Page 42 of Ravaged and Ruined
I step in farther and close the door behind me. Her bed isn’t made. The sheets are tangled like she fights with them nightly. Her walls are covered with pinned up snapshots of candid moments. One of them with Emery grinning beside her. A blurry one of Surge flipping off the camera with Zoey doubled over laughing behind him. And one of me, I’m pretty damn sure she didn’t mean for me to see, I’m bent over my bike, grease on my fingers, sun in my eyes, caught when I wasn’t looking.
It hits me harder than I expected. She’s made herself a home here, a family and as badly as I want her, I can’t promise I won’t fuck it all up.
She sets her phone down on the dresser and finally looks back at me.
“If this is just sex, Aero, say so now, because I thought you meant what you said last night and then you just left.”
“It’s complicated, Lacey.” I run a hand down my face. “I have responsibilities and a whole damn club expecting me to lead them. There’s a lot on my shoulders.”
She just looks at me like she sees through every layer of bullshit I’ve ever wrapped myself in. I’m such an asshole, sometimes I can’t even stand myself.
I don’t want to pick apart my reasons for leaving. I don’t want to look too closely or I’ll have to face the lies I’ve told myself.
But she’s right. I didn’t give her what she needed. I left her after promising I’d be there in the morning. No reason. No apology. I just took and walked away. The same damn pattern I always fall into. And I hate that I made her question what she means to me.
I move toward her without thinking. “I’m sorry.”
The rare apology falls from my lips naturally. She exhales slowly, and I catch the way her shoulders rise, how her throat works like she’s swallowing something hard.
I step closer but I don’t look her in the eyes. I can’t. But for once, I don’t try to hide the wreckage in me.
“I don’t know how to do this right,” I say, my voice rough with the truth. “I’ve spent years building walls so high I forgot what it felt like to let anyone in. And then you show up, and suddenly I want to tear them down faster than I’m ready for.”
I take a step closer, watching the way her breath stutters, like maybe she wasn’t ready to hear this, but hell, I wasn’t ready to admit it.
“I think about you all damn day. Every time I close my eyes, it’s your face I see. And when I left…” I shake my head. “It wasn’tbecause I didn’t want you. It’s because I don’t think I have the right to.”
She doesn’t rush to fill the silence. Her sharp eyes soften like she understands. Of course she does. It’s like she can see into my damn hollow fucked-up soul.
She reaches out slowly, curling her soft fingers around mine.
“You’re allowed to want things, Aero,” she says quietly, her fingers tighten in mine.
That’s all I need. I pull her close, my hands settling on her hips, just enough pressure to feel the heat of her through her jeans.
Her arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer, and I let myself be pulled. I kiss her like I need air. Like she’s the only clean thing left in a world full of rot. My mouth moves slowly over hers, unhurried and deep. No rush, no hunger, just something raw and honest between us.
I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against hers. We’re both breathing hard, hearts pounding in the quiet.
I slide my hand along her jaw, tilting her face toward mine. “You are mine Bambola, even if I don’t get to keep you.”
“I don’t want to regret this,” she whispers, her voice thin and taut like a wire ready to snap.
“I won’t let you,” I say, even though the truth is I’ve got no idea what tomorrow looks like. Only that not touching her might kill me faster than any bullet. “I need to feel you.”
I lift her shirt slowly, baring inch after inch of skin like it’s something sacred. I touch her like she’s breakable, even though I know she’s not. I kiss her slowly, like I’ve got forever, like I’m allowed to feel this.
Her hands find my chest, my shoulders, my face. Her touch melts the tension I didn’t realize I was holding. Her fingers hook into the front of my shirt and slide up beneath the fabric,her fingertips tracing the lines of my ribs, my spine, her palms moving across my chest.
The backs of her knees hit the bed. I guide her down gently, laying her out like something precious. This time, I don’t devour her like a starving man. I take my time peeling the rest of her clothes away, worshiping her body. Every scar. Every freckle. Every soft breath and shiver of her skin.
My hands trace her breast, glide over the delicate line of her stomach, memorizing her one inch at a time like I’ve never touched her before.
My mouth follows the slope of her collarbone, the rise of her breasts, the soft skin at her ribs that makes her shiver when I drag my tongue over it. Then my mouth moves lower, enjoying the little shiver that runs through her when my tongue trails down her stomach. The way her breath catches when I kiss the inside of her thigh. I savor her. Tasting her. Slowly. Building her up until her thighs tremble.
“God, Aero,” she breathes. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
Too late.
