Page 119 of Ruin Me Gently

Cristo.

It wasn’t even the orgasms I gave her, the way I could pleasure her.

It washer.

It was how she tested me.

How she could make me feel like nothing and everything with just a single look. It was in her laugh—low and husky, curling at the edges like something wicked. It was in the way she smiled, how it deepened the lines at the corners of her mouth.

It was in every single thing she did.

I rubbed a damp hand over my face, and yanked my hoodie back on, trying to ignore the lava still coursing through my veins.

By the time I came back out, she was still slumped against the counter, blinking drowsily at nothing. Fucked out and exhausted, eyes heavy, body boneless, like she was seconds from slipping under.

I crouched in front of her, my damp shirt balled in my hands, the fabric cool from the sink. I’d soaked it, let the water chill it down, knowing she’d need it.

“Let me clean you up,” I murmured.

She gave a slow, sleepy nod.

I started at her thighs, dragging the soft cotton over her skin, deliberate and unhurried. Worshipping even this. The taking care of her. The quiet reverence of it. Because every part of her deserved to be looked after.

The second the cloth met the swollen, oversensitive flesh between her legs, she flinched, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I said, hands pulling back.

I’d hurt her.

No, no, no.

Her breath shuddered. “It’s okay.” But her voice was thin, a little raw.

I forced myself to move with even more care, smoothing the damp fabric over her with feather-light strokes, cleaning her up without hurting her, without taking more than she could give.

The tension in her limbs slowly melted away, her breathing evening out, shoulders sagging.

She was okay.

I pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, lingering there for just a second, just long enough to breathe her in. “Sit behind the counter, sweetheart. Rest.”

She hummed, stretching through her exhaustion. “Mmm. I like that name.”

Heat curled in my chest, deep and unexpected. I didn’t know where the name had come from. But… I liked it too.

I pushed to my feet, forcing myself to step away. The air between us still crackled, thick with something I couldn’t name, but I needed to focus. One thing at a time.

The counter came first. I used the T-shirt, wiping away the filthy, beautiful evidence of what we’d done—not that it mattered. The imprint of her was everywhere. In the air. On my skin. In my goddamn bloodstream. I stacked the fallen books, putting everything back where it belonged, not forgetting to pick up her discarded underwear.

By the time I was done, she was curled up behind the counter, her head resting against the wall. Nearly asleep. Completely spent.

I crouched down, fingers skimming over her knee to coax her back to me. “Lilith, let’s get you home.”

Her lashes fluttered, eyes barely opening, but she didn’t resist. Just gave me the smallest nod as I pulled her up and wrapped her coat around her, tucking it close. She felt small like this, delicate in a way I knew better than to believe, but still, I handled her carefully.

I slung her bag over my shoulder as she moved, locking up the store, checking the door once, then again. Then she turned, took a deep breath, and started walking.

“No.”

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