Page 52 of Whispers of Ruin

He drags his tongue over my clit one last time—before lifting his head, his mouth slick, his breathing erratic. His jaw flexes like he is barely hanging on to control. His eyes… his eyes are pure chaos. They burn into me, pinning me down harder than his hands ever could.

“I could fucking die here,” he murmurs. “Bury my mouth between your thighs and call it a damn good death.”

As I smile while rolling my eyes, I hear Julian’s lame sobs getting out of control. It is almost funny, if it weren’t so fuckedup. The desperation radiates from him and I don’t have to look to know he is breaking.

Xan’s voice cuts through the mess.

“Oh my God, will you shut the fuck up? You had one goddamn job, Beckett,” he spits. “Please her. Protect her. Fuck her like she mattered. Instead, you bored her senseless, sold her to some rich prick and tried to call it romance.”

He laughs, but there is nothing warm about it. It’s a sound that strikes.

“If you didn’t want another man to make her moan in front of you, maybe you should have touched her like a gentleman. Not like some sad little boy hoping for gold stars and pity kisses.”

Xan does not even bother to turn around. He is too busy soaking in control, enjoying every second of this. He knows what he is doing, knows just how to twist the knife.

“She’s mine now. You were never good enough to start with and I’m going to fuck her the way you couldn’t even dream of.”

I am not sure why I cannot look away. Maybe it is the rage, the way Xan owns the room with every word, every step. This twisted satisfaction as I hear Julian fall apart, I can’t help it.

“Now stay the fuck down, shut that garbage that you call your mouth, and enjoy the show, Romeo.Ohand, spoiler alert: my cock’s going to feel way better than yours.”

The moment his words leave his lips, the silence is razor-sharp. My breath catches somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, and I swear I can feel every molecule in the room vibrating. I tremble—not from fear, not even from anticipation—but from the overwhelming, wicked thrill of being wanted like this. Possessed like this.

Xan stays rooted, ignoring Julian completely, perched above me on the bed, his eyes now fixed on mine.

“You ready for him to see what it looks like when someone actually knows what the fuck they’re doing?” he lets out, teeth grazing my thighs.

He notices that my legs shake, traitorous and frail. Of course he does. A cruel smirk twists on his lips as he climbs up my body, the drag of his chest against mine leaving my skin burning with need. Every part of him moves with intention. He wants me to feel every shift of muscle, every second of the turmoil he is about to unleash. His hand wraps around my throat and leans in so closely I can taste the remnants of myself on his lips.

“I warned you, Mira,” he growls, his voice a dark rumble that vibes through my ribs. “You woke something dangerously feral.”

“That’s what I’ve wanted since the night you brushed past me on that street, Xan...”

His gaze darkens with a subtle smile.

“And from that second, little fox, I knew—I was going to ruin you beautifully.”

The moment I have been waiting for so long arrives as hefinallyenters me—not as a conqueror, but as a man who already knows every hidden ache I carry and intends to ease them all, one push at a time. My back arches against the mattress, muscles taut and trembling while he slams into me with a force that feels almost punishing, still so perfectly right. Each thrust a wonderful brutal rhythm that leaves no room for anything buthim. My fingers dig into the sheets, clawing for sanity that’s already long gone, torn away the second his mouth touched my breast.

He stays silent. There is no need—everything he is saying is written in the way his body claims mine. I am a promise he has kept hidden too long, a prayer he has finally allowed himself as a God to answer. His breath hits the hollow of my throat, warm and ragged, while the obscene sound of our bodies colliding fills the surrounding space.

I try to hold onto something—my name, the room, the moment—but I am unraveling completely. My moans are broken things, ripped from my chest. He watches every second, eyes locked on mine, dragging me under with nothing but a look.

“Do you realize how you were perfectly created for me?” he growls into my ear. “Knows this isn’t just lust, little fox—it’s fate. It’s ownership. You’re mine, Mira. Fucking mine. Forever.”

All I can do is nod—wordless, undone—a single tear trails down my cheek, born of pain, pleasure, and something perilously close to joy. Because nothing has ever felt more devastatingly right than being shattered under the weight of his obsession. His words still echo buried inside, thudding through my chest like a second heartbeat—louder, rawer, undeniably his.

My skin hums with every syllable as his teeth grind my collarbone, then sink in just enough to make me cry out. One hand pins my wrists above my head, the other drags down between my ribs and hips.

Each thrust feels like a vow. There is no mercy, just the fever of a man crumbling with purpose. My body strains, desperate tofeel him fully, to take more, to give more, until there is nothing left but us—twisted together in this beautiful, violent need.

He watches, those eyes beneath the mask locking on mine, daring me to look away, to deny what this is. Stopping now is not an option. Because this—this is what I have been drawn to my entire life.

“You feel that?” he grits out. “That’s what it means to be mine.”

Idofeel it. In my lungs, in my pulse, in the trembling between my legs that’s edging toward the unbearable. My cry tears from my throat—I gasp, my nails dragging down his back as my body pulses around him. He knows exactly what he is doing—how to bring me so close I am trembling, begging, unable to think of anything, but how much more I need.

“This feels so good Xan,” I manage to whisper, cracked and soaked in need. “Don’t youdarestop.”

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