RUIN ME SLOWLY

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You Shouldn’t Want This

You were ovulating.

You felt it in your skin—tight, tingling, unbearably sensitive. Every step made your thighs brush just right, every inhale sharpened your hunger. And the moment he walked in, that craving twisted into something darker.

Adrian.

The man your body never forgot.

The man your fiancé could never compete with.

He spotted you across the gallery, in your sleek black dress, your perfect life hanging off your wrist like that diamond engagement ring.

You turned away. Too late.

His scent hit you—spice, leather, danger. Your mouth went dry.

“Still pretending?” His voice came from behind, low and rough, like he already had you pinned.

You swallowed hard. “Don’t.”

“You’re ovulating,” he said, like he was reading your thoughts. “Your body’s practically "screaming" for me.”

You hated that he was right.

Your breath came faster, chest rising under the silk. You tried to move, but his hand was already at your hip—strong, possessive. Your body leaned into it before your mind could scream no.

“Let go of me,” you whispered.

“Say it like you mean it,” he rasped, brushing his lips against the back of your neck.

The room spun. He knew what that did to you.

He tugged your hand and pulled you down a quiet hallway. Part of you resisted—your brain, your pride. But your body? It followed without hesitation.

He backed you against the wall in a dark corner, hidden from the gallery. His chest pressed into yours. One hand slid up, pinning your wrists above your head. The other found your thigh, parting it slowly.

he growled. “Say it’s over. I dare you”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. You thought of your fiancé. Your future. The lie you were living.

“It’s over,” you whispered, breathless.

Adrian’s lips curved against your skin.

“Okay.”

But he didn’t let go.

Instead, his mouth crushed yours—hot, demanding. The kiss tasted like rage and memory and obsession. You melted into it, your legs wrapping around him, silk riding up your hips.

His fingers found the heat between your thighs. Slick. Needy.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You're dripping.”

You whimpered into his mouth.

“You want me to stop?”

You shook your head, eyes wild. “No. Don’t stop. I need you.”

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “Then beg.”