All Over Again

| Chapter Forty-Two |

Raffo gently rested Ruth in the center of the bed, his body resting between her legs that were latched to his hips. His hands trailed up and down the sides of her withering body and a throaty whimper pushed its way into his mouth, resulting in a guttural groan of his own. Ruth moved her hand against his torso in an effort to get close to him, but his hiss of pain caught her off guard.

Ruth tore her lips from Raffo's just in time to catch his wince. Before he could stop her from doing so, she pushed him over so that she could be on top and nudged his shirt up his body, looking for the source of his distress.

It wasn't hard to miss.

A violet bruise the size of a fist was imprinted on the right side of his toned stomach and by the way that it hadn't yellowed yet, she knew it had to be fairly fresh. As in the last few days fresh, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why that was there in the first place.

Panicked and ridden with guilt, Ruth looked up at a calm Raffo, whose hand was already reaching for her cheek despite the brief moment of horror. In his eyes, she read that it was okay, even though it most definitely wasn't okay. None of those horrors were okay, and it took everything in Ruth not to freak out and go find that selfish prick who thought it was okay to put his hand on her Raffo.

She paused at that.

Did she really just think 'her' Raffo?

Ruth shook her head silently and leaned down towards the tender spot.

"Can I?" she murmured, her mouth a hair away from his skin.

"Yes," Raffo allowed, his voice full of too many emotions to catch. Nervousness, uncertainty, pleasure—all of the above.

Ruth puckered her lips against his warm skin in a soft kiss. He sucked in a sharp breath of air at the contact, his stomach dipping into the muscles that were pushed forward in hard lines. She peppered loving kisses along the bruise and the taut skin surrounding it as she rubbed her thumb tenderly against his unbruised side.

That night, Ruth wanted to love his body into oblivion. It was going to be about them. No Roger, no Mirana, no Terry or Jana. Just them. For just a night, the world could stand still while they ravished each other in a much needed bubble of pleasure.

Raffo trembled beneath her crawling lips. She didn't stop her eager curiosity until she was running her lips along the waistband of his sweatpants that were tented at the center of his desire. The tip of her tongue swirled and dipped beneath the thin fabric as her fingers trailed down his thigh with an eagerness that made them both breathless.

Before Ruth could take it any further, Raffo softly grabbed her face and drew her lips back up to his. Her whimper made him sit up straighter against the headboard and drag her hot body against his thigh until she was close enough to him. She steadied herself against his shoulders and moved back to break apart for a bit after his slowed movement.

They stared at each other briefly, completely enraptured. Raffo's eyes were blazing with lust and hesitation while Ruth's gaze was trying to focus on the reason behind him stopping. She wanted to take it further and was just about to tell him that when he opened his mouth and asked first.

"Are you sure this is okay? I don't want you to feel . . . pressured," Raffo said, his jaw set. His gaze lingered on her shorts that were practically underwear on her now by the way they bunched at the crevice of her thighs. Throat bobbing, he eyed the outline of her puckered chest, before slithering up her face until he met her burning eyes.

She'd never been more sure of an answer in her fucking life.

"There's no pressure. I just feel you," she murmured instead, running her fingers over his chest until she found his silk hair lying flat over the back of his shoulders. She easily tangled them together to draw his forehead against hers, breathing each other in.