Page 28 of Whispers of Ruin

His body gleams under the dim light, every defined muscle of his abdomen chiseled in stark relief, water trailing slow, sinuous paths down the sharp cut of his hipbones, disappearing into the shadows below. His mask is back in place—shielding his identity, guarding whatever secrets lurk beneath. But nothing hides the rigid length of him. Thick. Hard. Indisputable.

A single breathless second passes. Then another. The air between us crackles like a live wire. Xan tilts his head slightly, voice laced with mischief.

“Well, well.” A slow smirk ghosts in his gaze. “You already have your mouth open. Saves me the trouble.”

The words snap me out of my trance.

“You know it is not very nice to spy on people, little fox?”

A sharp, dry laugh spills from me, jagged and mocking.

“You are out of your fucking mind if you think you get to lecture me about spying, Xan. You, of all people.”

The slap comes fast. A sharp, biting crack against my cheek. But I don’t flinch. Instead, I lift my chin, meeting his eyes through the mask, my breath trembling, still my resolve unwavering.

His tongue drags lazily over his teeth, his fingers flexing at his sides.

“I like girls with fire,” he muses, absentmindedly.

His hand lifts, threading through my hair—gentle for a heartbeat. A brutal yank. I gasp as I am dragged forward, forced onto my knees, his grip unrelenting, his other hand wrapping around his cock, stroking himself with a slow, controlled motion.

“But not when I’m already seconds from bursting.”

He grips my hair tightly, his movements forceful as he presses himself deeper, the action coming in sharp, relentless thrusts. I’m surprised at first, but a part of me, perhaps the more primal side, adjusts swiftly.

I lift my head, locking it with his. I want Xan to understand—really understand—that I am not some fragile thing, easily overpowered. That I am not just a victim in this twisted dance. I can be strong. I will not always let him win.

To my surprise, his grip loosens. Slowly, the force in his fingers fades, replaced by a surprisingly gentle touch against my scalp. His hand runs through my hair, soft and almost affectionate. I try to decipher what this shift means in his eyes, but before I can understand, his head tilts back, his body arching with a quiet groan of satisfaction.

The room seems to shrink, and all I can focus on is the contrast between his intense, controlled movements and the fleeting tenderness that I’m not sure he wants to acknowledge.

His breath quickens as I move with a new sense of purpose, feeling him unraveling, bit by bit. The tension builds, a slow burn, as his words slip from his lips, the finality of them sinking in deep.

He’s marking me, claiming me in a way I cannot ignore. Despite everything, despite how I have fought to maintain control, I know now I am losing myself in him.

“Fuck,” he rasps. His fingers flex against my scalp, not to restrain—just to anchor. “You feel so good, Mira.”

I drag my tongue along his length, savoring every pulse, every sharp inhale, every small, ruined sound that escapes him. His head falls back further. A deep, wrecked groan rumbles in his chest.

“You belong to me, little fox. Your mouth to my cock. Your soul to me.”

The moment shatters. His hips tense. His body jerks. A hoarse curse rips from his throat as heat floods my mouth, thick and heady. I swallow, my fingers digging into his thighs, my heartbeat thrumming as his body slowly unwinds. His torso heaves, breathing ragged.

Xan’s hand tilts my chin up, his thumb brushing over my jaw. A whisper-soft touch. Deadly in its finality.

“I swear to you, Mira—” A slow, possessive caress. “You will never put your lips on another man again.”

His grip tightens.

“And that’s not a threat.”

His voice dips lower.

“It’s a fucking promise.”

The scent of fresh bagels, coffee, and muffins fills the air. I grabbed literally everything I knew she might enjoy that was fresh from the corner store while she was still asleep this morning. After a night like yesterday, she must be starving, and that is only fair.

I let her have a moment with her breakfast, the silence almost peaceful as I pull on a pair of black jeans and a hoodie, the fabric cool against my skin. I adjust my watch, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling that is building in my chest. It is still early, but there is no time for complacency. Just as I slip my phone into my pocket, it vibrates.

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