Chapter Seven – The First Ruin
(Part 1)
The world outside could've been on fire, and Hazel wouldn't have noticed.
The city bled through the high-rise windows like gold-struck fog, distant and meaningless. In here, time slowed. Breathing changed. Reality thinned like glass.
Henry stood still as she stepped out of her shoes, unzipped her coat, and let it fall. His jaw was tense, hands flexing at his sides like he was holding back a storm.
"Hazel," he whispered—like a warning, a plea, and a confession all at once.
She kissed him before he could speak again.
Hard. Desperate.
It was not the kiss of a woman lost. It was the kiss of a woman choosing the fire, knowing it would scar.
Their mouths clashed. Teeth caught lips. Hands roamed freely—his fingertips tracing the curve of her spine, hers tangled in his hair, tugging, grounding herself in the heat.
Clothes became ruins around their feet. Each layer stripped like a secret peeled back: blouse, belt, pants, hesitation.
And then she was in his arms, legs around his waist, back against the bedroom wall. Her breath hitched as he kissed down her neck, slow, reverent. Not rushed. Not greedy.
Just starving.
She felt him hard against her thigh, restrained by nothing but self-control, and even that was fraying.
"I've thought about this," he said, voice ragged, mouth hot against her collarbone. "Every time I closed my eyes."
She gasped as his hands roamed lower, cupping her like she belonged to him. "What did you see?"
He grinned against her skin. "You. On your knees. On my bed. On top of me. Any way I could take you without losing my mind."
"Then lose it," she breathed, biting his lower lip.
That broke him.
He set her down, spun her toward the bed, and kissed the back of her neck. "Lie down," he said, voice thunder.
She obeyed.
He knelt between her thighs, eyes locked on hers as he spread her open with his hands and dipped his mouth down.
No teasing. No rush.
Just full, deliberate worship.
Her hips bucked, hands clutching the sheets as his tongue moved in ways Samuel never dreamed of. Deep, slow strokes. Pressure in all the right places. He devoured her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.
She moaned his name—again and again—and he didn't stop until she was trembling, thighs shaking, a sob of pleasure caught in her throat.
He kissed the inside of her knee as she came down, then rose and slid a condom from the drawer.
"I want all of you," she whispered.
"You already have it."