Page 123 of The Ruin I Chose

“…you’ll have to take me under the stars.”

He brushed my hair aside and traced my neck with his —each kiss a vow. I arched into him, opening myself without hesitation, without armour.

I didn’t say I love you. I showed him. With every gasp. Every tremor. Every sound my body gave him, like a promise already kept.

One hand kneaded my breast—slow, purposeful. The other slid higher, tracing the edge of my panties, testing my breath, my patience. His fingers moved with a familiarity that made my breath stutter—like they remembered the map of me. Like they’d been waiting. They knew exactly where to go. And how deep.

“Your body speaks to me, what words cannot,” he breathed slowly, warm against my ear.

His voice was a spell and my body, the altar. I was ready to be worshipped. And he worshipped like a sinner—desperate, devout, unrepentant.

I matched his rhythm as his fingers pushed inside me. My hips rolled to meet him. My lips found his, and we were consumed in our own bubble of lust and passion. Swallowed whole by heat and hunger. By the kind of passion that doesn’t ask permission. It just takes.

I never felt this way with Vihaan. With Marcello, I wasn’t just seen—I was undone. Exalted. Pulled apart and rebuilt somewhere rawer. Truer.

He didn’t awaken desire in me. He summoned something ancient—the Aphrodite in me. Something that wanted to be claimed, devoured and worshipped—not gently, but completely.

I turned into him, needing closeness more than air, my body moving on instinct. The world narrowed to heat, breath, skin. To the way he held me like I wasn’t fragile—but necessary.

I locked my legs around his hips, sitting on his lap. I wanted all of him. Wanted the way he fit against me, into me, like we were made to meet here—half dressed, half wild, wholly ours.

Fabric clung to sweat. Zippers dug into skin.

Nothing stopped us. Not the sand beneath us nor the night watching. Not the crash of the roaring waves. Not the way everything in me trembled with want. We were primal. Beautiful. Brutal.

I held onto his shoulders as I rode him. The burn in my thighs was nothing compared to the pleasure of having him inside me. A small price to pay.

He held me tighter with each thrust—each movement deeper, more certain. It felt like he reached something deep inside me—something I’d kept locked away.

We moved together—unrestrained, unguarded—until thought fell away and only feeling remained. Until the past loosened its grip and the present claimed me entirely.

He took me like he was trying to rewrite my past.

And I let him. Every thrust, a new chapter.

“Oh, Roxy.” He said breathlessly. “I’m close.”

My inner walls involuntarily clenched, and we came undone.

We didn’t just climax. We collapsed.

“Being in you—nirvana.” He said breathlessly, in between kisses.

“Like I found my very own Shangri-La”

We lay there afterwards, spent and silent, the stars stretched wide above us. My head rested against his arm. His thumb traced slow, grounding circles into my skin—anchoring me back to myself. He turned towards me and kissed my temple. Then his voice shifted.

“We found Lorenzo,” he said quietly.

The night stilled around us.

“We leave in two days.”

The weight of it settled between us—not fear, not doubt—but inevitability. My heart dropped, throat closing in on every word. The man who had just filled me was now preparing to leave me. Again.

“If I don’t return—” he said quietly.

“Don’t,” I cut in, my voice breaking.