Page 110 of The Ruin I Chose

Her voice was velvet. Her presence, gasoline. And I was the match she kept striking.

Control Marcello. Apologise first.

I looked into her eyes. “Roxanne… about yesterday…”

She placed a finger on my lips.

“That bitch has been taken care of.”

I stared at her. This side of her—sharp, unapologetic—was new. And I liked it. No, I fucking loved it. I knew she was a fighter. But hearing her fight for me?

Damn. She was getting hotter by the minute.

She grabbed the edge of my blazer, pulled me closer. Our lips almost brushed.

“I know it wasn’t your fault,” she said.

Then bit my lip. Hard. I tasted blood. The sting grounded me. Her mouth was wild—not kissing, claiming, consuming. I wanted to bleed for her. I wanted to beg. I groaned, helpless.

“I want to hate you so bad, but I can’t,” she said, voice laced with seduction.

“You stir something in me,” I said, voice rough.

“Something animalistic. Something that doesn’t ask. Just takes. I don’t understand it.”

I wasn’t just aroused. I was possessed. By the way she looked at me. By the way she didn’t flinch. By the way she made me feel like I was hers to take.

My hand slid down her waist, fingers grazing the waistband. She gasped, lips parted. I didn’t ask. I just moved.

“You want this,” I said. “Why deny it?”

“I’m not like the women you’re used to. Sleek with legs up to their neck. I’m soft, curvy. I’ve been married. I have a child. I come with history. With scars. With weight”

None of that scared me. Losing her did.

“If I had a child,” I said, “would it make a difference? Would you have not chosen me?”

She hesitated. “It’s different for men.”

“No,” I replied. “It’s not.”

“You can have any woman. Why me?”

She looked at me with softened eyes. I took her hand and guided it between us. Her breath stuttered instantly. She slowly moved her hand over my slacks, feeling the full length of my arousal.

“Because this is what you do to me,” I said, quietly, forehead resting against hers.

Her fingers stilled, then moved solely, teasing.

“I don’t have to touch you,” I continued. “I just have to be near you.”

I throbbed under her touch, aching for more. She swallowed hard, exploring my length with patience. I slowly moved my hands in her pants, letting my hand slide lower. Wetness bloomed between her thighs. Her body answered me immediately—soft, responsive, already giving itself away. I felt the tremor beneath my touch and smiled against her ear.

“I’ve had a taste of you,” I murmured. “And I can’t forget it.”

My stubble brushed her neck. She ground herself on my palm.

“I only want you.”