didn’t want to lose you.”
She hunched beside the bed, stroking the worried lines from his face. “I didn’t want to lose you either. I didn’t want to lose my wonderful partner.”
His expression softened. “Wonderful. You think I’m wonderful?”
“I know you are.”
He gazed at her, his black eyes narrowing into sharper focus. If she had to guess, she’d say he was finally emerging from his sedative haze. “I had this dream,” he said tentatively. “It was a terrible dream.”
“Was it about Paulsen, and a gun, and glass all over your loft?”
“Yes,” he breathed warily, looking around the hospital room.
She reached to touch his lips. “It wasn’t a dream. I’m sorry.”
“But you’re okay?”
She nodded, her throat too tight to speak. Now that he was awake, now that he was fully there, she could have died from the concern in his eyes.
“You saved me,” he said after a long moment. “You saved my life. You beat him off with my cane.”
“Yes. Thank God you told me about it.” She traced the line of his jaw, lingering over a little mole by his chin. “Paulsen died, Ruby. He fell out your window.”
“I know.” He swallowed hard. “I pushed him, right? But I had to.”
“That’s what the police said, that it was self defense. They came and took my report while you were under sedation. Liam was here, and Mem.”
“Under what?” he asked, wrinkling his brow.
“Under sedation. They made you sleep while you had surgery to stitch up your cuts. Are you comfortable? Do you hurt?”
“As long as you’re here, I don’t hurt too bad.”
She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his. She felt the same way. It would be a while before she got over the events of the past night, but his nearness gave her comfort. For a long time she bent near him, touching his hair, breathing in his familiar scent. “I can’t lean down anymore,” she finally sighed, straightening. “My back.”
“Then come in bed with me.”
“I don’t know if the hospital allows that,” she said, eyeing the narrow mattress. “And you’re hurt.”
He made a dismissive sound and inched over. “You weigh what? A hundred pounds? There’s room for you.”
She climbed up next to him, being careful not to jostle the stitches on his injured side. It had been a long time since she lay beside him in bed. Too long. From the expression on his face he was thinking the same thing.
“Hey, you know what?” she said. “Ashleigh had her baby. It’s a beautiful little girl. They named her Alanna.”
“Alanna,” he repeated thickly. “That’s pretty.” He gave her a sideways glance. “I feel tired. Am I talking funny?”
“You always talk funny, but I love you anyway.”
He used the tip of a finger to lift her face, and traced her lower lip. “I love you too, Petra. So much.” He shook his head. “No, I mean, I don’t love you. I mean, I love you only as professionals. As friends. Whatever you want, to make you happy.”
She pressed her forehead to his. “It would make me happy for us to be together. To be in love, really in love. The thing is, I love you like crazy, in every possible way, so I don’t think we can stick to the professional thing anymore.”
He stared at her, the tiny worry lines returning to his brow. “Is this real? Or a dream?”
She giggled through the emotion choking her voice. “It’s real, I promise. I...I’ve done a lot of thinking in the last twenty-four hours. About you, about Paulsen and my father.” She took Ruby’s hand and held it in her lap. “I thought about all of you, and I realized that Paulsen wanted me too much, and my father never wanted me enough, but you always wanted me the perfect amount. You’re kind and wonderful and perfect in so many ways.”
“I’m not perfect. I’m rough and I’m stupid and my English is not so good—”
“You’re perfect,” she said, silencing him with a finger. “And I’m in love with you. Not just professional, not just at work. Not just friends. I’m desperately, whole-heartedly in love with you and I hope you can forgive me for being confused for so long.”
“You love me?” he asked, like his English decoding skills might be failing him.
“I love you,” she repeated. “I love you a billion times.”
“A billion times.” He grinned, drawing the “billion” out into three long syllables. “Then I forgive you, yes. And I didn’t mean what I said earlier about not loving you.”
“I know.”
He sighed and laced his fingers into her hair. He kissed her, tenderly at first, then with a deeper passion, the release of all his previous restraint. She wanted the passion, all of it. She wanted him to be himself, no matter how rough and perverted he was, because she loved his kindness and warmth, and his staunchly protective nature.
“Don’t fall,” he said in the middle of his kiss, wrapping a bandaged arm around her. “Is a little bed.”
She wouldn’t fall, not with him looking after her. Petra thought she loved his protective nature most of all.
Chapter Twenty: Perfect
Liam and Mem helped move Ruby’s things into Petra’s apartment, and his furniture into storage. His loft wasn’t exactly habitable. He’d fix it up and sell it eventually, because he couldn’t live there anymore. He’d really liked his concrete loft, but he couldn’t bear to live near that window. For weeks afterward he couldn’t be near any windows.
But Petra’s place was okay. She was there with him, so even up off the ground a few stories, he felt safe. He loved spending his days with her, sleeping, eating, going to the theater, making love and playing BDSM games, and kissing her whenever and wherever he wanted. There was no hiding anymore. All through the summer tour and into the autumn season, they flirted openly during rehearsals and held hands in the halls. They made out in their dressing rooms, kissed during curtain calls, and fucked sometimes after performances, aroused by the synergy of their partnership. The tabloids ran stories on their romance for a few months and then lost interest and moved on.
But Rubio never lost interest. He waited for boredom, for the itch to sleep with other women, but it never came. He understood now about Liam and Ashleigh, the way love
had changed them, because he felt very changed. All his life he’d slept around, jumping from bed to bed, looking at women as temporary and disposable. That old life seemed empty and depressing now. He was much happier with Petra.
She was so different now too, so much softer and relaxed now that Paulsen wasn’t stalking her. She’d also let go of her issues with her dad. “All the bad men out of my life,” she’d said. “Out of my life for good.” Yves promised to bar Grigolyuk from the backstage areas if not the theater audience, and he held firm on that. Perhaps someday Petra and her father would negotiate a peace, but Ruby wasn’t holding his breath. He tried hard to fill that hole where her father should have been, with love and fun times, and understanding.
Because Jesus Cristo, he loved filling Petra’s holes.
“Come on,” he said, leading her down the steps to Liam’s play room. They had an open invitation to come over and use it, especially since the Wilders were so busy with little Alanna, who at eight months was learning how to crawl. Rubio was sure Ash and Liam would get back into it eventually, but for now the play room was all theirs. He stripped Petra by the door, running his hands over her lithe body. He held up her silver collar with the dangling pet tag and fastened it around her neck. “Ah, safada,” he crooned. “My naughty girl. I’m going to hurt you today.”
“Today?” she said, pressing against him. “You hurt me every time.”
“Because you like it,” he said with a smile. He led her over to the horse by the far wall, the one they’d played on at the first party, when she showed up in the long black wig. “Stand there.” He pointed to a spot beside it and then bent to adjust a bar near the bottom. “I’m raising it up a bit so your feet can’t touch the floor. That first night...” He made a face. “I was too soft on you.”
“That was too soft? I was freaking out the entire time.”
“Because you were a scaredy vanilla girl. I was super nice to you, you know,” he said, nodding.
“I do know. We play a lot harder now. So, when did you realize I was a vanilla newbie?” she asked. “Halfway through the scene?”
He scoffed as he moved to adjust the horse on the other side. “I knew from the start.” He gave a wild laugh, remembering. “You were shaking all over. Everything. Your lips, your body, your voice. I could see you were scared to death and it turned me on so much, that you went through with it anyway.” He straightened and turned to her. “Why did you do it? Why didn’t you stop me?”
“I did stop you at the end. It got to be too much.”
“How, too much? Too much turned on?” His voice dropped lower. “You were going to come, weren’t you?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked embarrassed. Well, let her be embarrassed. She looked even prettier when a blush heightened the color of her cheeks. “No, no,” he scolded. “Put your arms down.” He moved to her, uncrossing them and pinning them at her side. “Don’t cover yourself. Let me look at you, beautiful girl.”
He stroked her breasts and pinched and flicked her nipples until they stood at attention. “Let’s do everything the same from that night,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “Let’s see if you remember.”
“I had clothes on that night. A bra and panties.”
“Everything the same but that,” he said, leading her over to the horse. “Up with you.”
She straddled the narrow padded top, balancing all her weight on the vee between her legs. She eased her pelvis back, trying to take some of the pressure off her pussy. “I could touch the floor that night too,” she pointed out.
“Hush.” He took her arm and tilted her forward, purposely drawing her off balance. She clenched her legs and moaned as her clit contacted the horse. “You like that?” he asked. “Does it hurt your pussy?”
“It’s—it’s uncomfortable. A little.”
“You want me to let you sit back again?”
“Yes, please.”
“Okay. For now, only.” He went for some cuffs and fixed them on Petra’s wrists. This time, instead of raising her arms over her head, he cuffed them at the small of her back. He could see by her eyes she was already halfway down into sub space. Having your pussy mashed against an unforgiving surface and your hands cuffed probably had that effect.
He went for some rope and wound it through the cuffs and up through the carabiner. She gave a small sound of protest as he tightened the slack. With her arms raised behind her, she was forced forward by the pressure on her shoulders.
“You said you’d let me sit back,” she said forlornly.
“I did, for a minute or two.” He pinched her nipples, tugging both of them in a firm grip. “You be a good girl and do whatever I want. I’m in charge here. Yes?”
“Yes,” she said, squirming in the bondage.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He smiled and walked around her, tracing his fingers down the arching curve of her back. “Is better like this. Easier for me to get at your ass.” She made a whining sound that had him heading straight for his trunk of sex toys. He pulled out a thick glass plug and plenty of lube. She eyed him as he approached.
“I know for a fact you didn’t use that the first night.”
“Okay.” He changed direction, returned to his trunk. “It’s a gag for you. Too much complaining.”
“No, please. I’ll be good.” Petra hated the gag. She said it was because she wanted to be able to talk to him and kiss him, but in reality he thought she hated to drool. He’d work on it with her, showing her all the sexy things about it, but today, he relented and returned to her side.
“No more chances, okay? One more protest, one more complaint, and the gag goes on. You understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He lubed up the plug and spread her cheeks. It would be amusing, making her take the thick glass toy now that she wasn’t allowed to complain about anything. He teased her first, pushing the tip in and out, whispering dirty, sexy things. When he pressed it deeper, she mashed her lips shut in the effort not to make a sound. Her body strained and she trembled, making stifled noises. So, so sexy. He clamped a hand over her mouth as the noises rose to a hum. When it was in, she sagged in relief.
“Good girl,” he said, giving her a well-earned kiss. “Very quiet. How does that feel, having that big plug in your ass?”
She wiggled against the horse. “Your cock feels better.”
Ha, the vixen. She wasn’t getting his cock yet, not until her pretty ass was marked up a bit. He went for the same crop they’d used, and held it up before her eyes. “You remember this?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He flicked her nipples with it. The poor thing was still trying not to cry out. “You can show me how much it hurts,” he said. “I like that part. But no more whining not to have this, not to have that. Okay?”
“Yes, Sir. Oww.”
He brought the whippy part of the crop down on her left ass cheek. She jerked and then gasped as her pussy ground into the top of the horse. He’d barely tapped her the first time they played. Now he challenged her more, leaving red marks with every sharp strike. Her cries of pain filled his cock to bursting with pleasure. “Oh, the poor ass,” he murmured. “The poor pussy. It hurts?”
“Yes, Sir.” She drew in a deep breath. “But I’m not complaining.”
He stopped to squeeze and fondle her breasts. “No, you’re being a good girl, aren’t you? Hmm...” He went back to his trunk for a pair of clover clamps. Honestly, he hadn’t planned to torment her so much; it was just so arousing to see the changes in her. She was nothing at all like the uptight, shrinking girl he’d played with that first night. When he returned with the clamps her eyes went wide. She swallowed back any complaining words.
“I know, I know,” he soothed, tugging on the first nipple. “I know we didn’t use these either. What can I say? You’re so beautiful when you’re in pain.” He closed the clamp, drinking in her rasping groan. “And then you come anyway, because deep inside, y
ou love it.” He attached the other clamp, jerking his cock as she shimmied around on the horse. He could see the slickness between her thighs, see the shine of it on the vinyl.
He went around the front of her and pulled her head back for a kiss. She was limp and loose, deliciously surrendered. “If you like it, show me,” he said. “Arch your ass back. Offer it for the crop. I’ll spank your ass until it’s nice and red and then...” He walked back around behind her, admiring the way she’d obediently stuck her ass out. He pressed the plug a little deeper. “And then I’ll ride you. Right here.”
“Oh...” she said, twisting her hips. “Mmm.”
She might as well be gagged, since all she could seem to manage were incoherent noises. But that was okay. He picked up the crop and started to whip her. Ass, hips, outer thighs. That first night, he’d cropped her inside her thighs, right beside her pussy, but he couldn’t do it now, not in this position. He contented himself with cropping her ass a hot, uniform red. “You remember the safeword?” he asked when her tossing and turning grew more frantic.
She never safeworded. It was partly her stubbornness and partly that he knew how much she could take. Her cries rose in volume until he judged that she was finished, and then he gave her just a little more.
That “just a little more” was always the best part. When he tossed aside the crop she slumped forward, her legs tense and shaking, her back rising and falling with each breath. He noticed with pleasure that she still had her ass offered out, exactly as ordered. He eased out the plug and set it aside, and straddled the horse behind her, pumping his cock. When she rose to turn to him he pushed her forward again. “No, no. Be good.”
Unlike her, his feet reached the ground just fine. He braced his legs and eased his cock into her asshole, one thrilling inch at a time. Her whole body was tense, struggling against the pain of her sore cheeks, and the clamps, and the pressure of the horse between her legs. He wouldn’t make her endure it all much longer. Once he started fucking her, once he started tugging that chain between her breasts and driving her moans to screams, both of them would shudder into orgasm.
Fever Dream Page 25
