Chapter 101 Enjoy while it lasts
Ira's POV
I stand outside the heavy door of Ruel’s study with a tray balanced in one hand, while my fingers twist in the ends of my hair. I pull a thick strand forward and hold it up to the torchlight in the corridor.
Still red. Still that same deep color it has always been.
I let the strand fall, and then I do it again with another one, and then another. All the while, my heart beats too fast and too loud in my ears.
Sia assured me it looked the same. Cath had nodded and said that not a single strand was done wrong, that they dyed it perfectly, and that I needed to breathe.
But the panic sits in my chest anyway. What if a strand was missed? What if the dye missed a spot near the roots, and what if someone looks too close?
I tug harder and check again.
It's still red.
I exhale and force my hand down, then I knock twice.
There is no answer… Or maybe my thoughts are just too loud.
I push the door open anyway.
Ruel sits at his desk with his head bent over several papers. There's no way he's actually studying all of them at once.
Ignoring how the lamp on his table catches the sharp line of his jaw, I step inside. He does not look up and he does not speak, he annoyingly just keeps writing.
The tray in my hands immediately feels heavier than it should. I set his meal down on the corner of the desk then turn to leave.
“Come here,” Ruel says, his voice warm.
I stop, but keep my back to him. “Why?”
There is no answer right away, and I almost storm out right there but then the chair scrapes back.
I spin just as Ruel reaches for my hand. I yank it away fast.
“Don't touch me!”
He pauses. “Ira,”
“You were so quick to leave me the other night,” I say, and my voice shakes even though I hate that it does. “Why do you want me to stay now? I do not want to fuck you tonight.”
Or any other night if I'm going to be abandoned afterwards.
Ruel steps closer. “That is not…”
“Is it not?” I lift my chin. “I mean, that is the only business we have with each other. We fuck and nothing more.”
His hand shoots out again, catching my wrist this time. His touch is gentle yet firm.
I pull, but he doesn't let go.
Instead, he tugs me forward, causing me to stumble into him. Ruel drops back into the chair and pulls me down with him, and I land in his lap with my legs straddling his thighs.
“Let go,” I say as I push at his chest.
“No,” he wraps both arms around my waist and locks me against him.
I twist and shove harder. “Ruel…”
He buries his face in the side of my neck and inhales deeply, his nose brushing my skin as warm breath spreads over my collarbone.
“Ira, stop grinding on my dick if you don’t want to get bent over the table right now. I don't like mixed signals.”
I freeze, my heart racing.
His hold loosens just enough, not to release me but just to cradle me. One hand slides up my back, and the other stays low on my hip.
I stop fighting, more scared of the honesty in his threat than the threat itself.
Soon I find myself listening to his steady and warm breath against my throat.
My own breath slows to match his, and the panic in my chest unwinds a little.
“Your hair,” Ruel’s voice is muffled against my skin, sleepy and rough. “...feels ashy.”
I stiffen, my heart pounding for a whole different reason.
“I wonder what it truly feels like without…” his words slur to a trail of incomprehensible murmurings.
He is asleep, with his head heavy on my shoulder and his arms still locked around me. I can tell by how his breathing deepens and evens out.
I sit very still for a while before glancing down at him.
I should get up and slide off his lap. I should walk out and leave the tray and leave him.
I shift just an inch, gasping when his arms tighten instantly, pulling me back down.
Even in sleep he does not let go.
His lips brush the spot below my ear. The feeling is so soft over my sensitive skin it makes my breath hitch.
A small sound escapes me, and it is not quite a gasp… it's more like a content groan.
I stop moving entirely, liking how his mouth stays there, warm and still, just resting.
I close my eyes, and my hands come up slow and hesitant before they settle on his shoulders and my fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.
I lean in and let my cheek rest against the side of his head, inhaling his scent.
Immediately I breathe in the third time, the panic about my hair fades to the back of my mind.
I hug him tighter, my arms sliding around his neck and my face pressed into his hair.
He makes a low sound in his sleep, humming in contentment.
I stay like that because I know this, whatever this is, complicates everything for me. Why do I like this so much more than the sex?
Why does being in his arms feel like the safest place I have been in weeks?
With one last sigh I press my lips to his shoulder and close my eyes.
I'll enjoy it while it lasts.