Page 97 of The Ruin I Chose

Shit.

I walked back to my room—heart pounding, half-broken, cock still hard. And then I heard it. A soft broken moan, followed by the low, unmistakable hum of a vibrator from her room.

I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw. Her pleasure was a knife. And I took it willingly.

Fuck.

I wish it were me making her moan instead. That sound was going to haunt me tonight. I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My body was on fire, but I couldn’t touch her. Not yet.

She hated me. Wanted me. Needed me. And I couldn’t have her.

I could still feel her heat on my skin. Her wetness on my crotch. Her moan lingering in my mouth like a ghost I didn’t want to exorcise. And yet, I was alone again.

I wanted to punch something, to beg her to let me in. But I wouldn’t. I’d wait even if it was killing me.

Because when she’d finally let me in—mind, body, soul—I want it to be real. Not reaction or revenge. Real.

And until then, I’d burn. Every night. With her scent in my lungs and her silence in my chest.

CHAPTER 38

ROXANNE

The morning light felt too honest.

I moved through the house like a thief—avoiding Marcello’s gaze, avoiding myself.

My body had betrayed me again—and he knew it. And the worst part? A piece of me didn’t even want to deny it. He watched me, smirking like he knew my dirty little secret and planned to use it against me.

The car I’d hired was waiting outside—mine was still a wreck, like everything else.

Marcello grabbed the keys before I could.

“I’ll drive,” he said—like it was his right.

I snatched the keys from his hand without looking at him.

“This isn’t Italy. It’s India. The roads and the people are unforgiving.”

He didn’t argue. The silence in the car was suffocating. Every kilometer felt like foreplay and punishment twisted into one. I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel his gaze lingering on me, too long for my comfort.

“Can you quit staring? You’re creeping me out.”

He tilted his head, smirking.

“Must you always wear shorts around me?”

“Why? Because I’m curvy? Or because you can’t handle it?”

He hissed through his teeth.

“I don’t care what you wear. It’s just too…”

“Too?”

“Troppo tentante,” he said, “very tempting.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks so fast I almost felt dizzy. God, why did his voice feel like it had fingers? I shifted uncomfortably in my seat like guilt and desire were wrestling under my skin.