Page 37 of Ruin
Until his breathing goes ragged and his fingers are trembling against my skin.
Then I move.
Slow. Rolling my hips in a rhythm that's designed to destroy him.
His forehead drops to my chest.
His breath is hot against the collar, against the diamonds, and every exhale sends vibrations through the stones into my skin.
His hand slides up from my hip, over my ribs, over the bare skin of my back, and settles against my throat.
Not squeezing. Not restricting airflow. Just resting there.
His thumb on one side of my neck, fingers curved around the other, holding me like something precious and dangerous.
The weight of his hand against my throat is a claim. Not violent. Possessive.
I press into it. Lean my neck forward so his grip tightens just barely.
Just enough that I feel the edges of his fingers against my pulse, and the collar shifts against his knuckles.
"You want them to hear you?" he says. His voice is wrecked. "Then let me hear you first."
I increase the pace.
Riding him harder, deeper, my hands braced on his shoulders for leverage.
The chair creaks beneath us. The candles flicker from the movement.
His hand stays on my throat, a constant pressure that makes every sensation sharper, every nerve more alive.
He tries to take over. Tries to grip my hips and set the rhythm. I pin his wrists against the armrests and hold them there.
"My pace," I tell him.
He looks up at me. His eyes are black. Blown. Somewhere between fury and worship. "Your pace," he echoes.
I ride him with the same control I used to command the room twenty minutes ago.
Measured, deliberate, every roll of my hips a statement.
I feel the orgasm building low in my core, gathering pressure like water behind a dam.
His hand flexes against my throat.
Not tightening. Just pulsing. Matching my rhythm.
Like a heartbeat he's keeping time with.
“Cassius.” His name comes out ragged. “I’m close.”
“Then take it,” he growls. “Take what’s yours.”
I come with his hand at my throat and his name on my lips, and I don’t try to be quiet. The sound rips out of me—raw, loud—echoing off the soundproof walls that may or may not carry it into the corridor. I don’t care.
I want them to hear.
I want every person in this building to know that the woman who just restructured their legal infrastructure is also the woman who can undo their king.
