Page 163 of Ruin Me Gently

I looked up at him. He was standing by the edge of the bed, hands loose at his sides, concern etched across his brow, a sea of blankets and half-eaten food between us.

I was fine. Katniss was fine. Everything was fine.

A flood of emotions rushed through me, swelling up out of nowhere, hitting too fast, too hard. My throat tightened and my vision blurred slightly.

I wasn’t going to cry. I refused to cry.

Something in my chest pulled tight and I set my phone down and crossed the room.

He didn’t move, just watched me, lips parting slightly as he tracked my every step.

I stopped in front of him, tilting my head up to meet his eyes, just as they dropped to my lips.

A soft shiver rolled through me as I stood on my tiptoes and met his unfairly perfect lips with mine.

For a few seconds he didn’t move. But then, he kissed me back. His fingers threading through my hair, his other hand settling against my back.

I sighed into the kiss, my hands lifting to cup his face, feeling the rough scratch of stubble beneath my palms.

The hand on my back moved, fingertips brushing softly over my side and I leaned into him, my hands finding his shoulders, then trailing down slowly, melting into the muscles that tensed and flexed under my touch.

He continued his slow, gentle path, tracing the dip of my waist, the swell of my hip. Every sweep of his fingers sent a wave of heat pooling low in my stomach, my skin burning for more.

His tongue met mine, a slow, deliberate stroke, and I gasped against his lips, a heavy heat flushing through my cheeks, my body, everywhere. His fingers curled into my waist, pulling me closer to him, andfuckI wanted more.

He groaned into my mouth as his hands found my ass, squeezing, pulling me deeper. I gasped, gripping his shoulders, needing something to hold onto as my body lit up under his touch.

The kiss turned deeper, hungrier, tongues meeting as need pressed in from all sides.

I tilted my head, breaking away so I could press my lips to his jaw.

A sound escaped him, something halfway between a groan and my name.

I was hungry for him. Hungry for all of him.

I could have all of him now. And God, I wanted to see what he looked like when he broke under my touch.

“Lilith,” he murmured, my name rough, strained—the sound of it shot straight down between my thighs.

“Lilith,” he said again. But this time, he pulled himself away from my lips, hands covering mine, halting my movement.

I pulled back slightly, breath uneven as I searched his face.

His eyes were hooded, heavy with want—but something else lingered there too.

“We can’t,” he said quietly.

I frowned. “Why? We’ve already…” my voice faltered.

“Yeah,” he said softly, shifting to lace his fingers with mine. His thumbs brushed my knuckles. “But you weren’t covered in bruises then. You weren’t—”

He broke off, jaw tightening, eyes dropping to my body, the faintest shadow of a frown creasing his brow. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “I want you to heal first. You deserve to feel good without having to worry about getting hurt.”

I wanted him—so badly it ached. I didn’t give a shit about the bruises. All I cared about in that moment was him. His body, his lips, the heat of his skin, the way I knew it would feel when we finally let go.

But I wasn’t going to argue. We both needed to be comfortable.

I blew out a heavy breath, body still thrumming with need, but I nodded. “Okay, I understand.”

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