Page 11 of Unlocking Ruin

“I’m going to remove my hand,” he warns, then he peels back a single finger.

His mistake. Not mine.

I scream again.

He covers my mouth. “Do. Not. Scream. And no, it’s not because someone will hear and come to help. It’s just us. I am the help, Rylan.” He removes his fingers one by one.

How does he know my name?

Why the heck did he say it like that… as if he knows me like the back of his thieving hands. Almost as if he’s a friend.

“You… never…” I begin. I can’t breathe fast enough to see straight. “Said not to scream. Blame yourself, not me.”

His eyes connect with mine so deeply that I stop fighting. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, sounding both annoyed and… proud?

“You’re the first to notice.”

“Hardly,” he whispers.

What’s that supposed to mean?

I ball my fist and swing it into his ribs. Asshole doesn’t sway an inch. My knuckles, on the other hand, are cursing my decision.

“What are you, Roman concrete? Give me space!” I snap and buck my hips.

“Roman concrete?”

“It’s the best; maybe if you paid attention in school, you’d know.” I thrust my hips again, trying to get him off.

“Maybe I am Roman concrete.” His voice dips, gone is his smirk. “It’s said to be made from volcanic ash. I have felt the fire.”

I wriggle my hips, trying to free myself.

“Stop thrusting into me.” He stoops closer to my ear. “You don’t want me to get turned on.” His hot, minty breath seeps through his mask.

“I knew you were insane,” I hiss, loud enough to possibly be considered a scream.

“Maybe if you paid attention to your surroundings, you wouldn’t be underneath me right now. It appears some individuals truly possess two left feet,” he says as he hovers directly above me.

“Give. Me. Space,” I seethe; my toes curl so tightly in my shoes I feel the padded sole start to buckle.

“My family comes from Europe, where personal space is much smaller.”

“Then go back.” I plant my hands on his chest and shove.

“I was born here.”

“Then Americanize this situation and back the fuck up!” I groan.

“Such a naughty little mouth.”

“You only used to quiet rich girls?”

“Yes.” He pushes up, holding a perfect plank, but keeps my lower body trapped with his thighs.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Is that why you always wear a hoodie? You have haphephobia.”