Page 241 of Ruin Me Gently

“Damn. Harsh.”

“Yeah, I’m a monster. Anyway, come here.”

He stepped forward, hands moving slowly as he placed his arms around me in a loose hold—not tight, not restrictive, just enough to mimic the real thing.

“Alright. Ifsomeone grabs you from the front, your first instinct is to…?”

“Break their nose. Got it.”

“Jesus, no. I told you, you get out of the hold first. Then you hit them.”

I rolled my eyes but let him show me, following the careful way he shifted his weight, the way he loosened his grip enough to demonstrate.

“Now, if you want to really get them off of you, a knee to the groin is your best friend,” he continued. “But please, for the love of God, don’t actually do it hard. I pride myself on my dick and balls.”

I grimaced, jerking back immediately. “Oh my God.”

“I’m serious. You ruin them, I ruin you. That’s the deal. Now see it through. Break the hold, soft target, knee if necessary.”

I hesitated for a split second, shifting my weight.

“Lilith,” his voice flattened to something quieter. “No thinking. Just do it.”

I exhaled, shook out my hands, and moved. Twisting my wrist free was easy—he let me have it, let me find the motion myself—and before I could talk myself out of it, I followed through, palm slamming up into his sternum, weight shifting forward. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough that he had to step back.

His eyebrows lifted. “Huh.”

I squinted at him. “‘Huh?’ What does ‘huh’ mean?”

“Nothing.”

“No, you can’t just ‘huh’ me and leave it at that. Was that good? Bad? Are you stunned by my raw, untapped potential?”

“I mean, obviously.” He stretched out his arms. “I’m just wondering if I should be concerned about what you’ll do with all this power.”

“You’ve created a beast.”

“Yeah, well, hindsight’s a bitch. Alright, pack it up. We’re done for the day.”

I furrowed my brows. “No, we aren’t.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t learn it all this quickly. You think it took me a few hours to get like this?” He ripped his shirt off over his head and flexed. He actually flexed. Biceps, shoulders, the whole thing.

I blinked. Because what the fuck?

He wasn’t built like Silas. He didn’t have that coiled, lethal kind of look that made it look like he could kill a man with one hand and still make it home in time for dinner.

But apparently, he had muscle. A lot of it.

And tattoos. Everywhere. A patchwork mess sprawled across his arms and chest. I’d never noticed them at all until right now. A paper plane, an anatomical heart tangled in flowers, a switchblade, a deck of cards, something that looked suspiciously like a cartoon frog wearing a crown.

I frowned. Disgusting.

Finn grinned. “Enjoying the view there?”

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