Page 143 of Mine to Ruin

“No.”

“You don’t believe me?”

His voice rings with disbelief. I shake my head. I fight with tears and his heavyhearted expression has to be a lie. If he loved me, he would still love me. Why doesn’t he share with me the secret to unloving someone?

“How do you do it? Please tell me because I don’t know how to survive loving you.”

I grab his shirt and his lips brush mine. Tingles erupt on my skin, and we pant in need and frustration. He buries his face in the crook of my neck. He nibbles on my skin, and my toes curl. His hands slide up my bare legs, and he grabs my ass and lifts me up. My legs lock around his waist. The possessiveness of his grip and demanding lips turn me into a mess. He snatches my panties and I unbuckle him and take him out. He shoves me down his cock, and stars pop up in my eyes. I scream in pleasure and a mix of desire and pain.

“Don’t stop.”

“I won’t, angel, it’s the only thing I can’t do, to stop this with you.”

My nails dig into his shirt and he wraps his teeth around my nipple, and I cry out.

“Say my name, just mine.”

We’re ruined beyond repair, and one of these days our bodies will have to get their fill. But I crave my release too much to stop this. My eyes bore into him, confusion marring his face, and in one swift move, he puts me down on the couch closest to us.

“Kian, someone may come in.”

“I closed the door.”

He grabs my thighs and enters me. I throw my head back, my gaze on his lost-to-lust features. Our love is madness, and there is no cure.

“I can’t get enough of you. Why?”

Thrust.

“Are you my punishment, angel?”

Thrust.

Every thrust is a brand of possession, a stamp of ruin. He fucks me so deep as if to remind me who I am. His. It’s pleasure and pain fusing into a supernova in my lower belly and I explode with an orgasm stealing my breath away, blinding me for a second. My world tips off its axis, harsh breaths rocking my body

He spills inside me with a low groan and crashes on me.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since we left,” he says voice tinged with frustration and accusation.

“You got your wish.” My head falls; I’m ashamed of myself.

“Did I?” he asks and drops next to me, his fingers rubbing his temples. I put my head on his pounding chest, and he plays with my hair.

“You can’t divorce me.”

His words penetrate my brain and I snap my head to him, half-terrified, half-relieved, a clear sign that I have lost my damn mind.

“But we’ll figure a way out.”

He’s crazy if he thinks I’m going to stay with him longer than I have to. But I’m also pissed he’s even thinking about getting a divorce. I don’t even know what my problem is. I rise to my feet, his hands shooting up to balance me, and he freezes.

“Fuck, I forgot the condom,” he says.

It’s not as if I am eager to get pregnant, but seeing the horror transforms his face, you would think it’s the worst thing that could happen. This is not the first time we didn’t use one. I stomp away, an emotional wreck.

The bed sinks with his weight, and he slurs.

“Ask whatever you want, and I will give it to you, because if you get pregnant, your life can’t get worse than carrying the child of a bastard.”

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