Page 265 of Ruin My Life
He’s close. So am I.
Then he growls in my ear, dark and low—
“Un día, mi amor, serás mi esposa, y llenaré tu cuerpo perfecto con mis bebés. Pasaré el resto de mi vida amándote, follándote y luego moriré siendo un hombre muy afortunado.”
His accent alone could be a weapon.
And against me, it definitely is.
Ishatter.
My body breaks open as the orgasm hits. I cry out, clutching his shoulders, my release soaking him as he buries himself deep and follows with a guttural moan. He fills me to the brim, holding me close while we fall apart in sync.
Our bodies tremble in the aftermath, breathless and tangled.
When the haze lifts, I’m still trying to process what he said.
I’ve been learning Spanish, but I’m far from fluent when it comes to full sentences—especially when they’re whispered in that sinful accent while he’s inside me.
I caught the important words.
Mi amor. My love.Esposa. Wife.Perfecto. Perfect.Bebés.
Babies?
I blink up at him, dazed, my legs still quivering around his waist.
There’sno wayI heard that right.
We’ve talked about it in passing before—future tense, all hypothetical. But I’d always been the one to deflect. I wasn’t ready. Not when I felt unfinished, unhealed, half-alive.
But now?
I’ve graduated.
The Speakeasy is just a handful of weeks away from it’s grand reopening.
Damon’s burden is lighter.
My body is strong again.
And my heart—god, my heart knows exactly what it wants now. The thought of building a family with him makes my chest flutter and my blood run hot.
When he finally releases my throat and brushes sweaty hair off my face, I summon enough brain cells to whisper, “What did you say?”
He kisses my forehead, slow and deliberate—like a vow. “That we’re going to be late for your gift,mi amor.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s not what you said.”
His grin is pure wickedness. “Guess you need to keep practicing your Spanish then,little rose.”
I open my mouth to argue, but before I can get a single syllable out, he pulls out of me—only for a rush of cum, hot and thick, to slip free and start to drip toward the edge of the desk.
Before it can, he shoves two fingers back inside me, sealing me up with a low, primal growl.
My gasp is sharp and immediate. “Damon—”
He chuckles, curling his fingers just so while reaching for a few tissues from the corner of my desk. “I’ll tell you what,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep saying it until you figure it out yourself.”
