Page 133 of Ruin My Life
I collapse onto my elbows, my forearms bracketing her head, my breath stolen by the look on her face as she comes undone beneath me.
She’s fuckingglowing.
Blush blooming up her neck, dusting over the subtle freckles that usually dot her cheeks. Her eyes squeeze shut, brows drawn tight as her breath comes out in exasperated huffs.
But as her body softens, her lips curve into the faintest, sleepiest smile.
And itkillsme.
When her eyes open—heavy, hazy, and blown wide—I can barely breathe. They’re dark and consuming, a thin ring of that hazel green left at the rims.
Every one of her sharp edges has softened, yet I know she could still take my life in a second.
“Beautiful. Lethal.”
I run the back of my knuckles down her cheek, soaking in the feel of her.
“Mine.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brie
“BEAUTIFUL.LETHAL.MINE.”
Hours later, those words still echo in my head like they’re etched into my fucking bones. They linger louder than the ache between my legs, louder than the burn in my thighs from how many times he made me come.
God.
The way he looked at me—like I was something precious.
Like I wasn’t made of vengeance and razor wire.
And hismonsterof a cock.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget how it felt to take every inch of him. How it felt to befullin a way I hadn’t been since before the blood and gunfire.
Now I’m laying next to him under silk sheets that feel too soft for someone like me. The room is dark, moonlight smothered behind heavy curtains, but I can still make out the shape of him.
His face is angled slightly toward me on the pillow, brows smoothed, lashes resting against his cheek. For once, all the tension is gone. His lips part gently with every breath, slow and deep. Calm.
He looks peaceful.
But it hurts to look at him.
Because I know what I have to do now.
Part of me—probably the part still aching from the way he held me, whispered to me, fucked me like I was already his—wants to stay in this bed. Wants to let the truth stay buried beneath skin and silence.
But I can’t.
Not when there are still questions clawing at my insides.
Not when I still see Amie’s face every time I close my eyes.
Not when I remember the sound of her scream.
Since the day I woke up in that hospital bed, I’ve asked the same question over and over:Why?
