Page 34 of Ruined By a Devil

“You want to push me?” He asks, his grip on my waist tightening until it borders on pain, grinding his rock-hard length directly into my lower stomach. “Go ahead, push me. Give me a reason to pin your wrists to this granite, tear these shorts off, and make you sob my name.”

A low, pathetic whimper catches in the back of my throat. I bite down on my inner cheek so hard I taste iron, fighting with everything I have not to open my legs, not to tilt my hips up and beg him to slide two fingers inside me right here, right now. He’s giving me a choice, but the way he looks at me makes surrender feel like the only air left in the room.

He holds me right on that razor's edge, feeling the violent beat of my heart, the helpless twitch of my hips, the utter wreck he’s made of my composure. He lets the threat sit between us, heavy and suffocating, letting me process just how easily he could undo me if I give him a chance.

And the worst part, the most infuriating, terrifying part is that I don't feel threatened at all. I want it. I want him with my entire being. Then, right when I’m about to lose the battle and wrap my legs around his waist, he smoothly pulls his hand away, letting go of me and stepping back.

The sudden rush of cold air where his body was leaves me lightheaded, my knees trembling as I grip the edge of the marble island just to stay upright.

Malachi smooths his shirt with calm, methodical precision, his breathing entirely under control, looking every bit the cold, untouchable strategist while I stand in front of him, aching, wet, and completely ruined.

He turns and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me standing alone in a mess, my core throbbing, my knees weak, and my pride desperately trying to rebuild its walls.

“Fuck this, I’m ordering delivery,” I grab my phone and dial the restaurant down the street, hoping they’re still open.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Jade

Malachi’s fingers are broad and unyielding, spreading my thighs open against the cold marble counter. The air in the kitchen is heavy with the sharp scent of burnt pepper and the heat rolling off our skin. I can hear the heavy, dark rumble of his voice in my ear, whispering filthy, precise promises while he drives two fingers deep into my dripping, desperate heat.

He works me with a cruel, deliberate cadence, his thumb finding my swollen clit and pressing down just hard enough to make my back arch off the stone. I’m begging him, actually begging, all my pride and composure burned away, tilting my hips upward, helpless against the sharp, brutal rhythm he sets. Every stroke pushes me closer to a ruinous peak, my pussy clenching tight around his knuckles, slick and desperate for the full weight of his cock.

“Look at me, Jade,” he growls against my throat, his teeth scraping over my neck as he curls his fingers inside me. “Tell me who you belong to before I let you come.”

“Jade.”

Fuck.

I blink, the suffocating heat of the memory of last night’s dream evaporating into the cool, air-conditioned air of an exclusive private showroom in the high-end district. The gold trim, the velvet display trays, and the soft lighting suddenly slam back into focus.

“You're staring,” Malachi says smoothly, standing beside me.

He looks infuriatingly composed in his perfectly tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, not a single hair out of place, as if he didn't spend last night pinning me against a kitchen island, tormenting me with his hands and his voice until I was a throbbing, aching mess, only to walk away and leave me to burn and hungry on top of things. I spent the entire night dreaming about him fucking me and I didn’t get any rest at all.

My body still remembers the exact weight of his length pressed against my stomach and the lingering frustration makes my pussy clench with a subtle, annoying ache, but I force my expression into a mask of pure, bored indifference.

“I was considering how tedious this is,” I lie effortlessly, casting a glance over the velvet trays filled with blinding diamond rings. “We both know this is a business transaction. Must we pretend to care about the cut of the stone?”

The elderly jeweler standing behind the counter hesitates, looking nervously between us, clearly sensing the razor-sharp edge beneath our polished surfaces.

Malachi ignores him, taking a step closer to, his shoulder brushing mine. The faint scent of expensive cologne and him hits me, sending a quiet spike of heat straight to my core.

“We are establishing an alliance, Jade,” Malachi says, his voice low enough that only I can hear him. “Everyone will be inspecting every detail of this union. If the ring looks cheap or rushed, it implies weakness. You know how this game works.”

“I know how the game works,” I murmur, turning my head to face him. “I just didn't realize you took jewelry so personally.”

A microscopic shift in his eyes tells me he caught the jab.

“I take efficiency personally,” he replies quietly. He reaches out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. His grip is firm, his skin burning against my pulse point, reminding me instantly of how his thumb dug into my hip last night.

He pulls my hand forward, resting it over the velvet tray. His thumb slowly stroking the delicate skin of my inner wrist, a gesture that looks affectionate to any onlooker, but feels entirely like a display of control between us.

“Try this one,” The jeweler stammers, using silver tongs to place an impressive emerald-cut diamond ring on a small display pillow. “It is five carats, flawless, set in platinum⁠—"

“No,” Malachi cuts him off without looking at the stone. “That one is too soft. It looks like something Nolan would buy.”

The mention of Nolan’s name makes my jaw tighten slightly and Malachi notices immediately. His thumb pauses on my wrist, pressing down just enough to feel my heart hammering against his skin.