Page 45 of Ruin

“I’m not—I’m not—I’m not yours,” I gasp in short breaths as my pussy pulses around his fingers, squeezing him tightly. Fuck, it burns, but it feels so fucking good. “Tommy… Tommy…”

By the time he reaches the car, I’m clinging to him, practically chanting his name, my eyes rolling back in my head. He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving me aching and empty. I whimper, my thighs shaking.

“Yeah,” he says, opening the passenger door and sliding me inside like I weigh nothing. “Not mine at all.”

I curl into the heated leather seat, shivering, dizzy from the fight, the cold, from him.

He slides into the driver’s seat and doesn’t look at me as he rips out of the driveway. “Seatbelt, baby.”

I do as I’m told.

His bare chest is glistening with sweat even though it’s freezing fucking cold, and I remember how he looked at me when he was finger fucking me at the tailor’s, how he came with me when I was riding him in my closet.

How the only time I’ve ever seen his perfectly serene demeanor ruffled is when he’s touching me.

He wants to fuck with me? That’s a two-way street, asshole.

17

Tommy

She’s sullen, curled up in the passenger seat, trembling still, though not from the cold. My jacket hangs loose around her, sliding off one shoulder. Her breaths are shallow, uneven, and I can feel them in my chest.

I shift gears, grounding myself with the steady rumble of the engine as we hug the turns, the headlights reflecting off the fog until her voice cuts through, jagged and small.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?”

I turn sharply to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are shiny. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt. The jacket slips down her arms. “But something is wrong. You keep touching me, starting to fuck me, and then you stop.”

I sigh. “I never started, Gi. If I start, I won’t stop.”

She leans in close, her nails dragging lightly down my chest. “Semantics,” she whispers. Her nails trail lower, teasing over my stomach, slipping under my waistband. “You had your fingers inside me. You spanked me until I was dripping. Then you stopped.”

The part of me that notices patterns, textures, details—the part I can’t turn off—is screaming at the warmth of her mouth as she bends and licks across my abs. My whole body shudders, nerve endings buzzing like static. My focus narrows to the wet heat of her tongue, the soft drag of her nails, the fact that her breath is syncing with mine, and I can’t pull away.

“Put your seatbelt back on.”

Her lips brush my neck. “No,” she murmurs, teeth grazing my ear. “Daddy.”

Fuck. The wheel jerks under my hand, and she laughs softly, her body slamming into my arm. My cock was already hard from spanking her and finger fucking her. Now it’s like stone.

“Put your God damn seatbelt back on, Giovanna.”

Instead, she slides her nails down my suit pants, over my rigid length, hard and deliberate. I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white, my pulse roaring in my ears.

It’s like she’s begging for punishment. Wait—does she want to get punished?

Before I can process that idea, considering the various permutations and possible outcomes, Giovanna ducks under my arm and presses her mouth over my cock, blowing warm air through the fabric.

“Holy fuck—” The sound rips out of me. I want so much to let go, to drown in her touch, but my brain keeps chanting rules, rules, rules.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” she whispers.

I choke on my answer. “I want you to stop, Gi.”

But she doesn’t. She’s already tugging at my belt, my zipper sliding down. She’s stubborn, fearless, her lips brushing mystomach. “I want to taste you, Tommy.”