Ruins of Us

CHAPTER 5

Darce

She just slightly turns her head, as if she's deciding whether to fully face me or keep pretending that I don’t affect her.

“You're not denying it,” she says.

“Should I?” I replied.

“Would it make you feel safer if I did?”

That gets me a soft scoff, not as confident as she wants it to be.

“I don’t need you to make me feel anything,” she says, trying to convince me or rather herself.

That’s a lie. We both know it.

I let the silence linger, charged, building up the anticipation before leaning in a bit closer.

“Be careful,” I say softly. “Convincing yourself of that might be the most dangerous thing that happens here tonight.”

This time, she turns.

Completely.

Her eyes meet mine - defiant, sharp… but there's something else beneath. Curiosity. Heat. The kind that spells trouble and makes men fall.

“Or maybe,” she says, her voice lowering just a bit, “you’re not as dangerous as you think you are or make people believe.”

I let out a low chuckle.

That's when I step even closer, closing the last bit of space between us - not touching, just enough for her to feel it like I have.

“Darling,” I whispered, my eyes locked on hers, “you wouldn’t be standing this still if that were true.”

Time freezes.

Our hearts beating loudly.

We both move towards each other in the same moment - as if all that tension finally snaps.

Her lips meet mine - fierce, no hesitation.

I instinctively grip her waist, pulling her close to me like I've been waiting for this exact moment.

She tastes like rebellion and bad decisions, and I lean into it without any restraint.

It's not gentle.

It's not cautious.

It's a clash with her pushing, me pulling, neither of us willing to give in to the other.

A low sound escapes her when I tighten my hold, and it goes right through me.

Yeah. She feels this too.

I deepen the kiss, tilting my head, urging her to keep up - and she does. Heck, she matches me, bite for bite, breath for breath, like she has something to prove.

That only makes me want to disrupt her composure even more.

My hands slide firmly against her sides as I draw her closer, if that's even possible. She grabs the front of my shirt, anchoring herself - or maybe calming the storm I've unleashed inside her.

“Darce…” she breathes against my lips, but it's not a warning.

It sounds like surrender.

And I don’t let her pull away.

I lift her in one swift movement, her legs naturally wrapping around me. She lets out a small gasp, fingers tightening on me as if she didn’t expect it - but she doesn’t protest.

Not at all.

If anything, she leans in more.

That’s all the permission I need.

I carry her towards the bedroom, each step deliberate, every moment stretching the tension instead of releasing it. The air feels heavier, filled with something neither of us is pretending to ignore anymore.

When we reach the doorway, I pause for a moment.

Not because I'm unsure.

Because I want her to understand exactly what she's getting into.

I pull back slightly to look at her. Her lips are slightly swollen, her breathing uneven, her eyes darker than before.

There's no defiance now.

Just heat.

“Last chance,” I say quietly, my voice rougher than intended. “You walk away now, and I’ll let you.”

She studies me for a moment - really studies me as if she's peering into my soul, which is ironic because I don't have one.

Like she’s searching for something.

Or maybe deciding if she should be afraid.

Then she gives a slight shake of her head.

“I’m not the one who should be walking away,” she says softly.

There it is again - that fire that calls out to me.

That challenge.

I grin, slow and dangerous.

“Good,” I murmur. “Because I’m not letting you.”

And this time, when I kiss her, it's different.

Still intense. Still all-consuming.

But there's something deeper woven through it now - something that feels a little too close to inevitability.

I enter the room, the door closing behind us with a quiet click that sounds louder than it should.

No turning back.

Not for her.

Not for me.

Not for either of us.