Page 45 of Ruin Me
The shadows of the room wrap around me like a loving embrace, the silk sheets a gentle caress against my skin. My eyes flutter shut, but sleep doesn’t claim me just yet. Instead, my mind races with the magnitude of what we’re about to undertake. We’re not just playing games of power and manipulation; we’re waging a silent war where moves are made in the darkness, and victories are celebrated in hushed tones.
I roll over, fluff the pillow into a more comfortable shape, and try to steady my breathing. I need to be sharp for what’s coming. There will be no place for weakness.
Then there’s the whole mess of facing my father. The thought alone is a bitter pill lodged in my throat. The man who has given me nothing but a dangerous legacy to deal with. But facing him is inevitable if I want to wield the influence I’m entitled to by birthright.
I sigh into the quiet room and force myself to relax muscle by muscle. Somehow, between thoughts of allies and enemies, I drift off into a restless sleep, only to be jolted awake by the door opening softly, scaring the living shit out of me.
I leap up, my heart hammering, but it’s just Quen.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to check on you.”
“Well, Iwasasleep, and now I’m awake,” I grouse.
He gives me a sad smile. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise. Join me?” I crawl back into bed, aware of being only in bra and knickers.
He kicks off his boots and pulls his black tee over his head with one hand. I take in his ripped abs and the scars crisscrossing his skin. He removes his pants, going commando, and with a wicked smile at my wide eyes, he climbs into bed with me.
The feel of his skin against mine sends a shot of electricity through me. His warmth engulfs me as he slides closer, and I can feel the tension in his body, the coiled strength of him. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once. I run my hand up his muscular arm, bringing my fingers to rest on the snake tattoo on his neck. I can feel his pulse beating rapidly under my fingertips. Throwing caution to the wind, I roll us over, straddling him, pressing him into the mattress as I reach around to unclip my bra. My breasts fall free, and immediately, his hands come up to cup them and tweak my nipples gently.
“Did those assholes touch you?” he growls.
I shake my head. “Not in that way.”
He nods, accepting my word for it. His hands trail down my ribs and hook into the sides of my knickers.
Rolling us over with a swift tug, he liberates me from them, leaving my body bared to his heated gaze. My pulse quickens as his eyes darken with raw need. In this moment, I am not just Vogue who’s come back from the brink of disaster; I am a woman ignited by the touch of a man who carries his own scars and darkness.
“Quen,” I whisper, my voice husky with desire. His name is a plea and a command all rolled into one. He understands, drawing me down for a searing kiss that leaves no room for thought. Our tongues entwine, and I am lost in the sensation, in the urgency that crackles between us.
His hands roam over my skin, igniting fires wherever they touch. They settle on my hips before he flips us back over so I’m on top again. His cock is rock hard underneath my pussy, and I move over him, teasing myself with this length. He groans, pulling me down for a kiss. I rotate my hips as I thrust my tongue into his mouth, and I feel myself getting wetter.
“Fuck,” he murmurs against my lips. “I need you, Vogue.”
Taking his cock in my hand, I guide him to my entrance and slide down him in one smooth motion, taking in every inch. A low moan escapes my lips as I feel him filling me completely. His hands grip my waist, guiding the rhythm as I start to move. Slow at first, finding our pace; the world narrows down to just the two of us.
I ride him with abandon, throwing my head back as he hits just the right spot inside me.
“Harder, Quen,” I demand, and he responds instantly, thrusting up into me with a force that drives a strangled cry from deep within me.
We’re both lost in this carnal rhythm. With every move I make, I’m challenging him to keep up, to take what he wants.
His fingers dig into my skin, leaving marks thatwill linger for days, but I will wear them with pride. The intensity builds like a storm about to break. I lean forward, bracing myself against his chest as he reaches between us and finds my clit.
“Oh God,” I gasp out as his thumb starts working against me in tight circles. The pleasure spirals out of control, tingling sensations spreading through me until they blend at my core. “I’m close.”
“Come for me,” he breathes out, his voice thick with lust.
The edge is there, waiting for me to tumble over it, but his cock feels too good inside me. I don’t want this to end.
But I can’t hold off, not with the way we’re moving together, not with his thumb circling my clit with relentless precision. My orgasm slams into me, hard and fast.
With a cry that might be his name or might just be the sound of my soul cracking open, I soak his cock as the door opens again. With a gasp, I look over my shoulder to see Callum watching us, eyes narrowed, an unreadable expression on his face. He closes the door quietly and approaches the bed as I remain stock-still, panting from the orgasm as Quen pounds into me.
“Ah,” I cry out as Callum stops by the bed and lowers his mouth to my nipple. “Wait,” I murmur, embarrassed and mortified. I’ve never had more than one guy in bed with me before, and I’m not about to start now.
Or am I?
