Page 12 of Claimed By Ruin

Proved again that I was the only person I could count on.

Jack deciding to parachute back in didn’t change things one bit.

I rinsed off the soap and frowned when a cool breeze filled the bathroom.

“I’m in here,” I called, trying not to sound annoyed.

I saw the looming figure through the fogged shower curtain and knew it was him.

“I’ll be done in a minute, Jack,” I said, impressed that I managed to sound almost normal.

Thud.

Thud.

The sound of Jack’s boots hitting the ancient linoleum followed by the familiar jingle of his belt.

What kind of asshole put on boots to go to the bathroom?

Jack, that was what kind.

I shook my head, trying to focus on what was important. I grabbed the curtain and peeked out, hiding my body as best I could behind a plastic shower curtain.

“I said I’d be out in a minute,” I said.

Jack held my gaze, but continued to undress.

“Jack, what are you⁠—”

The tub wasn’t big enough for both of us. That was my first stupid thought as his body filled the space, the water hitting his chest and spraying off him onto me.

“Get out,” I said.

He didn’t.

He put his hands on the tile wall on either side of my head, caging me the way he always did, his body close enough that I felt his heat through the water. His cock was hard, thick, pressed against my thigh, and I hated—hated—the way my body responded. The low clench between my legs instant and involuntary.

My traitorous fucking body would always crave him.

I didn’t have to like it.

And he didn’t have to know it.

I locked my eyes on him. “I said get out.”

“No.”

One word.

Low.

Final.

This motherfucker!

My breath came out hard as I curled my hand into a fist.

I imagined slamming it against his face, clawing at his eyes, screaming at him until my throat was raw, knowing that my punches, my words, would never hurt him as badly as he hurt me.