Page 12 of Boy of Ruin
His breath is against my ear, and my eyes flutter closed as I relax into his touch, hating the way I don’t hate it at all. Hating that I can feel his erection hard against my back, and while I haven’t so much as kissed him in the three weeks I’ve been here, some part of me…some part of me wants to.
“I’m good at catching you, if you haven’t noticed by now.” His words cause goosebumps to crawl up my skin, and my throat feels tight beneath his fingers. I can’t swallow. Can’t move at all.
I’m not even sure I want to.
“You need to know how to defend yourself, baby. If someone was following you last night…they could do it again.” His tone is laced with anger. “So,” he whispers, “get away from me. Right. Now.”
I think about the knife by my bed. The gun in this very room, on one of the weight benches. Nicolas upstairs, along with my brother’s other guards.
Because I snuck out, they couldn’t have protected me. If Jeremiah didn’t get home at the right time, and Nicolas hadn’t looked for me, it could’ve been them that came for me.
I grit my teeth and take a steadying breath.
I can practically hear Jeremiah’s smirk against my ear.
My first instinct is to do exactly what I’ve tried the past few hours. Squirm free. Or grab his arm, still banded around my chest, his calloused fingers still grazing my bare waist. But I fight back on that urge, try to listen to what he said.
My legs are free.
There’s nothing stopping me from kicking up and back and—
Just as I try, he wraps his leg around mine, keeping me in place, his hand tightening around my throat. “Try again,” he instructs me, his tone not mocking. Helpful.
I try to kick my other foot up, backward, but he’s faster, sweeping my steady leg to the side and throwing me off balance. Both of us off balance. We fall backward, and a scream leaves my throat, not from concern about me, but him.
Surprising me, though, he doesn’t make a sound and as we come crashing to the ground, I realize he landed on the padded mats he has scattered around the cement floors.
He laughs, a delicious sound that I don’t hear nearly often enough. And just as a small laugh of my own bubbles its way up from my mouth, he’s spinning me around so fast I’m dizzy as my back hits the mat and he’s on top of me, his hands planted on either side of my head.
My breath catches in my throat, the laughter dying on the tip of my tongue. I reach for his forearms, corded muscle hard and slick with sweat beneath my fingers. I don’t know why I’m holding onto him. I don’t know if I’m trying to keep him away or if I want him…closer.
His knees are on either side of my hips, and I’m just thankful he’s on them instead of flush against me.
My eyes trail down from his, over his handsome face, his full, parted lips, the sweat dripping from his defined jawline.
I see the muscles in his neck, his shoulders, down his body.
He’s built, tall, so much bigger than me.
Being underneath him like this is something I shouldn’t crave but can’t help but…like.
“Jeremiah,” I whisper, my fingers tightening around his forearms. “What are you—”
He leans down close to me, cutting off my words, his lips inches from mine. I can smell him, clean like fresh laundry even as he’s drenched in sweat. Everything about my brother is perfectly polished and neat, almost as if he needs it that way to hide the rot that is his soul.
“I like you underneath me,” he says softly, his breath—like toothpaste, warm against my mouth— caressing me. Drawing me in. Causing me to clench my thighs together. Close my eyes so I can’t see him. So I can pretend this isn’t happening.
He’s my brother.
My brother.
“I like that you aren’t fighting me.” His mouth is closer, nearly touching my lips.
I dig my nails into his forearms, and he huffs a small laugh, but doesn’t move back.
“It’s a step, huh, baby?”
I don’t speak. I keep my eyes closed, holding my breath. Hating myself for this. For…wanting it.
