Page 14 of Claimed By Ruin

He felt it.

He had to feel.

And if I had ever doubted that Jack knew how pathetic I was, he knew it now. Had physical proof in the way I whimpered as I came, in the way my hips rocked a rhythmless rhythm as I spasmed around him.

I wanted to climb through the wall, fall through the pipes, be absolutely anywhere but here with him and my weakness. But there was no escaping myself. That didn’t mean I had to give in.

When my heart slowed, I let go of Jack’s forearm and rested my forehead against the wall. I hadn’t planned on detangling my hair tonight, but getting fucked like a two-dollar whore by the man who had betrayed me was as good a reason as any.

First things first, though.

“Don’t come in me again, Jack,” I said.

The fact that he was still buried inside me, the implications of the word again, didn’t put me in the strongest position, but I’d roll with it.

“Why not?” he asked like that fucking mattered.

I scoffed. “You know what, you’re right. The damage is done. No reason I can’t be a cum dumpster, too.”

Jack leaned in, his broad shoulders pressing me against the wall, his lips at my ear. “Not a cum dumpster. My cum dumpster.” His cock jerked, and I squirmed, trying my hardest to pretend I wasn’t getting wet again.

Jack stilled and then slipped out of me. I said nothing, telling myself I was unaffected by the sudden emptiness, that the mix of his cum and mine wetting my thighs didn’t make me want to beg for him to fuck me again.

He didn’t move. In fact, he got closer. Wrapped his arms around my waist.

God, how I wanted to sink into him, rest against him, trust him to hold me up.

I stayed stock-still, wondering what I would do if Jack pressed.

But he didn’t.

He just kept his arms there, not holding me, not trapping me. Just there.

At least until he leaned closer.

Kissed my cheek.

Whispered in my ear.

“I had to go.”

Jack

I stayed there, the sting of the now-cold water on my skin reminding me that this was real.

“Of course you had to go.” Her voice was quiet, understanding, reasonable in a way that made me want to put my fist through the wall.

She pushed my arms off her body and stepped out of the shower. I shut off the water but stood there, watching as she massaged lotion into her skin.

I should have kept my mouth closed, but I needed her to understand. Needed her to believe. She shifted, looking towards my face, but not really at it, her gaze somewhere between my neck and chest.

“Is Evan dea⁠—”

I shook my head, and she gave me a smile, a real one, one that cracked through my chest.

“He’s not. I don’t have any evidence, but I believe that.” I couldn’t help but remember my earlier words to Miles.

“He’s alive,” she whispered, her voice solid and certain in a way I envied. She swallowed. Exhaled. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Jack.”