Page 15 of Ruined By the Enemy
I couldwalkover,pinher against the wall, and make her take the words back. She’d swallow them in seconds, and I wouldn’t stop until she begged me to make her come.
When I speak again, I don’t recognize my own voice. It sounds like wet concrete poured on gravel and threaded over with a truck tire.
“Good night, Sophie,” I say, dragging my feet away. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Are you scared?”
Ignore.
“That you’d end up feeling even more helpless? Because I could tell how much it pissed you off when your plan to get me drunk didn’t work.”
“You’re drunk,” I remind her without looking back.
“I’m not,” she retorts. “You think I’m the kind of woman who’s easy to take advantage of.” Her voice comes across clear and sharp. “Well, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not scared of you, Mr. Moretti, because you’re all talk and nothing else.”
I react before my brain predicts it. One second I’m standing in the hallway, and the other I’m in front of Sophie, watching her breasts rise with every inhale.
“You know nothing about me, Sophie,” I say.
Her chin lifts, proud and unflinching. “Then prove it.”
I raise a finger to her cheek, letting it brush her skin with the lightest touch. As expected, she draws in a sharp breath, but her eyes never leave mine.
Good. Let her keep looking. Let her watch herself unravel without a single place to hide.
My finger traces the curve of her chin, down the delicate slope of her neck, stopping at the line of her collarbone. “You’re shivering,” I murmur. “And I’ve barely touched you. What do you think would happen if I took this—” I slide another finger under the thin strap of her bra, “off? Still think I’m the prude here?”
She doesn’t blink. “Turns out it’s just cold.”
I pause.Ah. So that’s how she wants to play it.
Without breaking eye contact, I slip the strap down her shoulder deliberately, then the other. My fingers find the clasp, and with practiced ease, I undo it.
Her bra loosens. Slips just inches away from falling off. I imagine it—taking it off all the way and having her breasts spill free, soft and tempting. As I step back to admire the scene, Sophie draws another breath, this one shakier.
Her defiance flickers, but it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface.
I don’t touch. I watch her,watchher struggle under the weight of my gaze.
“You’re not cold anymore,” I murmur, voice low and rough as her skin takes on a shade of light pink. “Are you?”
“Maybe?” She shrugs. “My clothes are off after all.”
“Not all,” I say as I step forward, bringing my lips inches from her ear. “It’s fine to admit defeat at this point, Sophie. I won’t hold it against you. You were simply out of your depths, that’s all.”
I pull back as she bites her lip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Oh.
This is fun.
My thumb brushes the outline of her mouth—a featherlight caress—and her lips part with a quiet whimper. It’s the firstcrack in her defenses, the first sound she doesn’t mean to give me.
She feels it, too. Her shoulders straighten, like she can will the weakness away. Like pride alone can hold her together.
I don’t push.
Instead, my thumb continues downward, tracing lazy, deliberate patterns across her chest. Each stroke gets closer, more dangerous, flirting with the fragile edge of her slipping bra.
