Page 89 of Ruin Me Gently

Yes. No. Maybe.

I should’ve been up already, walking out like I knew I should. But nothing was cooperating. Not my legs, not my brain, not my sanity.

She let the moment stretch, then tilted her head, eyes narrowing on me slightly. “Are you waiting for me to kick you out or something?”

I flexed my fingers against my thighs like that would help ground me. “Do you want me to go?”

She didn’t even hesitate. Just shook her head.

Something thick and foreign lodged itself in my throat.

The soft glow of the TV flickered on in the room, but I didn’t have a chance to process what was playing, because she was burning a hole right through my skull with her gaze. She was waiting patiently, like she had all the time in the world. Like she wasn’t playing a game with someone whose internal wiring was sparking and frying out like an overworked circuit board.

I felt like an idiot. Sitting there, rigid as hell, every muscle coiled so tight it was a wonder I hadn’t split in two yet.

She sighed and turned to face me fully. “Are we gonna keep sitting here in silence, or are you gonna tell me what’s got you brooding harder than usual?”

I had two options—play it off, brush it aside and invite her to lay on my lap again.

Or tell the truth.

Not that it mattered. My mouth had already made up its mind. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She blinked once. Twice. Then smirked. She fucking smirked. Then leaned in a fraction, lips parting, silver eyes dancing with something wicked. “Tell me.”

I didn’t say a damn thing. Couldn’t. Not when she was peeling me open for fun. Not when she stretched slightly, shifting under the blanket. Not when she brushed her foot against my thigh.

My jaw clenched.

Oh, sheknewwhat she did to me.

My head snapped straight to the TV, latching onto whatever mindless bullshit was playing, hoping it would save me from whatever was happening right now.

But it wasn’t going to.

She set her coffee down with a deliberate clink, grabbed the edge of the blanket, and in one smooth motion, threw it off, swung a leg over me, andstraddledme.

My hands shot out instinctively, gripping her hips on reflex, heat searing through me like a goddamn wildfire.

Dio mio. Gesù Cristo.

She leaned in slow, her palms pressing against my chest, fingertips grazing along the fabric of my hoodie. “No more lap cuddles, no more hair stroking, no more games,” she murmured. “I want you.”

“You don’t.”

She exhaled, leaning in slightly, eyes searching mine. “Don’t tell me what I don’t want.”

My chest cracked.

I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t.

Her fingers lifted, slow, tentative, brushing the edge of my scarf. “Take it off.”

Panic spiked through me. My hand shot out, catching her wrist gently, holding her there. “No,” I rasped. “Please.”

Something in my voice must have reached her because she just nodded.

I didn’t know what I was doing. My fingers grazed her cheek first, light as a whisper. But then I pressed my palm against her skin, warm and soft beneath my touch.

---