POV RUBY
The air in the room felt like a physical weight, pressing down on my lungs until every breath was a conscious effort. Nevan’s hand was still a heavy, searing presence between my legs, pinning me to the reality of my own craving. I was torn open—not just by the jagged rip in my silk gown, but by the way he was looking at me. In the flickering amber glow of the dying fire, he didn't look at me like a victim. He didn't look at me with the clinical detachment of the professors I’d studied under. He looked at me like a mirror reflecting a truth I had spent years trying to bury.
"You're waiting for it, aren't you?" Nevan’s voice was a ghost of a sound, a raspy vibration that seemed to originate from the very shadows of the room. He leaned in closer, his face so near that I could see t
