Summer in Sydney. Fiona McArthur
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then she could climb up and wrap herself around him as she had wanted to before, but she pulled back his head, wanted to see him again, to hear him again, before she kissed him again.
‘Why,’ she whispered, ‘are you always so crabby?’
‘Because I’m miserable?’ He stopped and smiled down at her.
‘But you’re not.’
‘I am,’ he insisted. ‘I really am.’
‘You’re not tonight,’ Ruby said, and he had to agree with her.
‘No. I’m not tonight.’
He wanted her skirt off, wanted to see her as she had been when he’d walked into the house, but it would seem Ruby had rules.
‘I’m not making love to a man in a suit—in a brown suit.’
‘Taupe.’ Cort smiled, not even a little smile but a full, wide smile that she had never before seen, and Ruby caught her breath because it completely changed him. She went for his tie, then changed her mind.
‘You do it,’ she said.
She wriggled from under him and climbed off the bed and left him lying there. She looked down at him and he undid his tie, but that was as far as he went.
‘You want it off …’ Cort said. ‘Come and get it.’
So she did, pulling it off before she went for his jacket next.
‘Shoes,’ he said, and she took off one. ‘Both of them.’
‘You’ve got more clothes than me.’
Wasn’t he supposed to be riddled with guilt, or aching with regret? Not sitting up just to get her to remove another sandal, which she did.
‘Shirt,’ Ruby said, and he obliged.
‘Skirt,’ Cort said, and so too did she.
She wanted to go over to the bed and climb onto him, she couldn’t have ever guessed just how wanton she could be, but he rewarded her not with this game but with his smile, with a Cort Mason she would never have guessed was there beneath the austere exterior. She liked standing before him, drunk on lust and shivering with want, teasing each other and making each other wait.
‘Belt,’ said Ruby.
‘Hardly fair on you,’ Cort said, because she was down to her halter and panties and he still had socks and shoes and trousers and belt, but Ruby didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she stopped him when he magnanimously went to undo his zipper.
‘Just the belt will do,’ Ruby said, and as with his tie he merely loosened it.
‘Take it off, then.’
Which meant she got to touch him. Slowly, very slowly she pulled loose the belt and she wanted to dive onto him then, but Cort reminded her it was her turn. She slid her top up slowly and she had to close her eyes at one point because, so close to him, she wanted to bend towards his mouth, wanted to climb into bed and be with him, but instead she took off her top and it was bizarre but she didn’t feel shy or stupid. Instead, with Cort she felt free.
She stared down and saw the lust and approval in the eyes that caressed her skin. Then she stared down at herself and saw two very small breasts that she now rather liked, because how could she not when Cort craved them so much that he reached out his hand and stroked one slowly, till she blew out a held breath and thought she’d sink to her knees.
‘I’ll help with your shoes.’
She bent over him and as he stroked her breast she took off his shoes and socks, and then she kissed his toes.
And he lay there about to pull away because how could he let her? Except her tongue was so sure.
Would he regret this?
He asked himself once as she stood again and then he answered, never, because this wasn’t sad or guilt ridden. There was no one else in his head but Ruby, nothing else but him and her.
He could never have thought it would be so magical.
That it could ever be so pure and good again.
That they would have their own rules and their own ways.
He watched her kneel and rummage in a drawer and come out with pistachios.
‘Trousers,’ Ruby said.
‘It’s your turn.’
‘Only if you catch this with your mouth.’
She was mad, he decided as he lay in the bed, trying to catch a pistachio. Then he didn’t want to play that game, so he stood and Ruby stood maybe just a little bit embarrassed because she had never been so free before, never felt so able to be herself with another person. He was so, so slow and tender as he knelt down and slid down her pants. She squirmed just a little, but then he stroked the little hairs and he blew onto her and then she felt his lips press there and she thought her knees might give way.
She held onto his head, her thighs closed tight and shaking as his tongue slid in. His hands pushed at her bottom and his mouth worked to part her some more and she could hear a moan and it came from her.
He laid her down and parted her knees and it was so close to heaven that she felt like crying. All the tears that weren’t ever allowed to fall seemed to whoosh up as his mouth found her.
It was as if he’d found her.
The real Ruby, who she couldn’t be, who he mustn’t see, because then he’d leave. She stopped him, rolled a little way and found a condom, which was just as well, Cort thought, because it had been a long time since he’d carried any on him.
He slid the condom on even though he didn’t want it.
Didn’t want a one-night stand, though this surely was what it was.
And he wanted to get back what he’d had a moment ago. He had felt her collapse beneath his mouth, had felt her about to give in, but then she’d regrouped and held back. He would have it, Cort decided, he would find her again.
She wanted him. She wanted him as he kissed her, she wanted all of him, and as his thick thigh parted her legs there was nothing more she wanted than him inside her.
Nothing else surrounded them now, no one else present, no chance of interruption, and he was so deep inside her now, and she wanted him to come so that she could too.
Just a little bit.
She didn’t want the tears that had been close, and perhaps still were, to impinge on this moment; she didn’t want to give in completely.
She pushed up a little, her clitoris swollen from his attention, and pressed in harder, and she felt the pulse of her body that would signal him to join her.
‘Cort.’ She said his name, and lifted her body to his, because she wanted him with her, but still he pushed on.
‘Cort.’ She heard the demand in her voice, because she was coming and now so could he and it would be done, but still his arms were not beneath her, he was on his elbows and looking down at her.
‘Come on,’ he said as if he knew there was more. ‘It’s okay,’ he said as if he knew that this scared her.
Not him.
This.
Because sex was okay and all that had gone on beforehand too.
But this, lying naked beneath him, eyes open and watching, and him knowing there was more to give.
She wanted a one-night stand, not for him to know her. She wanted him to climb off and get dressed and be out of there.
She wanted chocolate or pizza, not to expose her soul.
She didn’t want to cry, but all evening it had been building.
She could feel her tears and then his tongue, feel the