Page 10 of Ruin
God.
His tongue is devastating.
Long strokes that build pressure without release, then tight circles that blur my vision.
He knows my body like a language he's fluent in, and every nerve he finds steals the coherence from my thoughts.
I fist my hand in his hair and pull him where I need him—something the girl I used to be, the one who mistook silence for safety and let other people decide how much space she was allowed to take, would have never dared—and he growls against me.
The vibration tears through my core.
I arch off the bed so hard only his forearms keep me pinned.
He edges me.
The bastard brings me to the cliff with his tongue and two fingers curling inside me, hitting that spot that whites out my vision, then pulls back.
He slows.
Lightens his touch until I'm trembling and cursing, my fingers twisted in his hair hard enough to hurt.
"Cassius." His name comes out strangled. Wrecked. "Please."
He looks up at me from between my thighs.
The expression on his face—possessive, hungry, almost reverent—makes my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with sex.
"Say it again."
"Please."
He rewards me.
His mouth seals over my clit with focused, relentless pressure, fingers curling in a rhythm that matches, and the orgasm doesn't build.
It detonates.
White-hot, starting at my center and radiating outward until my toes curl and my thighs clamp around his head and I'm making sounds I can't control.
He doesn't stop.
Before the aftershocks fade, he shifts his angle, adds a third finger, and drives me up again—faster, rougher, his free hand flat on my stomach holding me down while he works me through a second orgasm that tears a scream from my throat.
Only then does he pull back.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Looks at me like I'm the most dangerous thing in his kingdom.
"Still think you're in charge?" I manage.
My voice is shredded.
The corner of his mouth lifts.
Not a smile. A threat. "I know I am."
He sheds his clothes with efficient precision.
