Page 68 of The Ruin I Chose

“Whatever you do, I’ll support you. You know that.”

I smiled, grateful. But then I saw them.

Piercing eyes in the glass. The reflection felt too deliberate, too close. I lifted my gaze. Turned around—nothing. No one.

“Did you see someone?” I asked.

Sahil chuckled. “Are you seeing him again? Should I be worried?”

I shook my head and pulled him towards the dance floor.

“Let’s dance.”

The music pulsed. The drink settled in my veins. A calm began to wash over me. My hips moved on instinct, muscle memory awakened by rhythm and ache. Sahil nudged me back to our table as food arrived.

“You’ve got some fans, Roxy,” he said, pointing towards a group of businessmen. I felt their eyes trying to drill holes through my outfit.

“Shit. I shouldn’t have danced like that,” I muttered.

“Let’s eat so we can get some rest,” he replied.

Dinner was quiet.

Our rooms were two doors apart. His came first. I hugged him goodnight and walked to mine.

I stepped into my suite, tired and distracted—head lightly buzzing from the noise and alcohol. Before I could slide the card into the slot to turn on the lights, I was shoved against the wall.

I gasped, about to scream, but a hand covered my mouth.

Heavy breathing. Grunting. My heart raced.

The room was dark, with faint light creeping in through the curtains. The keycard still in my clutch. My jacket slipped from my shoulders, gathering at my wrists, restricting my movement. I could barely see who it was.

But then I inhaled. The scent—faint musk, spice, memory. My body knew before my mind did. The way his chest pressed into mine, the way his breath hit my neck—

It was him. It had to be.

My breath hitched. My body responded like it had been waiting. Like it had memorised him in absence. The way he held me, the way he breathed me in—it wasn’t just familiar. It was inevitable.

He didn’t speak. Just lowered his head onto my shoulder. It felt heavy. I didn’t move—his body against mine. I didn’t fight it. I couldn’t.

He slowly moved his hand down to my neck, then my hand—lacing it with his. Our fingers locked like they’d done this a thousand times before. Like they remembered what our mouths hadn’t said.

His grip was firm, reverent—like he was holding something precious. And I let him. His scent was masked with sweat—not repulsive, but sweet. Like tension and memory.

His other hand grazed up my arm, slowly. Then rested on my waist, pulling me closer to him. He grazed his stubble against my jaw.

My lips parted, and I let out a soft groan. My mind resisted, but my body accepted. I should’ve been scared. But I wasn’t. I shut my eyes as I could feel his hardness building against me.

My brain was telling me to scream and push him away, head for the door and bolt out. But my knees locked. My breath stayed trapped in my throat, breathing heavily with this stranger.

He snuggled against my neck, lips moving along the lines from neck to shoulder. This all felt familiar. Too familiar. Instinctively, my free hand reached for his hair, caressing.

His hardness was now pressed into my belly. My chest rose and fell with every breath, nipples hard beneath the fabric.

Heat surged through me. I didn’t understand how my body was reacting. Then his lips met mine with desperate hunger. He kissed me like he was starving. Like silence had been torture. His mouth devoured mine—biting, breathing, shaking so hard my knees nearly gave out. I moaned into him, and he drank it down like a man who’d been dying of thirst. My nails scraped his scalp, as his stubble burned my jaw.

I broke free from the kiss, breathless. My lips grazed his ear. And I whispered it—soft, broken, almost sacred.