Ruth’s POV
I should’ve run. I should’ve screamed, collapsed, demanded answers that wouldn’t undo what I’d seen.
But I didn’t, I stood in the dark basement, trembling but rooted, my heartbeat a roar in my throat, my breath coming in shallow, fractured pulls.
Lorenzo’s body lay still behind us, silent proof of a truth I hadn’t asked for. And Emmett stood inches away. His voice, the same one that had once whispered from the shadows, now pulsed low and steady in the charged air between us.
He had killed for me, and he didn’t regret it. His eyes burned with too many things at once: obsession, guilt, need. None of it softened. All of it aimed at me like I was the only thing holding him together.
My breath caught as he stepped closer, one step and the room shrank around us. Another, and the air itself folded inward. His body didn’t touch mine. But it pressed, that invisible force that came with knowing someone would tear the world apart if it meant keeping you untouched.
Then I felt the wall against my spine. And him, right there, not holding me down… but holding me still. He didn’t have to force it, his presence alone pinned me.
“You should hate me,” he murmured.
“I don’t,” I said before I could stop myself.
His mouth slammed into mine and everything else disappeared, Lorenzo’s body behind us, the cold, the rot, even my breath, all I felt was him. The kiss was violent. His tongue invaded mine with no warning, no softness. He tasted like fire and adrenaline, and my lips burned from how hard he kissed me, like he needed to brand me with his hunger.
His hand cupped the back of my neck while the other gripped my waist tight enough to bruise. My back hit the wall with a rough thud, but I didn’t care. I only gasped into his mouth as his body pressed into mine.
“You killed him,” I breathed against his lips. “For me.”
His answer was a growl, low and primal. “You’re mine. No one touches what’s mine.”
I clawed at his hoodie, dragging it up, desperate to feel his skin. My fingers scraped across muscle and scar, rough patches of pain I didn’t flinch from. I pulled him closer, closer wasn’t enough. He lifted me in one fast, breathless motion, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my core rubbing hard against the thick bulge straining his jeans.
I ached, I could already feel the pressure of him between my legs, the friction making me wetter with every second. My panties were soaked, soaked and in the way. I wanted them gone. He moved fast, striding across the room and slamming me down onto the metal table. The cold surface bit into my back, but I didn’t shiver, I moaned.
Then his hands were everywhere. He pulled my shirt up, yanked my bra aside, and his mouth found my breast. Teeth scraped over my nipple, then he sucked, hard. The sharp sting made me arch into him, thighs squeezing around his hips.
“Emmett-” I gasped, my voice wrecked.
He pulled back, breath ragged. “I’m going to fuck you,” he growled. “Right here. Where no one can take you from me.”
I didn’t beg, I didn’t need to. My body already had. He shoved my underwear down, exposing me to the cold air and the thick heat of his gaze. His hand slid between my thighs, two fingers thrusting deep without warning. I cried out sharply.
It hurt, God, it did, but it was the kind of hurt that made my hips grind against his palm, desperate for more. “You’re soaked,” he said. “You want this. You want me.”
I nodded, breath hitching as he crooked his fingers just right, grazing a spot that made my vision white out. Then he was undoing his belt, dragging his cock free. Thick, heavy, and angry-red at the tip. I opened for him without second thoughts, and he drove into me in one brutal thrust.
I screamed, body arched, cunt stretched too wide, too deep, too much. The pain was searing, blinding, and perfect. He didn’t stop, he pulled back and slammed in again, faster, harder. My back scraped against the cold table, hips bruising under his grip. His cock rammed into me over and over, so deep I felt it in my stomach. The pain gave way to pleasure. The kind that made me sob, the kind that tasted like blood and surrender.
“You take it so fucking well,” he grunted. “So tight. You were made for this. Made for me.”
My legs trembled around him, my nails dug into his back. I couldn’t form words, only broken sounds of raw, unfiltered need. Every thrust was punishment and possession. I loved it. My orgasm ripped through me like glass, shattering, sharp, and violent. I clenched around him, convulsing, crying out his name with a voice I didn’t recognize.
But he wasn’t done. He fucked me through it, deeper, meaner, until his rhythm broke. He slammed in one last time, groaning against my neck as he came, hot, thick, pulsing inside me. His entire body trembled. His breath stuttered.
And then he held me. His face buried in my shoulder. His hands are still tight on my hips. Like I was the only safe place left in the world.