In front of me, she danced in a hip-swaying, shoulders-dipping move that had me mad for her, wild to grab and pull her backside directly against my lengthening cock. My fingers gripped her hips, my eyes rolled closed, and I relished the sound penetrating every inch of space in the room, relished the seductive movement of her against me. Her hands reached up behind her, tangling into my hair and pulling my face to the side of her neck.

I sucked and bit, groaned into her, and then—when I began to harden, my mind turning away from the song and focusing solely on the gorgeous creature in front of me—I had to decide whether to pull her into one of the many tiny alcoves or let her remain here to enjoy the music. I stood up straighter, deciding to simply let the moment wash over me.

The band tore through the set, barely stopping to greet the crowd or take a sip of the beers precariously perched on their amps. It was unlike anything I’d seen or heard, and I felt as if I was getting a glimpse into Ruby’s heart: her love for energy and adventure, spontaneously nabbing tickets to see her favorite band in an unfamiliar city. I admired the trust she put in her own instincts, bringing me here. She knew all along that my reaction to the music and the lights and the pulsing rhythm of a hundred people jumping all around me would be profound.

* * *

At nearly six foot seven, I’d grown accustomed to bending to hear others speak, to instinctively ducking through doorways, to standing on the outside of circles to not feel as if I was crowding anyone away. But on the subway home, as we stood rocking with the motion of the train, I could tell Ruby wanted me stretched to my full height, holding the bar overhead so she could lean into me, wiggling and practically climbing me in her post-show excitement.

Her belly rubbed my cock again, and again, while her hands slipped beneath my open coat and under my shirt so she could press her cold hands to the flat of my stomach. Fingertips teased at the hair on my navel, at the buckle of my belt. I felt her slip an index finger just below the waist of my jeans.

And fuck, she knew exactly what she was doing to me. I could see it in the mischievous twinkle in her eye. Her smile was a sly thing, sliding in from the side, pushing her lips out into a flirty smirk and I listened to her chatter on about the show, the crowd, various songs, my mind bending with each scratch of her nails down my stomach, with every press of her soft body to my hips. I weathered the torture in silence, eyes never leaving her face, absorbing the treasure offered with each giddy word. With every jolt of the subway, every sway along the tracks, I mentally calculated how long it would be until I could devour her.

We rose from the station and she seemed to pause for air. Long enough, in fact, that I could press her against the wall of a building just down from our hotel, bend to inhale the honeyed rose of her skin and hiss, “What are you doing to me?”

“Hmm?” She stretched, catlike in my arms.

“Where is the order in my brain? Where is my sense that I need to tread carefully with you?”

“You don’t.”

“You’re muddling my every thought. We were doing so well taking our time.”

Her hands slid up around my neck, pulling me into a kiss so intimate I felt something turn over in my chest. The soft slide of her mouth shattered me, the way she offered up her lips and tongue so earnestly, her quiet whimper when she felt me licking her bottom lip, sucking it between my teeth.

“We’re still doing so well. I won’t make love to you until it is love for you,” she said.

No, not said—reassured. She was telling me that she knew she’d stolen my mind, possibly my heart, and would treat both things with care.

Somehow this promise that we wouldn’t make love until I was sure only heightened my delirium. I drew away, pulling her down the street.

Two seconds inside the hotel room and I’d jerked her coat off, thrown mine across the room, and had her flat on her back just inside the door. Her trainers landed somewhere near the bed; her jeans were roughly tugged down her legs and tossed aside.

I’d never known a hunger like this; my skin was tight and practically vibrating. Ruby stared up at me, washed only in the streetlight coming in the window, her eyes wide with thrill. Her expression of anticipation and the rigid ache of my cock pressed equally in my thoughts. Somewhere far in the back of my mind I knew I needed to temper myself but in the moment, with my heart drumming so hard I could hear it in my ears, I couldn’t be fucking bothered to slow down.

“What are you—” she began before I shoved my own jeans to my knees and fell heavily over her, my boxers and her knickers the only thing keeping me from taking her for the first time on the floor.

Between her legs, my cock pressed against where I could enter her through the thin material, and I felt how slick she was beneath the satin. Groaning, I thrust my hips against her again and again, hurried and desperate, shoving her top and her bra up over her breasts to grip her, plump her in my hand.

I could imagine how it would be—how it will be—her legs around my waist and her eager hips pressing up and around, up and around, meeting every single one of my greedy thrusts. Ruby’s hands gripped my backside, urging me faster, crying out.

I held my weight from her, perched on my elbows but kissed her madly, too frenzied; my teeth slid over her skin, mouth sucking at her tongue, her lips, her neck. She didn’t seem to mind my recklessness—it seemed to thrill her, rather—and her sounds and lips and grabbing hands made me feel bloody savage.

I was close so soon—too soon—but I could take my time with her after. I needed relief from the wildness that built in me being so near her, tasting her, feeling her under me. Aching relief gathered in my back, shooting electrically down and building until, with a deep rock of my hips forward, I came, shouting into the dark room.