Page 40 of Into Ruin

Anticipation thrums through me. It’s been too long. Days.Eons.

Same thing, really.

I don’t bother trying to adjust her body—she’s fine the way she is. In the perfect position for me to lift her hips up and slide into her. She’s soaked, her cunt practically dripping. From touching herself after—or before—the blow job, or just from the act of it? I wish I knew.

The not knowing is just as sweet.

I line up, press forward, and somehow withhold the deep groan building in my throat. She feels so fucking good, I don’t know how this could be any better.

Maybe if she was awake?

No.

I don’t think she quite deserves that yet. Not when any day, she could reveal the secrets between us to her brother. I don’t doubt the lengths he would go to spite me for touching her.

When I’m buried fully inside her, I slowly lower myself down. My front presses to her back, and I slide my hands under her. I cup her tits, pinch at her nipples. My mouth lands at the crook of her neck, where it slopes into her shoulder, and I inhale her sweet scent.

Not floral, but more like honey.

It makes me want to take a taste.

My hips move, the squeeze of her cunt around my shaft making staying still nearly unbearable. Out, and sharp back in. My stamina should be better now that she took the edge off with her mouth. And feeling the soft planes of her body under mine just makes every sensation better.

She shifts, a low groan escaping her.

I fuck her harder. Our bodies jerk with every thrust, until I sense her waking up. Her breath comes quicker, and she tries to roll—only to be held immobile.

She struggles. Her head snaps back, and only a quick twist to the side keeps my nose safe. Her panic comes back double when that little move doesn’t work, and it feels different than the other times we’ve been together.

I pull out and grasp at her flailing arms, manhandling her until she’s on her back. Her chest heaves, and I pin her wrists over her head. Stretched out over her, my head even with hers.

“It’s me.”

Her eyes flutter, the glazed panic finally receding when her gaze latches on to my face.

“Camden?”

I scowl. “Who else sneaks into your bed at night?”

Her mouth opens and closes.

I narrow my eyes, but she only shakes her head.

An unfounded fear? Doubtful.

I sigh at the lie of omission. Someone else coming into her bed like this, but causing her irrational fear?

My rage comes out of nowhere.

It’s not directed at her, but she’s my only target. For what? For not being truthful?

“Just me,” I assure her.

I slide my hands down her wrists, over her forearms, her biceps, until I have her throat. Her heartbeat pulses at my fingertips, way too fast to be normal.

“Just me,” I repeat as I tighten my grip.

Her hands come tomywrists, but she’s no match. I put her back to sleep—this time, well, it’s a bit forced. She goes slack, and I relax my grip. I spread her legs and push back into her. I take what I need, and when she tenses up, her awareness crawling back, I make sure she stays unconscious. I want her to ride the edge.

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