Page 69 of Ruin Me Gently

His pictures were still there, waiting.

Swallowing hard, I clicked on the first one. The lines of his body filled the screen—the ink swirling over his skin, the sheer size of him.

Because I’m a pervert, I tapped save. Then I did the same with the second.

I zoomed in, dragging my fingers over every sculpted line, every sharp edge of definition.

Right on cue, my body reminded me exactly what I’d been doing when he’d sent them. Heat coiled low in my stomach and my thighs clenched together.

I mean, there was no harm in using something that’s literally in front of me. No one would know. Not even him.

My breath hitched as I sank deeper into the mattress, letting my legs fall open. I was still wet from earlier, my body never fully coming down from that abrupt interruption.

And now, with the image of him in front of me—his hard-cut stomach, the broad frame that looked built to pin someone down and ruin them—

I clicked the vibrator on and pressed it back to my clit.

The sharp pulse sent a shudder through me, my fingers clamping down on my phone. My hips rocked forward, chasing more, chasing exactly what I’d been denied.

My gaze dragged over him. His hand. Strong, veined, like it was made to grip a waist, to hold someone in place.

A moan slipped from my lips, the vibrator’s relentless rhythm winding me tighter, sending heat surging through my limbs.

What would it feel like with that hand gripping my thigh?

What would it feel like to be under that body?

Pleasure built too fast, too sharp, overwhelming. My thighs tensed, breath catching—

With a choked, shuddering gasp, I shattered. Back arching as violent pleasure surged through me, stealing my breath. Every pulse, every ripple of sensation wrung me out completely, dragging me under, leaving me weightless in its wake.

The phone slipped from my fingers, landing beside me on the bed, the image of him still burned into my brain.

I blew out a long, heavy breath, staring at the ceiling.

Yeah. I was so screwed.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Thick, suffocating heat wrappedits way around every nerve ending like a vice. My body ached, hips moving of their own accord, grinding into the mattress in slow rolls before I even knew I was awake.

My eyes cracked open, vision hazy, sheets tangled around my legs, damp with sweat clinging to my skin. Heat licked up my spine, the kind that had nothing to do with a fever and everything to do withher.

I tried to swallow down the feelings—tried to shake off the last remnants of the dream clinging to me like a brand. But it wouldn’t leave me.

Because in my mind, I was still there. In my dream. On my knees. For her.

Face buried between her thighs, hands gripping them, holding her open, spreading her wider as I worked my tongue against her. Slow at first, savouring it, teasing her with flicks and lazy strokes until she was squirming, moaning, her fingers tightening in my hair, yanking me closer.

Cazzo.

I squeezed my eyes shut. My cock was throbbing, painfully hard, practically begging me to grind against the sheets again. My body was working against me, chasing something it couldn’t have, something itshouldn’thave.

What would she taste like? Would she be wet enough to drown in?

STOP.

Groaning, I rolled onto my back, dragging my hands over my face like it might be enough to block out the sheer stupidity radiating off me. This was ridiculous. I was acting like a goddamn idiot. Grinding into my own mattress like I was nineteen again, like I had no self-control.

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