Page 29 of Ruin Me
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. I’m not supposed to feel this way, am I? I know she will eventually be with all of us. That’s the plan, but right now, Quen is miles in front of us, and we have a lot of catching up to do. I’ve been hanging back, trying not to bethatguy who forces himself into her life, but watching them like some creep is getting to me. It’s also getting to my cock, which is about to burst out of my pants. How gross does it make me to jerk off toone of my best mates shagging the girl we all want while neither of them is aware? Pretty gross, but I shrug. I’m no saint, and to be fair, they brought it on themselves by fucking right in front of the car.
Unzipping my pants, I grab my cock as I watch them, tugging fiercely, wanting the release. It happens quickly, and I unload onto my hand with a soft groan, my eyes riveted to the screen.
“My own personal porn. One day soon, baby girl, this will be a live show, and you will take my cock as I punish that sweet pussy of yours.”
Flinging my head back, my words do nothing to tame the rampaging beast inside.
Reaching over to the bedside cabinet for a tissue, I root around until I find one and wipe my hand before I shove my dick away and get up.
Enough is enough. I need to insert myself into Vogue’s world, too. Maybe not like Quentin is right now, but somehow. Restless energy pushes me forward as I stride out the door and down the hallway of this dingy building towards her flat, my mind racing with what I’ll say, how I’ll explain just showing up unannounced. None of the guys know I got myself this little hideaway next door to her two days ago. The resident was made an offer he couldn’t refuse and promptly moved out so I could slide into her life.
Bypassing the door, I take the stairs quickly and push open the main door to wait outside, leaning against the building as the sun sets on this little town that is about to have a rude awakening. No way inhell Aaron is going to take this lying down. Whoever is gunning for his girl is about to feel a wrath that they wish would take their souls and be done with it. I smile, feeling the icy thrill skitter over my skin, placing my hand on the gun shoved into the back of my pants, feeling its familiar comfort.
Anticipation buzzes through me, electric and sharp. It’s not just about wanting her; it’s about needing that connection, that depth.
I check my phone again, not for the time but for a distraction. Anything to keep my eyes from constantly darting to the street corner, where I expect them to appear at any moment. I run my hand through my hair, frustrated with myself for getting so worked up. But it’s Vogue, and despite everything, she pulls at me like gravity.
Minutes drag like hours until headlights finally slice through the darkness. I straighten up, swallow hard, and prep myself for whatever comes next.
The car pulls to a stop, and I push off the wall, my posture shifting to something more casual, like I just happen to be passing by. Quentin’s out first, his eyes scanning the area before landing on me. No words, just a look passes between us—sharp, quick. We both know what’s at stake.
“Hey,” I call out as Vogue gets out of the car, her face unreadable in the dim glow of the streetlights.
“Hi, Harrison,” she says, her voice cautious, a question in her tone. “What are you doing here?”
“Shift switch,” I say, giving her that smile that I know knocks people’s socks off. I was told every dayto practice that smile in the mirror, to get the sincerity down, the genuine interest in my eyes, the slight tilt of my head that screams ‘I see you; I’m listening’.
Her eyes search mine, and I let her look, let her see whatever it is she needs to find there. Concern, longing—I’ve got plenty of both, and if that’s what it takes to bridge the gap between us, then that’s what I’ll show her.
“Okay,” she says with a shrug. “But I’ll tell you what I told Quen. I can take care of myself.”
“I know, but humour me?”
She smiles. “Sure. You want a drink?”
“Love one.”
She walks up to Quen and gives him a light kiss on the lips before she slinks past me.
Quen’s gaze bores into mine, but what can he say? Fuck all. So, I give him a mock salute and turn on my heel to follow Vogue into the building and up the stairs to her flat.
The lock clicks, and Vogue’s door swings open. She gestures for me to follow her inside. The flat is small but neat, the air laced with some floral scent I can’t quite place.
“Tea, okay?” she asks, already moving toward the kitchenette. “I need to go back to the shops tomorrow, so it’s that or water.”
“Tea’s fine. Thanks,” I say.
“Take a seat.” She flicks the kettle on and grabs some cups and the tea bags.
When it’s ready, she hands me a cup and then sitson the couch next to me, pulling her feet up underneath her.
“Thanks for checking up on me,” she says, and there’s a warmth in her voice that coaxes a smile out of me. “I don’t expect it though.”
“Just making our presence known,” I murmur, gazing into her eyes. Watching her with Quen has twisted something inside me—something dark, something desperate. But here, now, with her gaze resting easy on mine, I’m starting to think maybe I can even the playing field.
“Thanks, Harrison,” she says, breaking into my thoughts. “For worrying about me.”
“Always, and call me Harry,” I respond without hesitation.
