Page 32 of Whispers of Ruin

The penthouse is overwhelming in its opulence, with lavish furnishings that seem too extravagant to be real. The kind of place where wealth is not just a fact; it is flaunted in every corner.

In the center of the living room stands a giant jacuzzi and golden statues of leopards are scattered throughout the space, standing guard over the decadent furniture. They are absurdly unnecessary, still they give off this ‘too rich for my own good’ vibe that, for some reason, appeals to me right now.

I take in the view again. From the 34th floor, the city stretches out beneath me in every direction. It is stunning, almost dizzying. For a brief second, it gives me a sense of peace I have not felt in what feels like forever. The chaos of the past days—hell, the past few years—feels like its miles away. The contrast is almost too much to bear. The calm of the scene clashes with the animosity brewing inside of me, but the sight is soothing in its own way.

As I walk further into the suite, I notice something else. Two separate bedrooms. I glance at Xan, a little confused. The gesture catches me off guard. It is… thoughtful, almost. I cannot remember the last time someone was this considerate, especially him.

“Yours is on the right. I had the hotel prepare clean clothes for you. They should be on the bed.”

He moves on before I can respond. He just turns and heads toward the left bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock turning. I am left standing there, staring at the now-locked door, and I get the distinct feeling that I will not see him again anytime soon. He probably wants some time alone, maybe to take off that damn mask and just breathe for a minute. Anyway, I’m not expecting him to come out, and that is fine by me.

I look at the suite again, trying to take it all in, while my attention is drawn back to the jacuzzi. It calls to me, the steamcurling up from the water like an invitation to escape. No need to think. No questions to ask. All that matters is letting go.

I peel off the oversized white sweater of his that I have been wearing as a dress, dropping it carelessly onto the floor. The fabric feels too heavy now, and the water is the only thing that promises any kind of relief.

The moment I step into the jacuzzi, the hot liquid wraps around me like a blanket, soothing and intense at the same time. The bubbling heat rushes over my skin, easing away the tension in my shoulders and my back. I sink deeper, the pressure of the world lifting just slightly, enough to make me forget—at least for now. The water is perfect, and the soft jets push against my skin, massaging away the tightness in my muscles.

To my surprise, there is a bottle of champagne waiting for me, chilling in an ice bucket beside the edge. I stare at it for a moment, wondering who would expect such a thing, then realize—of course, the hotel. They must think I am some high-powered businessman’s secret mistress, whisked away to a hidden oasis for an illicit affair.

It makes sense, given the level of opulence here—the gold-trimmed furniture, the king-size art pieces hanging on the walls, the ridiculous amount of space that seems designed for people who want to flaunt their wealth. The whole place screams excess, a setting made to impress, to show off. It is all too much, and yet… here I am, dipping deeper into the overindulgence, letting it swallow me whole.

I pick up the champagne to pop the cork, the soft sound almost comforting, and pour myself a glass. The bubbles rise in the crystal-clear beverage, catching the light as they sparkle. I take a sip, the drink cool and crisp, a sharp contrast to thewarmth of the water. The sensation fills me, distracting me from the mess of thoughts that swirl in my mind.

For a second, I let myself pretend. Pretend that I am not trapped in this chaotic, dangerous world. Pretend that none of this matters—that it is all just a fleeting moment, one that I can enjoy before the storm comes crashing down again. I take another sip, letting the bubbles dance on my tongue, allowing myself to forget everything.

The water is blistering hot, kissing my skin as I sink further, embracing the pulsing jets kneading at my tense, aching muscles. My head tips back against the marble brink, lips parting as I exhale slowly.

The city sprawls beneath me beyond the window, thousands of tiny lights blinking in the dark. In this moment, I don’t care about anything beyond the heat licking at my body and the steady thrum between my legs. I shift slightly, the jet pressing harder against me.Rightthere. A sharp jolt of sensation sparks into my core, and my fingers curl against the ledge.

Fuck.

The pressure is good, relentless, teasing in a way that makes my thighs twitch. It has been too long—too much stress, too much tension coiled tight inside me with nowhere to go. I bite my lip, half in hesitation, half in anticipation, and push my hips forward just a little. Somehow, it is not just the water that is making my body tighten with envy.

It’shim.

The way his voice drips with command, how his presence alone ignites something dark and unrelenting. The memory ofhis gloved hands gripping my waist, the rough brush of fabric against my bare skin when he moves too close—he has still never touched me the way I crave, even though my body reacts as if he already has.

The jet pulses directly against my pussy, and I gasp. I part instinctively, welcoming the force, the heat, the way the water licks at my most sensitive spot with a rhythm I don’t have to think about.

I picture his eyes—cold, analyzing, always watching. Does he know how badly I want him? How it tortures me, this maddening game of restraint?

My fingers slide down, teasing, exploring, pushing myself closer to that unbearable precipice. My hips grind, seeking more, needing more. A slow, tentative press against the stream as the pleasure intensifies. A delicious tingle spreads through my core, a liquid ache pooling deep in my stomach. My nipples tighten, the contrast of the hot water and cool air only adding to the sensation twisting inside me.

God, that feels good.

If he were here next to me, would he break? Would he finally give in to the hunger I know he buries beneath his mask? Or would he just watch, amused, making me beg before he would even consider touching me?

My breathing is uneven now, every nerve in my body lighting up as I rock forward again, letting the flow hit me just right. My fingers tighten against the marble, my knuckles white as I chase the friction, slow at first, then more desperate. More needy.

The pleasure builds, coiling low in my belly, the steady rush of water unforgiving against my clit. Every shift, every tiny movement sends another jolt through me, winding me tighter, dragging me higher. My legs tremble, my breath catches, my mouth part in a silent moan—So close. I bite my lip, stifling his name before it slips out. At this moment, he’s everywhere. In my mind, in my body, in the heat that pulses through me as I finally let go.

Oh, fuck—

The orgasm crashes, violent and sharp, knocking the breath from my lungs as my body locks up. My thighs snap together, a strangled moan tearing from my lips as euphoria detonates, white-hot and all-consuming. My hips jerk involuntarily, my body milking every drop of sensation as aftershocks ripple, making me shudder.

For several beats, I remain still. I just float, chest heaving, the fog swirling lazily around me. My body feels loose, languid, completely spent, and a satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of my lips.

Damn, Ineededthat.

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