Page 24 of Whispers of Ruin

“Unzip.”

I hesitate, my fingers trembling. His hand constricts enough to make my scalp prickle with pain. He lowers his voice to a near growl.

“I said—unzip.”

Tears spill over as I obey. With shaky movements, I reach up and pull the zipper down. The sound is deafening in the room's silence. The growing bulge strains against his pants, pressing insistently against the fabric, demanding release. Only his boxers still stand as a barrier. I know it won’t be for long, the command should follow soon.

It’s messed up—this whole thing is. And yet, I’m not repulsed. Not even close.

Is my life has spiraled into something so pathetic, so meaningless, that all I crave is to feel wanted? To feel like I still serve a purpose—to someone, to anything.

Right now, I realize how utterly futile my existence has become. If I disappeared forever, who would truly miss me? Zoey, of course. But after that? A father who died when I was seven, nothing but a vague memory wrapped in childhood amnesia. PTSD, they call it. And a mother who always preferred the bottle over me. I have nothing left.

IhadJulian—yes,had. But did I ever really have him? How long had he been planning this betrayal? How many moments were lies? The questions exhaust me. Everything exhausts me.

“I don’t know what is going through your head right now,” Xan whispers. “But I need you to stay with me. Just for a moment. Ineedthis, Mira.”

His words should not affect me the way they do, but something about the way he says my name—almost pleading—unsettles me more than any threat ever could.

His free hand moves unexpectedly, fingers brushing my cheek, catching a tear before it falls. The contrast is dizzying, the tenderness of the gesture at complete odds with the way he still tugs at my hair.

Every instinct says to push him away, to fight the second I can. Regardless, I find myself frozen, trapped somewhere between fear and something I refuse to name. My pulse hammers against my ribs as I stare up at him, searching for a trace of the man who wiped my tears only moments ago.

His hold is steady—not harsh, but inescapable. His free hand moves calmly, trailing up my arm, brushing over my skin.

“Say something.”

I can’t.

His fingers tangle deeper in my hair—not in a violent tug, just enough to make me jump. His patience is thinning; I can feel it in the way his muscles coil, in the sharp exhale through his nose. Still, as if the feeling in him shifts, he releases me just enough to let me do it from free will.

A test. I know it. And I hate that some pieces of me want to pass. I lift a trembling hand, hesitating before it lands on his chest. His heartbeat is a steady, heavy drum beneath my fingertips, matching the erratic rhythm of my own.

He watches me, waiting, when I finally whisper, “I don’t know if I can do this...”

Envy flickers in his eyes and instead of pressing, demanding, he leans in.

“Then let me help you.”

It would be a lie to say I don’t ache for him—his body, his cock. The sheer proximity of him is utterly magnetic, and I want to taste every inch of him.

Without releasing my hair, he finally frees his eager length with his other hand. My eyes widen at the sight of it—thick, hard, imposing. A perfect match for the rest of him, every part sculpted and proportional, a masterpiece of raw masculinity. The swollen tip barely grazes my lips, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Open wide for me, Mira.”

Unlike earlier, there is no hesitation. I want this. The perfect escape from the wreckage my life has become. This is my time. This is survival.

My mouth parts as I let the tip drag against it, the heat of his skin igniting fire deep inside me. My tongue flicks over the head, savoring his taste. Before I can take control, he yanks my neck back. I resist, reclaiming my movement as I take him deeper, more than half of his length disappearing into my mouth in one languid, eager stroke.

“Damn, Mira… your mouth was fucking made for me. This is pure perfection.”

His words send a sharp thrill through me, a sinful pleasure that makes my body long for more. I hollow my cheeks, firming my lips around him as I glide up and down his shaft, working him with a paced, hungry rhythm. I want more. I want his control, his dominance—I want him to yank my hair so hard it nearly rips from my scalp.

I want Xan to ruin me.

“I swear to fucking God, there is no way this is real,” he groans, his muscles tensing as pleasure wracks through him.

I can feel it—he’s close. I give him no reprieve, determined to shatter his restraint. His head tilts downward, his dark eyes locking onto mine, and the moment stretches between us, electric, primal.

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