Page 430 of Ruthless Court

When the pain fully melts into pleasure I lift my hips to meet him. He answers by going deeper, a little faster, still controlled, still watching my face for any sign I need him to stop.

I don’t.

I pull him down into a kiss that is all open mouths and shared breath, and he starts fucking me properly—still deep, still deliberate, but with enough force that the headboard taps the wall in a soft, steady rhythm. One of his hands slides between us so his thumb can find my clit again. The dual sensation is devastating.

“Kane—oh God⁠—”

“I’ve got you. Let go for me.”

I do.

The orgasm rolls through me in long, rolling waves, clenching around him so tightly he curses against my mouth. He keeps moving through it, drawing it out until I’m shaking and oversensitive, then finally lets himself follow. He comes with a low, broken sound, buried as deep as he can go, hips stuttering as he fills me.

For a long time neither of us moves.

He’s still inside me.

My legs are still wrapped around him.

His heart is hammering against my chest in the exact same frantic rhythm as mine.

Eventually he lifts his head. His eyes are soft, almost awed.

“You okay?”

I touch his face with both hands.

“I’m perfect.”

He kisses me once more—slow, grateful, lingering—then carefully pulls out. The emptiness is sudden and strange. He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a warm washcloth, cleaning me with the same quiet care he always shows when I’m vulnerable. When he’s done he climbs back into bed and pulls me against his chest, one heavy arm draped over my waist, legs tangled with mine.

I fit perfectly against him.

Outside, the campus is quiet.

Inside, the only sound is our breathing slowly evening out.

I close my eyes with my cheek pressed to his heartbeat and think, without any fear left in the thought:

This is what choosing feels like.

I wake before the sun does.

Kane’s arm is still heavy across my waist. One of his legs is hooked over both of mine. The sheets smell like him and me and the quiet aftermath of everything we did. My body feels different—tender in places that have never been tender before, warm where he held me, a low, steady ache between my legs that isn’t pain so much as proof.

I stay still.

If I move, the night might dissolve. If I speak, the careful, almost sacred quiet might break.

His breathing is deep and even against the back of my neck. Every so often his fingers flex against my stomach, like even in sleep he is making sure I am still here.

I am.

I am so completely here.

The memory of his eyes when he pushed inside me returns in a slow, rolling wave. The way he watched my face for any sign of fear. The way he waited. The way he said my name like it was the only word that mattered. I had expected the physical part to overwhelm everything else. Instead it is the emotional weight that sits heaviest in my chest this morning.

I let someone see me completely.