RUIN ME TONIGHT

Cassidy’s POV

I could feel my heartbeat pounding, so loud that for a moment I thought the club’s speakers had synced their bass to the jagged rhythm inside my chest. Dante’s hands anchored me—possessive, coaxing, the kind of touch that could only come from someone who knew exactly what they wanted and had never been told no.

People moved around us in a hazy blur, lights spinning, shadows sliding along skin and velvet. We didn’t exist for them, and they sure as hell didn’t exist for me—not with Dante standing this close, looking at me like he was memorizing every flicker of pain or want on my face.

His palm settled at the small of my back, so hot through my thin crop top I almost whimpered. His thumb traced lazy circles, grounding me in the tornado of music and memory.

I sucked in a breath, desperate for air. He smelled like expensive cologne, whiskey, rain, and something wild I couldn’t name. All man. All danger.

Every part of me was trembling—fear, anticipation, longing. His gaze was direct and unflinching, his features cut sharp: that sculpted jaw, the straight nose, lips soft but set in a line that could break hearts. His cheekbones caught flashes of neon, eyes so dark they threatened to swallow me whole.

I wanted him.

God, I wanted the way he made me stop hurting.

He bent down, breath feathering my ear, and sent goosebumps skittering across my bare skin.

“You shouldn’t be here, princess.”

My chest tightened at the nickname. It was playful, protective, suggestive all at once.

“Why not?” I challenged, voice weaker than I wanted it to be. I wanted him to see me as strong, even as every cell screamed vulnerability.

His hand traced up from my hip, fingers strong. Then he turned me, pulling me flush against him, bodies pressed together so closely I could feel every line of muscle beneath his shirt—and just the edge, God help me, of something hungry and hard at his belt.

“You look like you’re running,” he murmured, almost tender. “Running girls make dangerous decisions.”

My heartbeat picked up. Dangerous decisions were all I had left.

“Maybe I want to make one.”

His jaw flexed—just a flicker, but enough to make me aware he wasn’t expecting my honesty.

Then that devil’s smile. The one that said he could deliver on every wild promise and take the consequences later.

“Then I guess I’m your mistake for the night.”

Every word went straight to where all my pain was hiding and burned it away, replaced with something reckless. Something fierce.

I tilted my chin. “Maybe I want this mistake.”

His eyes went black—deep and possessive, a universe I could happily lose myself in.

And his hand slid up my spine, drawing me in so tightly I forgot about everything except the space between our lips.

“Let me make it worth it, princess,” he whispered—and then he kissed me.

---

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was wild, needy, commanding. Dante kissed like a man used to getting exactly what he wanted, but right now, what he wanted was me.

His mouth slanted over mine, taking, tasting, teasing. He was all tongue and heat and need, coaxing me to open, to respond, to surrender. And I did—I melted into him, hands clinging desperately to his shirt as if that was the only thing holding me together.

His body was solid, powerful, a wall of muscle that flexed beneath my fingers, making our kiss deeper, rougher. His scent, his taste—whiskey, dark chocolate, spice—flooded my senses, undoing every thought except the need for more.

I pressed into him, feeling the hard ridge of his arousal against my hip. I let out a stifled gasp, and he swallowed it, responding with a low, masculine groan that made my toes curl.

His kisses mapped every wound Jason had left behind, every place my mother had bruised with her words and hands. This wasn’t comfort—this was annihilation.

He broke the kiss, breathing hard, his lips swollen. His forehead dropped to mine. “Cassidy,” he growled, voice rough, dangerous, thick with want. “Do you want to forget?”

I shivered at my name, at his tone—something inside me unraveling.

“Please…” I whispered. I was begging, shameless and desperate. “I want to forget everything.”

He cupped my jaw, thumb brushing my lip. “Come with me.”

---

He didn’t break contact as he led me from the throbbing tangle of dancers, every eye trailing after us. Some people smirked knowingly; some glared at his unapologetic possessiveness. I barely noticed. All I could feel was the electric connection between us, every step signaling the start of something I might never be able to undo.

Outside, the chill bit at my bare arms, but Dante pressed close, shielding me from the world as a midnight-black car glided to the curb.

He opened the door, never dropping eye contact. Not a word. Just the offer, silent and overwhelming.

I should have hesitated. Should have thought of consequences, of headlines, of what Jason or my mother might say. But thinking was pain's playground, and tonight, I wanted to run.

I slid onto buttery leather. Dante slipped into the seat beside me, space crackling with energy.

He looked over, his pupils blown wide, his voice rough. “You can still change your mind.”

But I was past decision, past shame, past regret. “I don’t want to.”

A slow, dangerous smile. His hand found my thigh, fingers spreading, possessive.

“Good.”