Page 18 of Carved in Ruin

Ten

Crossing Lines

Mila

Iwake to the brush of fingers on my cheek. For a moment, I think it’s a dream, one of those fantasies that feels so vivid, you’re almost sad to wake up from it. But then I open my eyes, and my heart hammers against my ribs, a silent scream rising as I see him leaning over me, his eyes dark and intense, too close, too real. His hand covers my mouth before I can make a sound. I’m forced to stare up at him, our breaths crashing together.

He’s pressed against me, one leg braced between mine, his chest heavy against me, and I can feeleverything.Every hard inch of him reminding me that I’m pinned under him, trapped beneath his weight, and he’s here. Somehow, impossibly, he’s here.

The night feels colder around us, and it’s like something dark and forbidden weaved itself into my skin. He leans down, his lips grazing my ear, hot breath ghosting along my skin. A shiver cutsthrough me, tearing right to my core.Oh, God. Oh, Jesus.This is insane, and yet I’m helpless, staring up at him, frozen under the strength of him.

“I came to tell you—I opened the rest of those gifts.” He talks like he is savoring every word. “And I loved them, Mila,” he hisses, biting my ear, and I melt.

His hand stills on my face, fingers brushing over my jaw. “I’m going to take my hand away now, and you’re not going to make a sound. Not one, understand?” The heat of his voice is pooling somewhere too dangerous to name.

I nod, breathing out slowly through my nose. When he finally pulls his hand away, I’m caught in that predatory look he’s giving me, half expectant, half feral. I force out, “You know…you could’ve just texted me.”

He laughs. Then, I feel his lips move across my neck, placing open mouth kisses all over. My breath catches in my throat. What is happening right now?

“What are you doing?” I breathe out, almost a plea.

He hums in response, “Nothing.”

But the moment is anything but nothing. His mouth trails further down, brushing over my collarbone. His hand slides up, fingers tracing the line of my jaw with a possessive touch.

My breath hitches, and I can feel my pulse racing in my throat, erratic and wild. “If my father sees us…” I begin, but my words trail off, choked by the fear that suddenly wraps around my chest like a vice.

“You only answer to me,” he growls, his voice thick with possessiveness, like a feral animal marking its territory. “You will only fear me,”

“Ya budu yedinstvennym muzhchinoy, kotoryy kosnetsya tebya. I ty budesh’ boyat’sya tol’ko menya, devotchka.”

The words that I don’t understand burn through me like molten fire, searing into my skin. I can’t look away from him, hiseyes holding me in place. His grip tightens on my chin, forcing me to stay right there. I’m paralyzed.

“You’re mine,” he says. “Only mine.”

“Friends don’t act like this,” I retort.

His thumb traces the curve of my stomach through the fabric of my shirt. I’ve fantasized about this for so long, dreamed of this, prayed for this… It’s happening so fast, yet so slowly at the same time. Lord knows, I can’t find the words to explain it.

“We aren’t friends, are we?” he asks, but it’s as though it’s a statement rather than a question. “We are best friends.”

His grip tightens ever so slightly on my skin, making it clear that this isn’t just a conversation, it’s a demand. The thought of trying to push him away seems distant, almost impossible. “You don’t—” I start, but the words die in my throat when I feel his fingers dip lower, just under the hem of my shirt, brushing over the soft skin of my stomach.

“Say that you’re mine,” he growls, his teeth sinking into my cheek.

I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. The way he’s looking at me—like I’m the only thing that matters—makes the words catch in my throat. And I can’t help but whisper, barely audible, “I’m yours.” It’s like I’m giving in, but I don’t even know what I’m giving into.

His fingers slip even lower, caressing the edge of my lace panties. My brain haywires. I can’t breathe, can’t think. My mind races, trying to make sense of it all. What is this? What does this mean? Why am I still here, letting him touch me like this?

He suddenly pulls the lace aside, and the gasp that comes out of me is foreign to my own ears. “Did you keep this untouched for me,Kroshka?” He demands, a warning clear in his tone.

I’m pissed. How dare he? How the hell dare he ask me that? After everything—after all the women he’s had, all the ones with legs for days and inflatable balloons for boobs, the ones who’veprobably begged for his touch, and he has the audacity to ask me if I’m untouched? Me?

A “Fuck you” slips out of my mouth, and it tastes poisonous on my tongue. I’m nothing but a mess of contradictions. I’ve never cursed before—not in front of anyone, not alone even.

He’s breaking all the rules I’ve lived by, pushing me to do things I never thought I would. I’ve never done anything to disappoint my father. That’s always been my line, the one thing I’d never cross. But here I am, with Rafael’s hand on my pussy.Pussy, what a weird word.

“Are you serious right now?” I hiss, my voice tight with anger. “After all the women you’ve had, all those—those desperate bimbos throwing themselves at you, and now you’re asking me if I’m untouched?” My teeth grind together. “What, do you think I’m just some kind of fucking virgin waiting for you to break me in?”

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