Page 21 of Made For Ruin

My breath catches when we finally turn onto a private drive.

The cabin emerges from the darkness in stages - first the warm glow of security lights, then the massive silhouette against the stars. As we draw closer, the full scale of it steals what little air I have left. His cabin dominates the clearing, rough-hewn logs stretching two stories high.

Rough-hewn logs stretch two stories high, moonlight turning the massive windows into mirrors that reflect the star-filled sky. A wraparound porch circles the structure like a lover’s embrace.

Marcus kills the engine, and in the sudden silence, I can hear my own ragged breathing.

“Wait here,” he says. Then his fingers flex against my thigh one last time before he releases me.

He’s at my door before I can catch my breath, moving with lethal grace. His hands find me in the darkness - one arm behind my knees, the other at my back. Then the world tilts as he lifts me against his chest.

I nearly swoon from the way he handles my curves.

I’m not exactly rail thin. I’ve got curves that don’t quit, hips that sway when I walk, and thighs that could crush a watermelon if I tried hard enough. I’ve spent years trying to make myself smaller, but Marcus manhandles my body like it’s exactly what he’s been starving for.

His flannel shirt rides up as he carries me toward the cabin steps, and the cool mountain air makes me painfully aware of how wet I am. His fingers dig into my thigh as he climbs, each step pulling me tighter against him.

At the top of the stairs, he pauses. Moonlight spills across the wraparound porch as he sets me on my feet. The way he does it is pure sin, a slow slide down his body that lets me feel every ridge of muscle, every hard plane that fits perfectly against my softness. His hands grip my waist, and fuck, they’re so big they nearly span my entire ribcage.

When I look up at his face, his jaw clenches hard enough to crack, his eyes burning with something primal.

Something starving.

Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his truck keys. I stare at them, confused by this sudden shift.

“I won’t take you back there.” Marcus growls. “But if you really want to go, you can.”

A choice. He’s actually giving me a choice.

I look at the keys. Then at the road that would lead me back to civilization. Back to being the good girl who never takes what she really wants.

My eyes find his in the darkness. I shake my head once.

Pure male triumph flashes across his face. He tucks the keys away and reaches past me to open the heavy wooden door.

The light from inside spills across the porch as he steps back, waiting. Then I walk through the doorway, feeling his eyes burn into my back as I step inside.

SIX

MARCUS

Triumph flaresin my chest as Lainey walks past those keys and into my cabin.

Her choice to stay ignites every possessive instinct I’ve been fighting for months, feeds something primal I’ve kept caged for too long.

She fought me at first, all fire and fury when I carried her out of The Summit. But the moment I set her down, that resistance melted into something else entirely.

Now, Lainey is standing in my living room, her delicate frame dwarfed by the rugged logs that make up the cabin walls. And seeing her in my clothes, in my space, does things to me.

I’ve never brought a woman here. I built this place with my own two hands after I got out of the Marines. Every log, every nail, and every piece of furniture was chosen to reflect exactly what I wanted. It’s my sanctuary, my fortress, the one place I’ve kept sacred and untouched by anyone else’s influence.

Until now.

Lainey’s presence changes everything. The air feels different, charged in a way it never has before. She’s standing there, her wide blue eyes taking in the room like she’s trying to memorize it, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the leather couchI hauled up here from town years ago. She looks so small against the backdrop of my world, yet she doesn’t seem out of place. If anything, she fits—like she was always meant to be here.

I gesture to the couch, needing to do something with my hands other than touch her.

“Sit.”

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