Page 25 of The Ruin I Chose

“Not tonight.”

He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, harder. Rougher. Like he needed to fuck the defiance out of me. I let out a broken moan, nails digging desperately into his shoulders. He gave a strangled laugh.

“Look at you,” he hissed. “Running from me, then falling apart the second I touch you.”

He thrust again, deeper, stealing the breath from my lungs. I tried to speak—anything—but his pace, his anger, his body against mine made thought impossible.

“Deeper,” I gasped. “Please.”

His eyes flashed with a warning.

“Shh… you don’t get to tell me how to fuck you.”

His grip tightened on my throat just enough to make my pulse jump beneath his fingers.

“You walked away.”

He lifted one of my legs and put it on his shoulder, holding it tight in place. He slammed into me, merciless. The sound of our bodies echoed through the room, sharp and obscene. My thighs shook, slick and trembling, and still he didn’t slow. He fucked me like he was punishing himself for caring too much.

My walls clenched around him, milking him, desperate and greedy. I was soaked—dripping down my thighs, the sheets wet beneath us. He groaned, feral, like he wanted to drown in it.

He caught my jaw in his hand, forcing my eyes to open and look at him. That restraint he always had—his control—gave way, finally, beautifully.

He slammed into me, so hard my breath snapped—his hand sliding from my jaw to the back of my neck, holding me right where he wanted me. His mouth brushed my ear, voice low, a furious whisper against my skin:

“Next time… Roxanne Talati… don’t even think about walking away.”

A whimper tore out of me before I could swallow it. Another thrust—deeper, punishing, like he needed to drive the warning into my bones. His pelvis pinned mine, grinding deep—like he wanted to brand the lesson inside me.

His mouth crashed onto my neck, teeth scraping my skin before he bit hard enough to make my back arch off the mattress, sharp enough to claim. I gasped, half-pain, half-pleasure, all his.

I shattered around him, body convulsing, vision white. My nails tore down his back, and he hissed in response that felt like a claim of my own. My scream tore out of me as his hand tightened just enough on my throat to keep me in the moment—held, owned, undone.

He groaned—a deep, guttural sound—thrusting into me one last time before he shattered too. Inside me. Against me. With me.

We held each other—half-naked, half-dressed.

We didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Our bodies were wreckage—sweat-slick, trembling, tangled limbs and shaking breaths. His forehead pressed to mine, our chests rising and falling in the same broken rhythm.

I didn’t know where I ended and he began. He was still inside me, softening slowly, but neither of us moved. Like pulling apart would break whatever fragile truth had just been born between us.

I didn’t know what came next. But for the first time in years, I didn’t feel alone. I felt claimed. And that terrified me.

Because being claimed meant being kept. And I didn’t know if I could survive that. Because wanting to be kept was far more dangerous than being claimed.

CHAPTER 12

ROXANNE

He hadn’t slept much.

I could tell by the way his body stayed tense beside mine. By how his hand stayed on me longer than necessary. Like he hadn’t decided whether to let go.

It wasn’t about the sex. Not entirely. Something in him felt… unsettled. Not distant—but alert. Watchful. As if he was trying to place me. Or himself with me.

He watched me now with quiet intent. Not the way a man looks at a guest or even a lover. But like I’d crossed some invisible line into territory he hadn’t planned to give away.

His gaze followed me in silence, taking me in. The mess of me, the hold-and-release, the way I didn’t soften, didn’t apologise to make him comfortable.