Page 19 of Carved in Ruin

His body is tense, vibrating with anger. I can feel it in the air between us, a crackling charge of fury that makes my skin prickle. “Tread really fucking carefully here,Kroshka,” he warns roughly.

I can’t even look at him. My gaze shifts to the floor, to the side, anywhere but into those eyes of his that seem to see through every damn wall I’ve built around myself. I want to run, to escape him and all this mess he’s dragging me into.

But then, he’s there, grabbing my chin in a vice-like grip, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are scorching, like flames licking over my skin. “Yes, it’s untouched,” I spit. “Because all I could ever think of was you. While you were out there, touching women that don’t even look anything like me.”

His body slowly relaxes, the tension draining out of him. He exhales a deep, long breath, almost like he’s finally letting go of something that’s been holding him back. His hand slides frommy chin, and for the first time tonight, his touch feels almost tender, almost gentle as he brushes a lock of hair from my face.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I feel a strange shiver run through me at the words, at the softness of them that doesn’t match the fury that was there just moments ago. He kisses the side of my forehead.

“I purposely went for girls who looked nothing like you,” he confesses. “I thought if I could replace you, if I could touch someone else, maybe I’d forget you. Forget this… whatever the hell this is between us.”

I don’t know what to say to that. He’s still looking at me, but now it’s like he’s seeing me for the first time, really seeing me. “But nothing ever compares to you,” he adds. “No one, nothing, even comes close to you. You’re in my head,Kroshka. I can’t get you out. I can’t stop wanting you.”

I feel my heart squeeze at his words, finally we are getting somewhere. “I wanted to forget, but every time, they just reminded me of how much I crave you. How much I need you. You’re the only one who’s ever been real. Everything else? Just distractions.”

I don’t know what to say to him, what to ask of him… Do I beg him to give us a shot? To let us try beingusagain. I know how pathetic this is of me, how I am so tangled in him that I can’t see reason, but he deserves it. He deserves the effort. I know him, not the version that he dresses himself up as, I know the real him. The one that is caring, that is sweet, and he’s mixed in with a delicious darkness that is addicting. He’s addicting, and I want him to be mine.

I forgot all about his hands that pulled my panties aside, but I am reminded of them again when he caresses my pussy. Up and down, up and down, up and down until it feels like I might die if he doesn’t pleasure me, his touch is too light.

“Good girls deserve rewards,” he says, his words sliding over me like velvet.

“You’ve been good,Kroshka,”he murmurs like a promise. “You’ve earned it.”

The moment his lips finally meet mine, everything shifts. Time seems to stop. His hand moves to the back of my neck, pulling me in closer. His lips are rough, not gentle, as if he’s testing me, pushing me to give in, to let him take control.

I part my lips instinctively, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against mine. It’s not soft, not tender—there’s no sweetness in it. It’s raw, hungry, and a little bit bruising. He kisses me like he owns me, like he’s been waiting for this moment for far too long.

I can taste the faint hint of cigarette smoke on his lips, mixed with the taste of him. It’s delicious. The kiss is like fire, it burns. I don’t want it to end.

I feel my pussy soaking wet, and he thrusts a finger in. I let out a moan that he hushes with another kiss. His thumb rubs circles on my clit, and it feels like I’m in heaven.

“Good girl, good girl,” He whispers against my mouth before biting my bottom lip. Another finger joins, and he does a come here motion while his thumb rubs faster circles on my pearl.

I cum so hard that I see stars. His palm covers my mouth again, and I melt into the bed. I watch as he puts the fingers that were inside of me into his mouth and sucks on them, I’m incinerating. He makes me feel things I never thought I’d feel—things I shouldn’t feel.

He pulls his palm from my mouth and I finally take a breath. But it’s like the orgasm serves as a truth serum. I don’t mean to say it, but it slips out. “I love you.”

The moment feels like it’s been doused with cold water. Everything inside me stills. His face hardens, and I can see the shift in him, it’s like something snaps inside.

“I don’t,” he spits out roughly, and everything I was starting to believe in dies. All that rawness, all that need, it suddenly feels pointless.

“Mila—”

I can’t hear him. I can’t listen. I turn my back to him, burying my face into the pillow. “I don’t want to hear it,” I force out, the words thick with the disgust I’m feeling toward myself.

He tries again, but I can’t listen. I just grab the pillow, screeching into it, blocking everything out.

I hear him move, and when I peek through my fingers, he’s at the window, about to open it. But then, he stops.

“Best friends?” he whispers, and I feel that horrible, familiar ache rise again. I shake my head, and the tears fall freely, drenching the pillow beneath me. I don’t even care anymore.

“Friends?” he asks desperately, like he’s trying to get something out of me—like he needs it.

I look at him, my vision blurry with tears, and I feel this sudden rage inside of me. The words I never thought I’d say come out like acid. “Nothing,” I spit at him, like I’m trying to burn him with my words. I hate him. I hate the way he’s made me feel—like I’m just another slut to him.

“Chert voz’mi,” he mutters. I don’t even know what that means. And then, just like that, he turns and climbs out of the window.

I want to scream. I want to tear something apart. He’s gone, and I hate that I still care. I hate that a part of me still wants him to come back, towantme in the way I’ve wanted him. But I know he doesn’t. He never did. Touching me didn’t mean anything to him. I am just like all his other arm candy.

---