This is the final chapter! Slightly T to M rating, but only marginally in places.
And I make no apologies for my blatant promotion of Oz wines. Any I mention are available in the UK!
oOo
Ruth had at last come to the decision that she had hesitated long enough.
She had already spent two weeks mulling over the pros and cons of living with Harry in his house, and try as she may, she had come up with no good reason for putting it off any longer. And she had tried hard to find some. All the best reasons for not committing to Harry, even in the short term, were not present. Too many times she had seen Harry during the worst of his behaviour, but she knew his anger, his unpredictability, had its origins in fear, and his desire that his team perform at the highest levels. Harry cared. Perhaps he cared too much, and she valued that in a man.
She had lived in her mind the scenario were they (by some strange quirk of circumstances unforeseen, or even madness) to fall out of love with one another, and even that unlikely scenario had not put her off. There was certainly a possibility that they would not remain together, although as of this afternoon, she cannot imagine it. She had wanted to be sure about this, and she was now as sure as she'd ever be. To put it off any longer was creating for Harry a degree of pain and uncertainty that she no longer wished to inflict upon him.
While watching him walk away from her after they'd met in St James Park, the truth had hit her like a cold slap. She had been hesitating, procrastinating, hedging over committing to living with him because she didn't trust herself. She had no reason to not trust Harry. Once he'd shared with her his true feelings, he had not once led her into believing that he was not fully in the relationship. She, on the other hand, had danced around in the half-light at the fringes of their bond, with one foot in and one foot out. Her reason? She was sure that she did not deserve the love of this man, and that in time, he'd no doubt discover that.
What bollocks!
She had a lot of making up to do. But first, she had to sort out some things in her own house.
..
It was early evening, and she was back at Harry's house. She had thrown together a large dish of lasagna, and it was in the oven. Over the past few days, Harry would not have placed a high priority on eating regular meals, so she hoped he'd be home in time to help her eat it. An unopened bottle of Banrock Station Rosé sat on the dining table. Either side of the bottle of wine she'd placed two large candles, so far unlit. Although she had no real reason to be, Ruth was nervous. This was to be yet another important step in their coming together.
His timing could not have been better. Ruth was upstairs in the spare room when she heard him close the front door.
"Ruth?" he called from the hallway.
"Upstairs," she answered. Now seemed as good a time as any. "I'm in the spare room."
"What are you doing -?" he began, and then when he'd stepped through the doorway he saw what she was doing. "Ruth – you've brought your books. All of them, too."
"And all my clothes are in your wardrobe."
"Our wardrobe," he corrected.
Harry's face broke into a wide smile. Were Harry a whooping man (which Ruth was eternally relieved he wasn't), he would have whooped. She preferred the gestures and sounds he emitted naturally and without any hint of self-consciousness – his gentle smile, or the lifting of an eyebrow, or one side of his mouth. He laughed infrequently, but when in her company he smiled often. He also pursed his lips when annoyed or frustrated – particularly when faced with the perceived incompetence of others. His gasps and groans during their lovemaking thrilled her, chiefly because she knew them to be a totally honest expression of passion.
He looked across the room at her, and she lifted her eyes to meet his. In that moment they both knew what this meant. He stepped across and between the random piles of her books to put his arms around her. "Welcome home, Ruth," he said.
"It's good to be home," she replied, meeting his lips with her own.
Their kiss became deeper, and Harry's hands began to wander – down her arms to her hands, and then to her buttocks, her waist, her breasts, her neck. It was as though he had a need to reacquaint himself with her body. It had been days since they'd touched in this way. Ruth had already removed his tie, and had begun undoing the buttons on his shirt. Then she ran her hands all over his bottom, reminding herself of the shape and the feel of it.
"This must call for a celebration," he mumbled against her mouth. "But first, Ms Evershed, I'm going to make love to you until you beg me to stop."
"Promises, promises," she mumbled back.
They staggered to their bedroom, and fell on to the duvet. Scarlett and Fidget had been curled up asleep on the bed, but they soon leapt off the bed and through the door in search of a quieter sleeping place. Hands moved over clothing, buttons were undone, shirts removed, pants and skirts, socks and shoes flung off. Harry then lifted himself above her, staring down into her face. She ran her hands over his chest and down his back to his bare buttocks.
"God, I love you," Harry said, before he leant closer to her and took one nipple in his mouth, teasing the tip of it with his tongue. They then lay side by side, facing one another, while their hands explored the other – no mounds, cracks, crevices or expanses of bare skin were left untouched.
When they at last joined together, his hardness inside her, they moved slowly and gently, their eyes each on the other. Despite their days apart, they lasted a long time, just moving with one another in a gentle and steady rhythm. They were in no hurry. Suddenly, Ruth's hips bucked, and her muscles contracted tightly around him, as she cried out his name. His climax followed soon after. Afterwards they rested against one another, Harry having pulled the duvet over them both.
"That was lovely," Ruth said after a time.
"I've missed you so much," he said, placing his lips on her forehead. "Let's not be apart if we can help it, Ruth. It's too hard on both of us."
She nodded her assent.
They took a long shower together, again running their hands over the skin of the other. It was in moments such as these that they luxuriated in each other.
"Why were we not doing this years ago?" he asked, looking deeply into her eyes as the water cascaded over their heads and shoulders.
"I can only speak for myself," Ruth replied, returning his look. "I believed I didn't deserve something as wonderful as this. I've been afraid of being found out."
"Being found out? Jesus, Ruth, what does that mean?"
"I thought you'd discover I was ordinary, and that you wouldn't want me when you found that out."
"Darling," Harry exclaimed, "that's nonsense. We know one another. We know who we are. I know how extraordinary you are, and – well – you obviously see something similar in me. That's what love is, Ruth. Love doesn't judge." He bent to kiss her. "Love transcends all that guilt and shame crap."
They dried themselves while facing one another in the bathroom. Harry luxuriated in watching Ruth's back and buttocks reflected in the mirror at the same time he drank in her breasts and her hips and her face. Ruth, on the other hand, seemed overly interested in his chest, stomach, thighs and his penis. She had difficulty in keeping her hands off all four. Harry pushed her hand away.
"I'm ready to eat now," he explained. "Food, that is. I'm starving."
As had happened so often before, they ate in near silence, words being almost a distraction. They left the wine, deciding to open it another night. After dinner they climbed the stairs to bed, and it was only 10:30. Lying in bed together, they were each almost asleep, their arms wrapped around one another, when Harry spoke into the darkness.
"I've been thinking, Ruth," he began, "I'm not going to hesitate any more where we're concerned. If it feels right, I think we should just do it."
"I'll vote for that," Ruth replied, her voice sleepy, a smile in her voice, happiness at last filling her heart.