Page 41 of Whispers of Ruin

“The ones who left you made the biggest mistake of their miserable lives,” he breathes. “And me, little fox? I never make mistakes.”

With those words, his clap tightens in my hair, yanking my head with just enough force to steal the air from my lungs. My back arches, pressing me flush against him, the rigid heat of his torso searing into mine. I can feel every tense muscle, everycontrolled breath, as if he is branding me with his presence alone.

Without warning, his fingers sink so much deeper into my pussy, claiming, until my body has no choice but to surrender. A sharp, unrestrained cry rips from my throat bear by the aching pleasure that sends waves of electricity between my legs.

“Don’t test me again, Mira,” he warns. “I’m this close to turning from ‘cute asshole’ to ‘full-on nightmare.’ So, you better answer me now. For the last time, are you going to come for me?”

My body trembles, pounds in my ears, my skin burning everywhere he touches. I know—there is no running from this. No hiding from what he has awakened.

A shuddering exhale escapes my lips, the last of my defenses crumbling.

“Not only will I come for you, Xan,” I whisper, shaking with devotion, “but I swear, from this moment on, you will be the only one who ever makes me.”

My words land in the room, solid and immutable, anchoring us in their gravity. His fingers tighten, his body tenses, and for a moment, there is nothing but silence—charged, blistering, a turmoil about to break.

He strokes himself once more, his movements perfectly synchronized with the rhythm he has set against me. Our breaths tangle, rising and falling in unison, a symphony of need and desperation. He leads, and I follow—because, clearly, he is an exceptional dancer. Though I once thought myself suited only for a slow, measured waltz, it turns out I have a taste for a dancefar more reckless. He lowers his hard cock corded with veins to my slit, teasing me with the barest touch.

Isthisfinally it? The moment I have been unknowingly waiting for all along. My restraint shatters, disintegrating beneath the weight of sensation—each one crashing over me, relentless, consuming, impossible to outrun.

I am drenched, my body trembling under the slow, torturous rhythm of his fingers, each stroke igniting a deeper need. The pressure he exerts sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs, my walls clenching around the emptiness, dying to be filled.

“Fuck, Mira, you are soaking for me,” he groans, trying to restrain. His tip teases at my entrance, barely there. I whimper, desperate. “It’s taking everything I have not to bury myself inside your tight little pussy right now.”

I throb with the need to have him fully inside, to feel every inch of Xan’s dick stretching and filling me.

“I’m barely holding back from sinking down onto you,” I plead, my body already revealing just how badly I crave to be fucked.

He keeps the torture, the head of his cock gliding over my slick skin. His fingers move with a slow rhythm, coaxing, claiming—I cannot take it anymore. By the way his breath falters, ragged and uneven, I know he is just as desperate.

“I’m going to come, Xan. Just for you. Only for you.”

He lets go of me just long enough to deliver a few sharp slaps to my already tender ass’s flesh. The sensation is a wicked blend of pain and pleasure, my body arch instinctively toward him. A soft, broken moan slips past my lips, yet I offer no resistance—Itake it, takehim, surrendering to the discipline, to the delicious torment of being his.

“Good girl. You have no fucking idea how proud I am.”

At his ultimate words, I feel his hard length glide up my lower back, the end of his cock tapping against me in a teasing rhythm—each contact igniting a deeper ache, a need that coils tight in my core.

“Now, Mira.” His fingers press into me, demanding. “Soak my hand with your pleasure—drownme in it. Show me how fucking badly you want this.”

I finally unravel, a cry of sheer ecstasy escaping so intense that I feel a rush of warmth spread across my spine, his cum sliding between my cheeks. The timing is flawless, our pleasure intertwining, a perfect harmony that pulses through us. I release completely, more freely than I ever have before, letting my orgasm consume my entire being.

“Damn little fox, feeling how much you’re coming is the highest form of praise you could ever give me.”

Honestly, I had never responded like this before. With Julian, it was always about his satisfaction, and the rare moments he bothered to return the favor were nothing short of lackluster. It felt more like a half-hearted attempt, like drunk men at a bar stumbling through a dart game, trying to find the target, but missing every time.

“Let me take care of you now,” he whispers, his gentle touch clashes with the bruises he’s left behind.

He gathers the semen spread on my back, warm against his fingers, and applies it over my burning butt’s flesh with tender,measured strokes. I flinch at first, the sting a sharp reminder, but then—the relief blossoms, enveloping my pain like a soft breeze, pulling into its soothing embrace.

If someone had told me that one day I would lie next to a dead man, surrendering to the hands that had punished me, letting them appease the very wounds they inflicted with them cum, my laughter would have erupted like a geyser with a serious attitude problem. Still, here I am—trapped in the space among pain and comfort, discipline and devotion, shame and something that tastes dangerously like love.

Xan shifts, settling beside me while I agonizingly turn onto my back. His pack of cigarettes rests just within reach, and flicks one out, lighting it with a deep, satisfied sigh.

“As much as I’m enjoying the view you’re giving me, it is time you put some clothes on. One of the Order’s assistants will be here soon, and trust me, you don’t want him to see you naked. I’d rather not have to explain to his boss why he’d need to send another employee to clean up aftertwobodies.”

Placing my dress over my stomach, he gestures for me to stand, a silent command I obey without hesitation. With a subtle motion, he directs me to position myself before him. I comply once more, wordless, drawn to the quiet authority in his gaze.

“Far be it from me to suggest that this dress doesn’t make you look absolutely mesmerizing,” he murmurs, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “But before you dress up, I want to see you—every inch of you.”

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