Page 92 of Run of Ruin

I savored the rare hush of the morning, leaning my elbows on the counter and cradling my mug between my palms and languidly taking sips. The bitter warmth soothed my throat as my mind replayed the montage they’d shown last night. Beautiful, intimate moments stitched together in the soft glow of early light. Zaffir had given me such a beautiful gift. And I haven’t even been able to thank him for it yet. I found that I missed him.

I closed my eyes, letting their faces drift through my head like ghosts that, for once, weren’t trying to haunt me.

“Well, well, well… what’s got you all smiley this morning?”

I jolted, nearly sloshing coffee down my borrowed shirt. My eyes snapped open to find Thorne leaning casually against the doorway, his signature smug grin firmly in place as he reached for a mug.

“Ezra wasthatgood, huh?” he teased, pouring himself a cup and giving me a side glance that was all too pleased with itself.

I felt my face heat instantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, taking a long sip in a feeble attempt to hide behind my cup.

Thorne let out a soft, knowing chuckle and sidled up beside me, close enough that his arm brushed mine as he lifted his mug and blew over the hot liquid. My gaze, traitorous thing that it was, dropped to his lips, the memory of them against mine last night flashing like a warning sign. Or maybe a challenge.

“You kissed me on TV,” I blurted, the words tumbling out before my brain caught up.

He tilted his head, one brow arched in mock offense. “Did I?”

“Yes, you did,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes.

Thorne made a show of considering it, tapping a finger to his chin. “Hmm. I feel like I’d remember our first kiss, love.”

I smacked his arm with the back of my hand, earning an exaggerated wince as he clutched his chest. “Glad to see I was so memorable.”

I laughed in spite of myself, and before I could protest, he set his cup down and tugged me toward him by my waist, turning me to face him. His eyes softened, though the glint of mischief still lingered.

“See,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek, “if I were gonna give you a first kiss, it wouldn’t be in front of cameras. Wouldn’t be for show. Wouldn’t be because we needed to make the crowd swoon.”

He pressed a kiss to my cheek. Then the other.

“I wouldn’t do it to even some score, or because Zaffir told us to play nice for the narrative.”

A kiss to my temple. To the tip of my chin.

“If I were gonna kiss you, love…” His voice dropped, a smoky promise, “I’d get you alone. I’d tease you until you couldn’t stand it. Make you crave my mouth. Have you begging for it.”

His lips ghosted along my throat, and my breath hitched, my body arching just slightly toward him.

“If I were gonna kiss you,” he whispered, his mouth grazing my ear, “it’d be just for us. No audience. No cameras. No scripts.”

When he pulled back, his eyes met mine, and the heat there was scorching. My chest rose and fell, a thousand words I couldn’t say jammed up in my throat. Because damn it, I was burning for him.

And he knew it.

Then, with a patient, smoldering fire, he kissed me.

His hands cradled my face, thumbs brushing tenderly over my cheeks as if I were something fragile, something sacred. His touch was both a promise and a possession, and I melted beneath it, sinking into him like the world beyond those walls didn’t exist. The kiss was intimate, incendiary, but unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to unravel me piece by piece.

His lips molded to mine with a kind of reverence that made my pulse pound, his tongue flicking along the seam of my lips, asking…no, begging…for entrance. I opened for him without hesitation, and when our tongues met, it wasn’t frantic. It was deliberate. A slow, sensual dance meant to savor, to memorize, to mark.

Every pass, every stroke, every tilt of his mouth against mine poured with aching, consuming heat. My hands wove into his hair, tugging him closer, refusing to let an inch of space remain between us. Our bodies fit together in perfect, unyielding heat, fire meeting gasoline.

When he finally broke the kiss, it was only enough to let us breathe, our foreheads pressed together as we panted, breaths mingling, hearts racing in sync. His hands still cradled my face like I was the most precious thing he'd ever held.

“Now that is the only first kiss that matters to me,” he whispered, voice rough with desire.

Before I could catch my breath, he stole another kiss, soft, lingering, full of promise and unspoken things, leaving me wrecked, ruined, and already aching for more when the front door flew open.

I startled, instinctively trying to step back but Thorne’s arms stayed firmly around me. A protective cage I wasn’t getting out of so easily. He turned us both toward the entrance, and that’s when Zaffir walked in.

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