Page 133 of Ruined

He flips us over in one smooth motion, careful of his wound but still powerful. I'm beneath him now, his weight a comforting pressure. He strips away the last of my clothing, then his own.

When he enters me, I gasp. The sensation is overwhelming—not just physically but emotionally too. It's as if he's touching parts of me no one has ever reached before.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice husky.

I open my eyes to find him watching me with an intensity that makes me tremble. He moves deliberately, each thrust slow and deep, building a pressure inside me that threatens to shatter me completely.

"Noah," I moan, digging my nails into his back.

"That's it," he growls. "Say my name again."

"Noah," I repeat, louder this time as he increases his pace.

The tension builds and builds until I can't bear it anymore. When I finally break it's like nothing I've ever experienced—waves of pleasure crashing and pulling back only to crash harder, making me cry out in exquisite agony. My entire body pulses around him as stars explode behind my eyelids.

Noah follows me over the edge, his body tensing as he groans my name against my neck. I feel him throbbing inside me, his release triggering aftershocks of pleasure through my body.

We stay connected, our breathing gradually slowing. Noah shifts to my side, pulling me against him, my back to his chest. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me close.

"I am so fucking in love with you," he says against my hair.

The words hit me like an even more powerful wave. No one has ever said that to me—not like this, raw and unguarded. I feel tears well up in my eyes, spilling over before I can stop them.

"Evelyn?" Noah's voice is concerned as he feels my tears on his arm.

I can't speak. The emotions are too much—grief for my father, fear of what's coming, and this overwhelming feeling forNoah that I can't bear to name yet. So I just shake my head and hold his arm tighter around me.

He seems to understand, pressing a kiss to my shoulder and pulling me closer. "It's okay," he says. "I've got you."

I cry silently until exhaustion takes over, Noah's steady heartbeat against my back lulling me toward sleep. The last thing I feel before darkness claims me are his lips against my temple coupled with the strange certainty that whatever comes next, I won't face it alone.

CHAPTER 39

Iwrap my arms tighter around Noah's waist as he accelerates his Ducati through the streets of Manhattan. Four months have passed since my father's murder and somehow life has found a new rhythm.

The wind whips through my hair despite the helmet. I've grown to love these motorcycle rides—the speed, the closeness to Noah, the feeling of freedom. Before Noah I never would have imagined myself on the back of a motorcycle, my thighs pressed against a man who kills for a living.

But here I am, holding onto him like he's my anchor in a storm.

We turn onto my mother's street. The new apartment is located on the parlor floor of a brownstone—less imposing,less like a prison. My mother has been decorating with new furnishings, slowly erasing my father's presence while preserving just enough to honor his memory.

Noah slows the bike, coming to a stop in front of the house. He helps me off first before dismounting himself, his movements still careful around his chest where the bullet scar remains a permanent reminder of how close I came to losing him.

"You okay?" he asks, removing his helmet and running a hand through his dark hair.

I nod, taking off my own helmet. "Just thinking about how strange this all is."

"The Sunday dinners?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Everything." I gesture vaguely at the world around us. "Four months ago I was kidnapped by you. Now we're going to have dinner with my mother like a normal couple."

Noah's lips quirk up in that half-smile I've come to love. "Normal isn't a word I'd use for us, babe."

He takes my hand as we walk up the steps. This gesture still surprises me sometimes—how gentle he can be despite everything. The man who threatened to break my fingers the first day now traces them reverently when I play.

I ring the doorbell, hearing Jessica's quick footsteps approaching. She throws open the door, her face bright with a smile that's become more common these days.

"Finally! Mom's been pacing the kitchen for twenty minutes."

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