Page 35 of Ruin Me Sweetly

“Yes, Bella. Keep moving,” he rasped.

I genuinely considered it. But I was too afraid. His dick was too big.

“I’m not sure if I can,” I groaned.

His hands moved to my hips.

“Spread your knees wider, but keep that ass nice and high,” he murmured.

The wider I spread my legs, the lower I sank. I pressed my face into the bedding and held on, arching myself to raise my ass as high as I could manage.

“Good. Now I’ll help you.”

“How gracious,” I muttered.

I could feel him move closer. The mattress dipped, and his fingers curled around my hips. I closed my eyes. It didn’t help when he began to move.

“Play with your pussy, darling. Let yourself appreciate this ass fuck,” he drawled, holding himself deep.

That wasn’t a bad idea. It could be a distraction—that was a lie. Nothing could distract me from what was about to happen to my poor ass. I turned, pressing my cheek into the bed. Then I pushed my hand beneath myself until I reached between my thighs, sighing as I began to rub my clit. Years of practice had at least been good for something.

“Go easy on me,” I whispered.

I got an honest answer back.

“I’ll try my best, darling, but it’s a remarkably tight fit.”

I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer.

Chapter 18

Luke

My fingers tightened around her hips when her asshole clamped down on me. I could feel her tension. That wasn’t good for either of us.

I wanted to tell her exactly what I was about to do to her. Every filthy, precise detail. But panic had a way of slamming doors that pleasure needed left open, and I could feel her bracing—that particular stillness that wasn’t relaxation, just restraint.

So I swallowed the words back.

“You’re doing beautifully, Bella,” I murmured instead, easing my grip on her hip, letting my palm smooth over the muscle rather than dig into it. “Just breathe for me.”

Her exhale came shaky, but it came. Good. That was the tell I was watching for—not the moan, not the arch of her back, but the breath. The breath told the truth her body was still learning to.

I gave her a moment. Praised the curve of her spine. Told her, low and unhurried, how long I’d thought about this exact stretch of skin. Nothing crude. Nothing that would make her spine lock up again.

Only once her hips softened back into my hands, once I felt that particular give that meant trust, not just permission, did I let myself drift back toward filth—one line, testing.

“That’s it. You’re taking me so well, sweetheart.”

Her breath hitched, but not from fear this time.

There.

I should have stopped there. Kept the balance. But the sight of her—open, trusting, mine in every sense of the word—undid something in my usual restraint, and the next words came out before I’d properly vetted them.

“God, I want to ruin you.”

I felt her tense again immediately, and cursed myself. Wrong moment. Wrong words.