All Chapters of Ruin me, Please: Romantic stories : Chapter 41 - Chapter 48

 I came downstairs wearing the same short shorts from the first night.They barely covered anything. The thin tank top did even less. My body still felt wrong—tight, restless, throbbing from how close they had brought me the night before and then denied me. I hadn’t touched myself. I had spent half the night staring at the ceiling with my thighs pressed together, trying not to break that rule on top of everything else.Dominic and Dante were already in the kitchen.Both of them looked up when I walked in. The air changed immediately.Dominic’s eyes dropped to the shorts, then climbed slowly back to my face. Dante just watched me in silence, arms crossed, expression unreadable.“How did you sleep?” Dominic asked.I went to the coffee machine so I wouldn’t have to look at them. “Fine.”“Look at us when we talk to you.”The order was quiet, but it stopped me.

I've been living in this house for a year and seven months. Sometimes it still doesn’t feel real. One day my mother was single and we were sharing a small apartment with thin walls, and the next she was marrying a man who owned a house with a staircase that curved and a backyard that actually had grass. His name was Richard. He was polite, older, and quiet in a way that made my mother soft. He had one son. Calvin. The first time I saw him properly was at the wedding reception. He was standing near the bar in a dark suit, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. He was twenty-four then. I was nineteen. He shook my hand when our parents introduced us and his palm was warm and dry and he barely looked at me. I remember thinking he was cold. I also remember the way my stomach tightened when he finally did glance down at me, just once, before looking away again. That feeling never really left.

 *(Liana’s POV)* The door clicked shut behind him. I stayed perfectly still until I was sure he had gone back to his own room. Only then did I let out the breath I had been holding and open my eyes. The ceiling was a dark blur above me. My heart was still racing. My breast still tingled where his hand had been. Between my legs I was wet — uncomfortably so — and the ache there was sharp enough that I had to press my thighs together against it. I had wanted him to go further. For a few dangerous seconds I had almost pushed my hips up into his hand just to see what he would do. The only thing that stopped me was the same fear as always. If he knew I was awake, he would stop. He always stopped. He touched me like he couldn’t help himself, whispered things he would never say in the light, and then left before it could turn into something he had to

 He didn’t stop. A second finger pressed inside me alongside the first, stretching me open in a way that made my stomach tighten. I kept my eyes closed and my body loose even though every nerve felt lit up. He worked both fingers slowly, curling them just enough to make the pleasure spark sharper, while his thumb kept rubbing steady circles over my clit. “Christ, you’re soaked,” he muttered under his breath. “Been lying here getting wet for me this whole time?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. If I opened my mouth I was going to make a sound I wouldn’t be able to take back. His free hand slid up under my camisole and pushed the thin fabric up toward my collarbones. The cool air touched my bare breasts for a second before his mouth closed over one nipple. The heat of it pulled a shocked jolt straight through me. He sucked slowly, thoroughl