Page 64 of Ruin Me Gently

My eyes popped out of my head, my stomach dropped, I flatlined.

Every muscle was completely and utterly frozen.

The vibrator was still buzzing in my hand, forgotten, body locked tight on the edge, suspended between frustration and full-blown existential crisis.

I couldn’t breathe. This was it. This was how I died.

Fantasies? Confirmed.

Reality? Ripped away from me like a cruel cosmic joke.

Because right there, staring back at me, washim.

Not his face.

Oh, no.

Because apparently, showing me his actual identity was a step too far—but this? This was fine?!

Muscle. So much damn muscle.

And the tattoos?

Holy shit.

A massive, gothic-styled moth stretched from shoulder to shoulder, wings dark and intricate, fanned across his olive toned skin. A dagger sliced down the centre of his sternum, flanked by delicate, inky feathers that curved over the sharp ridges of his ribs. And lower—oh, fucking hell—thorned vines tangled across his abdomen, coiling down, leading…

No.

Was that a six-pack? An eight-pack?!

Holy mother of God.

I threw the vibrator down and paused the audio so I could take it all in properly.

I was spiralling. I’d officially lost my damn mind.

No face. No name. No hint of anything except sheer, devastating proof that this man was built to ruin lives.

I stared at the screen, pulse hammering so hard it reverberated through my ears.

Why? How?

How did a man who looked like that—who hadthatbody—end up lurking in the dark, trailing behind me like some shadow I couldn’t shake? It didn’t make sense.

Guys like him weren’t…this. They weren’t ghosts. They weren’t nightmares wrapped in muscle and ink. No. They belonged in glossy magazines, sprawled out in sheets that probably smelled like expensive cologne and bad decisions. They belonged in the lives of women who had their shit together. Women with far more confidence and far less baggage.

Not… standing outside my work.

Not being cryptic.

Notstalkingme.

This guy was the same man who bought my lunch and walked me home from a distance? Nope. I refused to believe that. There was only one explanation for this.

Lilith

You either stole that from some fitness influencer’s Instagram, or you’re an AI generated model.

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