RUINED by YOU

Chapter 2 -Mine... Only in My Mind-

❀⊱Germaine's POV⊰❀

My fingers flew across the keyboard, possessed by something deeper than inspiration. I wasn’t just writing... I was surrendering. Each keystroke pulsed with urgency, every sentence soaked in longing. The line between my thoughts and the page blurred, and suddenly, I was no longer the author... I was the vessel. A fever had taken hold, and I let it consume me, pouring every filthy craving, every unspoken ache from deep within me, into the story like a woman unraveling.

Gemma lay sprawled across the bed, her body a canvas of need... bare, trembling, and achingly open. Her legs were parted in invitation, and her breath came in shallow, shuddering waves. Her eyes, dark and half-lidded, shimmered with a hunger that bordered on desperation. Between her thighs, she glistened, soaked with want. And there he was... Knox... kneeling like a sinner before an altar, transfixed. He stared at her slick folds like they held the secret to his salvation. His chest rose with ragged breaths, lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them as if tasting her in the air. His eyes were wild, dark with desire and reverence, as though nothing else in the world existed beyond that sacred space between her legs.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, dragging his fingers up her slit, spreading the slickness over her clit in slow, teasing circles. “Fùcking perfect.”

She whimpered, her hips twitching beneath his touch. Then he lowered his mouth.

He sucked her clit, soft at first, a fluttering kiss... then deeper, stronger, pulling her into his mouth like he was starving for her. His tongue flicked and rolled, tracing the shape of her swollen nub with devastating precision.

Gemma moaned, back arching off the bed, her fingers tangled in his thick hair, trying to hold on, but he wasn’t letting up. He licked her like he owned her pleasure, like he was memorizing her with every stroke. He groaned into her pússy, loving the way she trembled for him.

One of his fingers slid into her... slow, thick, curling up and stroking that sweet spot inside. Then another. He pumped into her with deep, steady thrusts, tongue still locked on her clit, sucking hard, then slow, then fast again, driving her to the edge.

Gemma cried out, thighs clamping around his head as the orgasm hit... hard, brutal, unstoppable. Her cunt clenched around his fingers as she came, gushing with release, her cries echoing off the walls.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept sucking her clìt, coaxing every last tremor from her until her body shook and her voice broke. When he finally pulled away, her thighs were trembling, her chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon.

He looked up at her, lips wet, eyes burning. “I’m not done with you,” he said. “Not until you’re crying from how good it feels.”

Gemma could barely breathe, her skin flushed, her nìpples hard, aching to be touched. Knox crawled up her body, pressing kisses over her stomach, her ribs, her breasts... tongue circling her nìpples before sucking one into his mouth, slow and deep. She gasped, arching into him as he switched to the other, teasing her with his teeth.

“I’m going to fùck you so slow, baby,” he whispered against her skin. “You’ll feel me for days.”

I stopped typing, breath caught in my throat, my thighs pressed tight together. My panties were soaked, heat pooling between my legs like I’d written myself into the very fantasy I couldn’t escape.

Because I had. This was more than writing. This was releasing. This was craving turned creation. And damn it, I wasn’t even close to done.

My fingers hovered over the keys, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. I tried to keep writing, tried to stay in Gemma’s world, but the throbbing between my legs was impossible to ignore.

I shifted in my seat... instantly regretted it.

My cunt was soaked. Slick with need, my pússy throbbed in time with my racing pulse- hot, aching, desperate. Just thinking about the way Knox sucked Gemma’s clit had my thighs clenching again, desperate for friction.

Nope. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t pretend this was just about the writing anymore. My body had taken over.

I pushed back from the desk with a shaky breath, heart pounding like I’d just sprinted through a fantasy. I made my way to the bathroom, the cool tile under my bare feet doing nothing to calm the fire inside me.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind me, I peeled my shirt off, tossing it aside. My hands went straight to my breasts, cupping them, squeezing them through my bra. My nìpples were so sensitive, so hard, they ached under my touch. I slipped one hand under the fabric, pinching, rubbing, letting out a quiet moan as my other hand slid down between my legs.

Gosh, I was so damn wet.

I tugged my underwear down and let my fingers slide over my slick folds, circling my clìt with slow, desperate pressure. My breath caught as pleasure spiked through me, raw and immediate. I leaned back against the cold wall, one hand on my breast, the other moving in firm, practiced circles over my swollen clit.

I imagined him... Knox, between my legs, just like I wrote it. His tongue relentless. His voice in my ear telling me I was his. That he loved how wet I got for him. That he’d never stop tasting me.

I moaned louder, rubbing harder, my hips rocking into my hand as the heat built fast. My fingers slipped lower, dipping inside me, feeling how wet I really was. I pumped them in and out, curling just the way I needed, while my thumb pressed against my clìt, and my other hand rolled my nìpple between my fingers.

It was messy. Desperate. Real. My legs shook. My head fell back.

“Oh fùck...” I gasped, as the orgasm hit.

It rolled through me like thunder—sharp, hot, blinding. My pússy clenched around my fingers as I came, soaking my hand, waves of pleasure pulsing through my whole body. My toes curled. My moans echoed in the quiet of the bathroom. I didn’t stop until I was completely spent, breathless and trembling.

I collapsed onto the floor, flushed and dizzy, a lazy smile tugging at my lips. Sometimes... fantasy was more than enough. But damn it... if Knox ever really touched me like that? 'I'd be ruined.

I stayed on the bathroom floor for a moment, catching my breath, heart pounding like I’d just run through fire. My thighs trembled from the force of my orgasm, slick still glistening between them. The air felt thick, heavy with lust, but the ache inside me hadn’t fully settled. Not really.

“Shiiit,” I whispered, dragging my hand through my hair, still panting. “Why am I so crazy about you, Knox?”

No... obsessed was the better word.

The kind of obsession that lived in my bones, that curled around my clit, that made my body scream for a man I hadn’t even touched. Not yet.

I pulled myself up from the floor, legs still a little weak, and reached for the shower knobs. Warm water burst to life, steam curling around the bathroom like a lover’s arms. I stepped in, letting the heat cascade over me, soaking my hair, my skin, washing away the sweat and stickiness... but not the craving.

Never the craving.

I leaned back against the tiled wall, letting the water trickle between my breasts, down over my stomach, sliding across the slick folds between my thighs. My fingers moved there again, slower this time, more deliberate. I was still tender, still pulsing, but the need had returned, low, deep, demanding.

I spread my legs slightly and ran my fingers over my cunt, moaning at how sensitive I still was. But God, it felt so good... the water, the heat, the memory of how I imagined Knox devouring me.

I circled my clit slowly, letting the pleasure build again, a fresh wave rising in my core. My other hand cupped my breast, thumb flicking over my nìpple, tugging gently as I imagined him, his mouth on me, his voice in my ear, rough and filthy.

“Mine,” I heard him growl in my mind, as my fingers moved faster, sliding over my clit in slippery, messy strokes. “This pússy’s mine, baby. Say it.”

And in the haze of my lust, I did.

“It’s yours, Knox... Fùck, it’s all yours...”

I pressed my head back against the wall, my hips rocking, my breathing growing shallow. My fingers worked in desperate circles, and just like that... my body tensed, thighs shaking again as the orgasm ripped through me. My folds clenched, the pleasure crashing down even harder than the first time.

I cried out, water pouring over me, my moans echoing through the steam-filled room like a haunting confession. My body gave out just a little... legs weakening, strength unraveling... as I slid down to my knees under the scalding stream. My chest heaved in sharp, ragged breaths, and my fingers twitched with the memory of pleasure still burning in my nerves.

I came hard. So hard it stole my breath, made my vision blur, left my thighs trembling and my heart hammering like it was trying to outrun the truth. And yet... I still wasn’t satisfied.

Because the heat? The wetness? The release? It was all borrowed. It was fantasy. It was me giving myself what no one else dared to offer. No matter how many times I touched myself, no matter how soaked I became, no matter how vividly I wrote him into my pages with all the filthy, beautiful things I wished he’d say... it still wasn’t him.

It never would be.

Not unless he looked at me like I wasn’t invisible. Like I wasn’t just another face in a crowd or a body to overlook. Not unless he saw me... really saw me the way I see him in every twisted line of desire I write. Not unless his eyes locked with mine and something deep in him cracked, like he'd been waiting for me all along and just didn’t know it.

Until then, all I had were fantasies. Words. Heat. My own hands and a keyboard stained with craving. Until then, I would keep giving myself to the version of him that existed only in my mind... because he’s the only one who touches me the way I want to be touched, even if it's only in fiction.

And God... that fiction is the only place I ever feel like I matter to him.