Page 25 of Whispers of Ruin

I wish I could fully see his face, watch every reaction as control slips away. Instead, I keep fixing his gaze so he can seethe silent promise in mine—I want to wreck him as much as he is wrecking me.

“You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth, little fox,” he rasps.

My body trembles at his saying. Each syllable is a balm over the open wounds of today, a twisted comfort in the chaos. My fingers dig into his pants for leverage as I take him even deeper, until my throat stretches around him.

“Don’t be afraid. I know you can take it.”

He is hanging by a thread, dangling at the threshold of surrender. He thrusts forward, the motion rough enough to make my throat clench, my gag reflex kicking in. Panic flares for a brief second, but his hand in my hair, his voice, his presence—all of it anchors me. I adjust, pushing past the instinct to resist.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs. “I told you—I knew you could take it.”

A rush of pride floods me, heady and bewitching.

I have control.

Xan may be the one gripping my hair, but I still hold the reins. I decide when and how he will break.

“Show me, little fox. Show me how much you love this. How much you need my cock to fill you in.”

I obey without thinking, pressing him even deeper, until tears spill freely from my eyes—not from pain, from the sheer force of it all. I am lost in this, lost in him. I suck harder, faster, desperate for his release, for the final moment that will shatter both of us.

His entire body tenses, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his composure crumbles. He tilts his head back as he finally gives in. Heat floods my mouth, thick and hot, spilling past my lips even as I try swallow every drop.

“Fuck—” he exhales, his voice wrecked, heavy with content. “I didn’t think you could get any more beautiful, but with my cum dripping down your face? You’re fucking breathtaking.”

A deep sigh escapes him, the tension melting from his body.

He is spent. And I am satisfied.

Idid not have to force her into the shower this time. She went willingly, her body visibly more at ease now. It is a first for me too—this strange feeling crawling under my skin, beyond hatred. I have known respect for Lucian, but never warmth, attachment.

Feelings have no place in my world. However, with Mira… it’s hitting differently. Do I like it? I don’t know. Yet it’s refreshing, like stepping into the chilly night air after being locked in a suffocating room for too long. Maybe I am capable of redemption after all.

Maybe.

I left her alone, giving her space to gather herself, while I made sure to leave the door slightly ajar. There is no chance in hell I will let her out of my sight. She is my main mission.

I watch from the central room, sprawled in a leather chair, a glass of whisky in one hand, a cigarette burning between my fingers. It is unclear if she knows I am watching; chances are, she wouldn’t care.

My breath stutters the moment my eyes land on her. She moves with deliberate grace, dabbing a towel over every inch of her body, her skin still flushed from the hot water. The curve of her waist, the arch of her back—every part of her is temptation itself, a siren built to ruin men.

And fuck, do I want to be ruined.

She slips into the white shirt I left out for her; the fabric swallowing her frame, hiding what I want to see. She tosses the towel aside, letting her damp, fiery hair cascade over her shoulder, water trickling down the curve of her collarbone. She steps out of the bedroom, hesitant, eyes darting around the unfamiliar space.

She is afraid. As she should be. Nothing here is familiar, nothing offers her comfort. Her gaze finally lands on me, and a glimpse of recognition—of relief—softens her expression. A small smile tugs at her lips.

“Come here.” I don’t ask. Icommand.

She obeys, moving cautiously, still observing every corner of the room.

“You are safe here.”

She perches on the chair across from mine, legs crossed, hands tucked beneath her thighs. We stare at each other in silence as the liquor burns its way down my throat. She wants to say something but hesitates. She reaches out—wordlessly asking for my cigarette. Normally, I would not allow it. I hate seeing my girl do something so self-destructive. But considering the events of today, I let it slide.

“Is this… where you live?”

A quiet laugh escapes me.Live?

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