Page 71 of Ruin Me Gently

Some brushed it off. Others looked at me like I was evil incarnate, like my refusal to give them more made me fundamentally broken.

That’s when I stopped. That’s when I decided it was easier to just… not.

And for years, it wasn’t hard. I never craved the intimacy. Never felt deprived. It was like cutting out a bad habit—something that no longer served me, something I was better off without.

But then Lilith happened.

There was nothing empty about her. Nothing mechanical. Nothing cold or sharp.

My teeth clenched, breath ragged, nails scraping against the tile as I let my hand drift lower. Every nerve burned, every muscle locked, the anticipation prickling my skin with heat.

I hesitated, just for a second, then—fuck it.

The second my fingers wrapped around my cock, a choked, wrecked noise tore from my throat.

Gesù.

A tremor ran through me, knees nearly buckling at the sensation—heat, pressure, the overwhelming relief of touch.

I stroked once, a slow, measured pull from base to tip, my breath stalling as heat shot straight through my stomach.

It wasn’t enough, not even close.

I stroked again, tighter this time, my breathing breaking into uneven gasps, abs flexing as I let my head tilt back against the shower wall, eyes squeezing shut.

The friction was good, but not enough. Not wet enough, not hot enough, not fucking tight enough.

I sucked in a ragged breath and spat into my palm, slicking my cock up better, hotter, rougher and—fuck yes,that was it.

My other hand shot up, tangling in my hair, yanking just like she had in the dream, sending a sharp pulse of pain straight to my cock that made my whole body twitch.

Cazzo, sì, sì, sì.

I was losing myself, falling apart with the memory of her, of her tattoos, the delicate black lines that wove along her skin, begging to be kissed, marked, worshipped.

My hips snapped frantically as I fucked into my fist, the friction so good, too good, fucking perfect.

I wanted to be on my knees for her. I wanted her to shove me down, make me beg for it.

“Please—” The word ripped from my throat, unbidden and desperate.

I couldn’t stop.

My hand stayed gripped on my cock whilst the other raked over my chest, nails leaving deep red marks across my skin.

I wanted her knees planted on either side of my ribs, her hand gripping my jaw, forcing me to meet her stormy silver eyes as she smirked down at me.

I groaned louder, the rhythm of my strokes turning relentless, hips thrusting forward, chasing it, chasingher.

I wanted to bury my face between her thighs, taste her pussy, worship her, drown in her until my lungs burned, until she was shaking and whimpering and clutching at me like I was the only thing keeping her grounded.

I wanted her legs wrapped around my shoulders, her body arching, back hitting the mattress as she begged me to stop, begged menotto stop.

“Ti prego—”

I need her. I need her. I need her.

Everything broke.

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