Page 24 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

Our clothes fall to the ground, a tangled mess of wet fabric, and then his skin is against mine, hot and firm, and I gasp at the sensation. His hands grip my hips, lifting me easily, and my legs wrap around his waist instinctively. He presses me against a nearby tree, the rough bark digging into my back, but I don’t care. All I can think about is him, the way he feels, the way he’s looking at me, like I’m the only thing that matters in the world.

“Willow,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion as he pushes inside me, slow and deliberate, giving me time to adjust.

I gasp, my head falling back against the tree as pleasure courses through me, intense and overwhelming. His lips find my neck, his teeth nipping at my skin, and I moan, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

He moves with a rhythm that is both frantic and controlled, like he’s trying to make up for all the time we lost. His hips press against mine, his body driving into me with a force that leaves me breathless. The rain falls around us, but I barely notice. All I can feel is him—his warmth, his strength, the way he fills me completely.

“Vincent,” I whisper, his name a prayer on my lips, and he kisses me, swallowing my moans as he moves faster, harder, until I feel like I’m going to fall apart.

His hands grip my hips tightly, holding me in place as he thrusts into me, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body. I can feel the tension building inside me, coiling tighter and tighter until it’s almost too much to bear.

Pleasure coils tight inside me, and when he growls, “I’m close,” I’m already there, unraveling with him.

We cling to each other, breathless, the rain washing over us. He presses his forehead to mine. “Stay,” he pleads.

I kiss him softly, pouring everything into it.

“I love you,” he says, his voice raw.

“I love you too,” I whisper, sinking into him. He kisses my forehead and I melt into him in the rain.

“You’re shivering,” Vincent whispers into my hair, his arms still wrapped around me. “Put your clothes back on.”

I nod numbly, my body trembling—not just from the cold, but from everything. My hands fumble as I reach for my dress, the soaked fabric clinging to itself in a mess of black and lace. I drag it over my skin, shivering as the wet material molds to me. It feels heavy, like it’s carrying the weight of my shame, my grief, my mistakes.

Vincent watches me, his gaze unreadable, but he doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t try to help, doesn’t try to fix what can’t be fixed.

I crouch down, searching through the damp grass, my fingers brushing against the cool, muddy earth as I reach for my shoes. One of them is a few feet away, the heel sinking into the soft ground near my father’s grave.

And that’s when it hits me.

A sob tears from my throat as I stare at the gravestone, at the name carved into the wet stone, blurred by the rain. My father’s name. My father, who I came here to mourn. My father, whose grave I just desecrated with the man I swore I would never love again.

My chest tightens, and I press a hand over my mouth to stifle the broken sound escaping me.

“Oh, God,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “What did I do?”

Vincent steps closer, his presence a shadow against the storm raging inside me. “Willow?—”

I shake my head, scrambling back, my hands trembling. “No, don’t. Don’t act like this isn’t—” My breath hitches, a sob choking off the words. “I did this here. Right here. How could I?—”

Tears burn down my cheeks, hot despite the cold rain, and I wrap my arms around myself, shaking. The guilt is suffocating, weighing on my chest until I feel like I might break apart.

I shake my head violently, stumbling back. “No. No, I can’t—” My voice cracks, barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

He tries to follow. Of course, he does. That’s who he is—relentless, stubborn. He wants to act like what we did isn’t wrong, like it isn’t something I should be ashamed of. But I am. I can’t breathe in this space anymore, can’t look at him, can’t even look at myself.

I turn on my heel and run, my boots sinking into the damp earth as I make my way to the car waiting for me—waiting because Cast knew I’d need an escape.

Vincent’s voice chases me, desperate and raw. “Willow, stop!”

I don’t. I can’t.

By the time I reach the car, he’s right there, his hands slamming against the window the second I pull the door shut and lock the door. His face is wild with frustration, his mouth moving, but I refuse to hear him. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away, my fingers curling into fists in my lap.

“Miss-” The bodyguard in the front starts but I shake my head.

“Just drive,” I whisper through my tears. “Please.”

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