Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
Ruin
A dream.
Yes. It has to be a dream. Or perhaps I’ve moved on from regular to tactile hallucinations.
Those soft hands I’ve yearned for are currently pulling me down by the back of my neck. Her supple body is so closely pressed against mine that I can’t recognize where I end and she begins.
My whole body is alight, trembling with something that feels less like need and more like love.
And God! Her lips. Even in my imagination—in this frenzied dream state—they feel so fucking real.
So I do what I’m helpless against. This instinct of devouring her is all that consumes me. My grip on her waist tightens as I swallow every single gasp of hers.
The hand that was resting hesitantly on the back of her neck is now wildly clutching at her hair. Enough that this apparition of Charlotte shivers in my arms.
Fuck, I wish this were real. The part of me that knows I don’t deserve this is urging me to snap out of this reverie.
But, please. Just one more second. One more desperate taste of hers and I’ll come back to reality.
Then I feel it.
Her tongue. Eager and confident, wanting to explore my mouth.
That’s when I lean back. Not because I’m scared. Because even in this hallucinating moment, I’d never imagined my daydreams would ever get this real.
One fucking look—and my whole world shatters.
Because she’s here. Lips swollen and bitten by… me.
My heart starts to thud loudly in my throat instead of my chest. I’m suddenly acutely aware of my hard cock currently pressing against her stomach. And she. Doesn’t. Mind.
“Ruin,” she breathes out, a panting mess.
Fuck. This is real. I just kissed Charlotte. My Charlotte.
I feel every muscle in my face twisting—crumpling into a pained, hopeless heap of longing. “This is real,” I whisper uselessly.
Then I crash into her again. Pulling her impossibly close. My hands take on a frantic rhythm.
Her body mirrors the quivering ache that pulses through my every breath. Her hands are gripping my cut this time.
Finally I allow my tongue to meet hers. Hesitantly, at first. The moment she plunges into me further, I let go. I pour all of my emotions into that moment.
With every nervous stroke of my tongue, each bite of her teeth on my lips, my uncertainty bleeds away in rapid bursts.
She claws and clambers, pushing into me so frenetically that I let my hands wander over to her ass.
Picking her up in one smooth motion as she wraps her legs around my waist. My stiff length behind the zipper brushes her against pajama-clad pussy.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I force myself not to accidentally come in my jeans as I settle us down on my couch. She’s straddling me.
My hands rest on her waist—gripping firmly. And I force myself not to touch her anywhere else. Even as her hands frantically stroke my chest, sliding under my cut, I dare not move my hands. Not if she won’t welcome that touch.
Fuck. I bet she can feel the wild beats of my heart through my Henley.
Unable to resist, I let my one hand graze upwards, carefully skipping her torso, cupping her cheek.
For a brief second, she leans back, allowing me to tangle my fingers in her hair. Her eyes are glazed over with lust. Her breath fans across my lips.
She looks so fucking gorgeous.
I never allowed myself to daydream this far ahead. But the reality is a million times better.
As I place a soft, charged peck on her lips, a small smile cracks on my lips. “Christ, Charlotte,” I say, my eyes closing when I drop my forehead to hers.
Before I can dive in further, stupidly assuming I’ll be welcomed by the woman I love, she yanks herself off my lap.
Stumbling—almost falling on her ass—she grips a random chair of my office to steady herself. Eyes wild as she stares at me.
No… through me.
Shit.
“Charl—”
“No!” she snaps, her voice shaking. “Fuck—I… no!” There’s a strained, almost whiny edge to it. Frustrated. Cornered. Like she’s arguing with herself more than me.
“It’s okay,” I say gently, even though the contrite look on her face doesn’t ease in the slightest.
Fuck. She regrets it. Of course she does.
The realization settles heavy in my chest, dull and expected, but no less brutal.
Before I can say anything else, she lets out a sharp, frustrated groan. Then she strides toward me, pacing straight to where her phone rests on the couch. She snatches it up like it personally offended her.
I blink, thrown off by the sudden shift. “Charlotte—”
She’s already moving. Storming toward the door, muttering under her breath, each word clipped and sharp. “Fucking peanut butter and stupid jam…”
Uh… what?
I frown, completely lost.
She yanks the door open, still grumbling something that very clearly sounds like a threat involving mussels and my ass. And then she’s gone.
The door slams shut behind her. Silence crashes into the room.
I sit there for a second, staring at the empty space she left behind, my mind trying—and failing—to catch up. I drag a hand down my face—her taste still lingering on my lips—exhaling roughly. “The fuck just happened?”
??????
Two days. A full forty-eight hours. And she still wouldn’t look me in the eyes.
I often feel her watching me, lost in thought like she’s bracing for something. But she never really meets my gaze.
Though her venom has changed texture, become something smoother than the rough, hardened space that lingered between us. She still talks to me, her voice carrying a softer timbre than before.
We never talk about the kiss, though. I doubt we ever will.
It was probably the heightened, overwhelming emotions that led her to kissing a bastard like me.
But that doesn’t help me—not now that I know what she feels like in my arms. How her mouth feels against my tongue. One taste and I’m fucking addicted.
It doesn’t matter that I know there will never be a repeat. I’ll still relish that moment she let her walls down just a bit.
She sighs heavily beside me.
We’re walking back to the compound after a necessary and unavoidable visit to my parents’ house.
She needed this. Their warm presence.
The dinner was a somber one. Fear and anxiety creeping at the edges of our seemingly light conversation.
I glance at Charlotte. Her shoulders are slightly hunched, like she’s trying to fold into herself. Hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie, fingers probably curled tight. I don’t ask. I don’t push.
Not tonight. Not after the way Mama held her a second too long. How she kissed Charlotte goodnight at the end.
Both their eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Like this whole war was drowning us slowly but surely.
Dad simply slapped my back lightly, nodding at me. His gesture crystal clear—take care of her.
I bet they both could sense the immense fear rolling off of her. Perhaps from me as well.
The gravel crunches under our boots as we pass through the west perimeter.
I nod at the prospects—Heath and Joe. The two must have been patrolling for a while now.
At the edges, I can see the hidden figures. The extra security that Mihai’s men are providing, in sheer numbers.
She hasn’t looked up once since we left the house.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
She hums in response. Noncommittal. Distant.
A lie. I don’t call her out on it.
“She was really happy to see you,” I add after a beat. “Mama.”
That gets something. A small exhale. Almost a laugh, but not quite.
“I know,” she murmurs. “I didn’t realize how much I needed that—to see them.”
I nod, putting one foot in front of the other, when she stops. Her body turned toward me.
I stare at her, facing her pensive yet steadily calm gaze.
“Ruin, I… the kiss…” she says, squeezing her eyes shut.
My whole body locks. “Listen—”
“No, I’m just…” She cuts me off, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I jumped you.”
I give her a soft smile. “I was a willing participant.”
She throws a mild glare at me.
“Do you regret it?” I blurt out, mentally face palming for voicing the question.
She remains silent, scanning the compound behind my shoulder. Perhaps hoping she’ll gain some answers.
Then she lowers her gaze, frowning thoughtfully.
Before she renders me absolutely stunned with a single word.
“No.” Her voice is too quiet. But I catch the reluctance there.
“I was…” She huffs a humorless sigh. “I was surprised at how easily I let you that close. I felt weak for letting it happen. But do I regret it? No, I don’t. ”
“You’re not weak,” I tell her firmly, before softening my voice. “Charlotte, I… it was not a sign of weakness, okay? You were probably overwhelmed. And I get that. And I’m sorry for taking it too far—”
“God!” She groans. “You didn’t. I know you would’ve stopped if I told you—uh…” She abruptly cuts herself off, nodding behind me. Just as I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, Ruin?” I hear, turning toward Joe who is standing awkwardly.
“Yeah, you got something for me?” I ask, a bit irritated at him for interrupting my conversation with Charlotte.
“I do,” he smirks.
I don’t get to question further.
A frown barely forms on my forehead because—
A sharp pain shoots through the side of my head. I can’t feel my feet beneath me.
My hands are useless at my sides as my vision narrows to the muddied ground rushing up.
And then—
Nothing.
??????
Scream. A sharp guttural scream.
Charlotte.
God! No, no, no, no.
That’s the first thing I hear before my eyes even open.
“Fucking hell,” someone snaps. “Shut the bitch up!”
Suddenly, it dies. The familiar sound—even though terrified—it fucking dies.
My eyes feel like they’re glued shut. I pry my eyes open, and suddenly wish I didn’t.
Right there, in front of me, lying on the ground at an awkward angle, staring into nothing with lifeless eyes, is Heath.
A hole between his eyes makes me wince. But I still can’t move an inch.
Pain. Not a dull ache. Not something I can grit my teeth through.
This is sharp. Violent. Lancing through my ribs, my skull, my spine. Like my entire body is splitting apart from the inside.