Page 92 of State of Ruin

He straightens up behind me. “So now would be a very good time to tell me if you’re not on birth control.”

“I’m on birth control,” I bleat, but my head is reeling. Sinclair wants me to have his babies. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

“That’s too bad,” he croons, stroking my ass. I have no idea how he still has enough blood flow left in his head to keep talking with the way his crown is swelling inside me. “But when I’m pumping you full of my cum in two minutes flat, I want you to imagine that you’re not. Got it?”

Once again, I’m totally out of my league with this guy. I think I can survive him, and I’m so naïve. I’ll never be able to survive if he says things like that. Sinclair Voss on his own is bad enough; Sinclair Voss with a freaking breeding kink will end me.

“Uh… yes,” I gasp.

“Excellent.” He slams the rest of his dick into me with one savage thrust, and oh my fucking God. It is so deep like this. I’d forgotten. How could I have forgotten? I’m so full of him that there isn’t room to think about anything else.

He drags right out and shunts back in again, driving the air out of me. I hold on to the couch cushions for dear life as every last nerve ending in my vagina erupts in celebration that we are back in business.

“God, I love you.” His voice is ragged as he says it, and I understand that I’m not the only one who’s coming undone here. “I love you so much. You’re so beautiful. Just look at you.”

“I love you,” I manage, my voice shaky. “I love you.”

It’s not the stuff of poetry, but the way he’s fucking me, slamming home over and over, as if he’ll find his every life’s dream inside my body, is all-consuming. And, however filthy it is, however primal, it’s also romantic. It’s Sinclair, finally permitting himself to be unleashed on me and me, finally trusting him enough to allow it.

“God, you feel so good,” he grunts. “I can’t last.”

“Me—neither.” My entire vagina, already primed from that outrageous oral, is jacked all the way up. The way he’s fucking me is so freaking good that I probably could have come after one or two thrusts. I’m hanging on for dear life here.

Then he takes me by surprise, hauling me up so I’m flush against him, my shoulder blades hitting his pecs. He bands one arm around me and finds my clit with the other. “Remember the first Alchemy session?” he whispers throatily.

I turn my head so our lips are almost touching, arching my back to take him as deep as I can like this while his fingers toy with my slippery clit. “I remember.”

“It was just like this—but it wasn’t.”

“Uh-huh.” Oh shit, I’m gonna come.

“Because now we love each other. God, I love you so much. I’ll love you forever.” He kisses me lazily, fucks me lazily as the hand around my waist slides up to find my breast. I shake harder and harder as my entire body braces to blow again. Everything south of my waist is so stretched and so swollen, and I can’t. I can’t. I⁠—

I ignite once again, convulsing as Sinclair fucks me through it, reds and oranges swirling across my eyelids as I ride out wave after wave of white-hot pleasure. He grunts into my mouth, sounding as wrecked as I am, and then he freezes before pumping and pumping. I can actually feel him emptying himself inside me, and I’m not sure it’s possible to be any closer to another human being than we are right now, standing here together, his body a shield around mine.

I knew, from the very first time I laid eyes on him across that bar, that Sinclair Voss was a dangerous man.

I knew as soon as I slid my robe off at his instructions and allowed him to restrain me in that contraption that he would ruin me.

I was right on both fronts.

But as we come down from our orgasms together, his blue eyes softened and suspiciously damp, I know something else to be true:

He will never ruin me again. Never harm me again. From here on in, he will be my staunchest ally. He will be my safest space.

Epilogue

Elyse, five months later:

“How’s the coffee, Kurt?” my fiancé asks my dad before giving me a wink. I try not to laugh, because the question is totally unnecessary. On Dad’s face is an expression of rapture so great that I think his soul must have left this plane of consciousness.

“That is the best goddamn coffee I ever tasted,” Dad pronounces as he sets the china cup back in its saucer. “Damn, I knew I married into the right culture.”

As it turns out, the Hotel du Palais in Biarritz is pretty good at coffee. It’s pretty good at everything, to be fair, as we’ve found out over the past forty-eight hours. In true nepo-baby style, Sinclair chartered the company jet to fly us over to Paris. I feel kinda bad about how much shit we gave him for that flex because this trip is both his brainchild and his gift to my family, and it really is incredibly generous.

I get emotional when I think about what he’s really doing here. That he isn’t just treating us to a trip of a lifetime but putting his money to work so that we can build relationships with my mom’s family and immerse ourselves in our history.

I swear, Sinclair is more obsessed with our family history than I am. At first, I thought it was because he’s from the kind of family for whom history is absolutely everything, but now I know better. He’s obsessed with our history because he can’t trust his. He says everything about the Vosses’ lore is just that: lore that’s been edited and erased and is just a load of hot air. I know that’s true. I have a stack of letters, sealed with wax, that tell me just that.