Page 122 of The Ruin I Chose

His touch was a claim. His grip was firm. Like he was reclaiming territory. Just as I leaned in, the song Tempted to Touch started playing.

I swayed my hips to the rhythm, grinding back into him. I moved like I was made for him. Like the song was written for this exact moment—my hips moving in instinctive sync with his growing arousal, his breath hot on my neck. My hands found his hair, pulling him closer. He spun me around and pulled me in for a kiss. I let him. My hands fisted his hair as his hand slid down to my ass, grabbing it slightly. Everyone cooed.

I smiled against his lips. Let them see what obsession looked like. For once, I wasn’t shrinking into guilt or fear. I was choosing what—and who—set me free.

Across the room, I caught Santino’s gaze with that unreadable expression. It wasn’t jealousy. It was restraint. Like something had clicked into place—quietly, decisively.

Then he turned, leaving the room without a glance back. Just the deliberate calm of someone choosing control.

“Let’s get out of here,” Marcello whispered.

His voice was gravel and heat. And I was already burning. We left without saying goodbye.

He didn’t lead me back to the room. Instead, he led me to the beach. To the far end, where the hotel walls curved into a cave-like structure.

The moonlight shimmered on my dress as I giggled, letting him twirl me with my heels dangling from one hand. With the wind lifting my hair and the sand kissing my feet, Marcello looked at me as if I were sacred.

He lifted me easily, one hand firm on my ass, steady as if it belonged there. I wrapped my legs around him on instinct, my body answering before my mind could catch up.

I kissed him hard—no hesitation, no softness left. My mouth moved against him with urgency, with want that had nowhere else to go. His mouth claimed mine like he already knew how this would end.

His grip tightened, anchoring me, holding me like he wasn’t about to let me slip away again.

I wanted him to feel it—the pull, the pressure, the way I came undone in his arms. I wanted to bruise him with my need. I wanted him to feel the way I did for him.

Every kiss felt inevitable. Every breath stolen, claimed. Like we were already past the point of stopping—just standing at the edge of what came next.

No matter how many times we kissed, it wasn’t enough. Every kiss felt like the first. Every touch, like a secret. He was my drug. My high. My crash. And I wanted to overdose. He was an addiction I never wanted to recover from.

“I love you,” he said—quiet, breathless, smiling against my lips as he slowly set me back on my feet.

The words didn’t strike like thunder. They settled. My heart thudded.

We walked to the edge of the shore and sank into the sand, the waves crashing close to soak our feet. I sat between his legs, his body folding around mine, his chin resting against my shoulder. His arms wrapped around me, anchoring me to him. His fingers traced slow, absent-minded circles along my thighs.

The ocean roared and my body whispered. But my heart—my heart finally exhaled.

He’d said it.

He said I love you.

And something inside me unclenched—something that had braced for loss for so long it had forgotten how to stand down. Tonight, I let myself feel the possibility of something else—

of having, not losing. Of choosing, not being chosen for.

I didn’t say it back. Not yet. But I felt it—everywhere. In the way my breath slowed. In the way my skin softened beneath his touch. In the way my body leaned into him like it had always known where it belonged.

I’d waited for those words, not just from him, but from the universe. From fate. From whatever cruel hand had stitched my life together with longing and restraint.

And now, here they were. Simple. Unadorned. True.

I turned in his arms, my fingers tracing the edge of his jaw, my thumb brushing his mouth. I kissed him tenderly—not to answer, but to receive. To let what he’d offered sink into me fully, irreversibly like moonlight into tide.

He kissed me back harder. Hungrier. Like he’d been waiting too. Like he needed me to understand that love wasn’t just spoken. It was felt. Held. Lived.

His hands slid higher and my breath hitched. The stars blurred overhead, the sand warm beneath us, the night closing in like a promise. And I let go of fear, of doubt. Of everything that had kept me from stepping into this.

“If you keep touching me like that…” I whispered against his mouth, my hands gripping his thighs. I shifted closer, pressing myself into him