49. Her Ruin
Chapter forty-nine
Her Ruin
The water ripples softly as I trail the washcloth down her arm, her skin still flushed and marked from where my hands and mouth claimed her.
Her head rests against the edge of the tub, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with each steady breath. I can see the faintest hint of a smile on her lips, and it pulls something tight in my chest.
I shift slightly, running the cloth over her shoulder, watching as her body relaxes under my touch. I was rough with her—too rough, maybe. But fuck if she didn’t take it, didn’t ask for it, didn’t fucking love it.
Five years of waiting and not touching another will do that to a man.
I wanted her to feel me, to know I was there in every ache and every mark I left behind. I want her to carry me on her skin long after the night ends.
But now? Now I bring her back down. Now I take care of what’s mine.
“You’re smiling,” I murmur, my voice cutting through the quiet. “What’s that about?”
She opens one eye, peeking up at me with a lazy smirk. “Just thinking,” she says softly, her voice drowsy, like she’s halfway between awake and asleep.
“Yeah?” I ask, dipping the washcloth into the water and wringing it out. “About what?”
Her smirk grows, and she lets out a soft sigh. “You’re so rough with me,” she says, her tone teasing but laced with warmth. “But then afterward… this.” She gestures weakly to the bath, to the way I’m carefully tending to her like she’s made of glass. “Why is that?”
I pause, my hands stilling for a moment as I look down at her. Her question isn’t accusatory; it’s curious, like she’s trying to piece together something that doesn’t quite make sense. I take a breath, my fingers brushing over the marks on her thigh, the ones I left there, before answering.
“Because I have to,” I start. “I have to bring you back down, baby. Can’t leave you floating, all high and untethered, just to crash by yourself later. That’s not how this works.”
Her brow furrows slightly, but she doesn’t say anything, just watches me as I trail the cloth over her collarbone, over the faint marks where my teeth pressed into her skin.
“Floating?” she echoes, her brow furrowing slightly.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the edge of the tub as I look her in the eye.
“Yeah, floating,” I say, my voice softer. “That high you get when you give me everything, when I take it all. It’s fucking intoxicating, isn’t it? But it doesn’t last. If I don’t bring you back down, if I don’t ground you, you’ll come crashing down on your own. And I don’t let what’s mine fall apart.”
“Like last time?” She tilts her head, watching me, her gaze searching, as if she’s trying to make sense of the contrast between the man who pinned her down and the one carefully washing her now.
“Yes, but also because you’re mine, Aria,” I continue. “And that means it’s my fucking job to take care of you. Whether I’m making you scream or picking up the pieces after… that’s all on me.”
Her lips part slightly, and for a moment, she looks like she wants to argue, like she wants to challenge the weight of my words. But then she smiles again, softer this time, and leans her head back against the tub.
“I like that,” she murmurs, her eyes closing. “That I’m yours.”
“Damn right, you are,” I mutter, dipping the cloth into the water again and wringing it out before running it down her leg. “And don’t you fucking forget it.”
She lets out a soft laugh, and I smirk, shaking my head as I trail the cloth over her ankle, then back up her other leg. Her body is soft, warm, and marked by me in all the ways I need it to be.
Seeing her like this—relaxed, smiling, completely mine—it does something to me I can’t quite put into words.
“You’re so bossy,” she teases, her voice lighter now, and I snort, shaking my head as I toss the cloth into the water and lean forward.
“You fucking love it,” I say, smirking as I press a kiss to her shoulder, my stubble scraping against her skin.
“Maybe,” she says, her tone playful, but the flush on her cheeks gives her away.
I reach for the bottle of shampoo, squirting a bit into my palm before lathering it up. “Lean forward, baby,” I say, and she obeys without question, her head tilting as I run my fingers through her hair, working the suds into her scalp.
She hums softly, her eyes closed again, and I can’t help but watch her, the way she leans into my touch, the way she trusts me even after everything. “You know,” she murmurs after a moment, “you’re not what I expected.”
I raise an eyebrow, my fingers stilling for a fraction of a second before continuing their path through her hair. “Yeah? And what did you expect?”
She smiles again, that faint, teasing curve of her lips. “I don’t know. More rough edges, maybe. Less… this.”
I let out a low chuckle, rinsing her hair with a jug of water. “Oh, baby, I’ve got plenty of rough edges,” I say, my tone laced with amusement. “You just bring out something else in me. Something no one else gets.”
She turns her head slightly, peeking up at me through damp lashes. “Something good?”
“Something yours,” I correct, my voice dropping an octave. “Don’t get it twisted. This isn’t me being good. This is me taking care of what’s mine. There’s a difference.”
Her cheeks flush, and she doesn’t argue. Instead, she leans back into the tub, her body sinking deeper into the water as I finish rinsing her hair.
“Come on,” I murmur, standing and reaching for a towel. “Let’s get you out of here before you turn into a prune.”
She opens her eyes, watching me with a soft smile as I hold the towel out for her. “You gonna carry me, too?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Damn right, I am,” I say, grinning as I scoop her up, water dripping from her skin as I wrap the towel around her. “You can barely fucking stand after the night we’ve had.”
Her cheeks flush, and she buries her face in my chest, letting out a soft groan. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re mine,” I say simply, smirking as I carry her out of the bathroom and toward the bed.
By the time I lay her down, she’s half-asleep, her body sinking into the sheets as I pull the blankets over her. I press a kiss to her forehead, my hand brushing over her hair, and for a moment, I just watch her.
She blinks up at me, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. The faintest smile curves her lips, and her hand reaches out weakly to brush against my chest. Her touch is featherlight, but it sends a shock straight through me.
Her lips part, her voice is soft and barely above a whisper. “I love you, Dominic.”
My chest tightens, her words cutting through me like a blade. They’re so simple, so quiet, yet they carry a weight that feels almost unbearable. She’s staring at me like she’s carved open her soul and handed it to me on a platter.
Vulnerable. Unflinching. Honest.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. The words are right there, clawing their way up my throat, but I don’t know if I deserve to say them back. Not after everything I’ve done. Not after everything I’ve made her into.
But she’s already drifting off, her hand slipping from my chest as her eyes flutter closed, and the soft sound of her breathing fills the room. My hand moves almost on its own, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face as I watch her sleep.
“I love you, too,” I murmur, my voice low, the words meant only for her. The admission feels raw, like tearing stitches out of a wound, but I don’t fight it. I let it bleed.