Page 60 of The Sun Will Rise
“I’m gonna move now, okay?” I whisper. It comes out sounding strangled, like the way her hole is strangling my cock. I’m desperate to move, desperate to feel her sheathing me in her warmth.
“Fuck me.”
And I do. I slip two fingers into her warm, wet cunt as I rut against her from behind. As I twist and scissor my fingers, I can feel the pressure of my cock pressing against her inner walls from the other side, and it’s a whole new kind of pleasure. It’s something I’ve never felt before, and it lifts me out of my own body until I’m boneless, watching myself slam into her from above.
Ruth drops her head, and I see her white-knuckle grip on the headboard rail. She pushes back against me, a moan and a gasp with every thrust of my hips. I grunt and groan, and my entire body feels like it’s about to snap in two.
“Gonna come,” I gasp through clenched teeth. “Baby girl, tell me to stop. Tell me to pull out.”
“Brand me.”
“Ruth.”
“Come with me, Ev. I want to feel you fill me with your cum.”
There’s nothing that could bring me closer to the brink than hearing my woman beg me to come inside her. I slam my hips into her, wildly and with little regard for my bedsprings, until she howls my name, clenching around my fingers and my cock at the same time. And the way she’s squeezing me, choking me, claiming me, has me all but exploding. Out of my skin, out of my mind, into her ass as I come harder than I’ve ever come before, with a loud grunt, as I collapse over her.
I meant it when I told Ruth that she’s it for me. I’ve never meant anything more. I don’t know enough words to convey the depth of what I feel for her, so I gather her in my arms, press her body as closeto mine as it can get without her being inside of my skin, and I fall asleep to rhythm of her heartbeat beneath the palm of my hand.
Chapter thirty-one
Ruth
The more I’ve fallenin love with life with Everett, the more I’m falling out of love with law—the one thing I always thought I could count on—and the more terrified I am of where my life is heading.
Being a lawyer is what I’ve wanted to do my whole life. It’s what I’ve spent years—decades, even—of my thirty-two years working for. It’s what I’ve spent thousands of pounds on, between tuition fees and books and registrations and external exams. It’s what I’ve studied and achieved qualifications for in two different countries. It’s what my parents have spent even more time and money on, just to help me make it happen. And now… am I really about to turn my back on it all? To fail at the one thing I was supposed to excel at? To quit, in spite of a secure job with great benefits and compensation, a job that is—for the most part—relatively easy for me?
What does it mean if I do that?
It makes me a failure.
A big, expensive, ungrateful, wasteful failure.
Because everyone around me has given everything to help me get here. Amie and Katy held my hands and supported me through that first year of university. We met Paloma a year later, and she held my hand through just about everything else. They’ve invested almost as much as I have.
What will they see when they look at me, when they find out what I’m doing? What I’m giving up?
And isn’t this exactly what I accused my parents of doing?
It’s not that I’m undervalued, or even underpaid. Quite the opposite, honestly. Some days, there’s not a whole lot for me to do, and I still earn more than I ever dreamed of. Trenton Langley respects my worth because I’ve demanded it of them over the years, and they value me—financially speaking—accordingly.
But I’mtired.
I’m tired of working outside of my remit as an IP lawyer. I’m tired of working only to make rich men richer. I’m tired of cleaning up messes that shouldn’t be my problem. I’m tired of advising on the best course of action to avoid libel suits after a rich, white man said something inappropriate to the wrong people.
I’m just so angry at the world lately. Angry that people think it’s okay to say such blatantly untruthful, hateful, horrible things, and I’m even more angry that there are people who agree with them. Who want those people in power. I’m angry, and I’m tired of being angry, and I’m tired of always being the one who has to pick up the pieces.
I’m tired of putting on a smile.
I deal with intellectual property, for Christ’s sake. And I’m good at it.
Even though I spend half of my time threatening innocent people with cease-and-desist letters and injunctions for infringements they haven’t made. For infringementswe’vemade ontheirbrand assets, and used our wealth and status to gaslight them.
I’m damn good at my job.
But I don’t know if it’s enough anymore.
A week after fighting with my brother and my best friend, and only a day after getting home from an impromptu trip to Texas, I wake up with the kind of oppressive, full-body headache I haven’t experienced since my early teens. It’s worse than a tequila hangover, and I send a quick email from my phone to excuse myself from work before wrapping up in my duvet and rolling over again.
