Page 134 of Billionaire’s Ruin

This felt like walking toward something I couldn’t afford to lose.

She didn’t step back.

Her breath hitched when my fingers brushed her cheek—light as a whisper, tracing the stray droplets clinging to her skin.

“You don’t have to—” I began.

“I know,” she whispered, cutting me off. “But I want to.”

The words punched the air out of me.

She leaned into the contact—like she’d been waiting. Like she’d been holding her breath for this moment, too.

My hands slid to her waist, the thin fabric of her shirt cool beneath my palms. I felt the faint tremble of her ribs as she inhaled, the quiet rise of her chest brushing mine.

Outside, the world blurred—the laughter drifting from the street, the distant hum of festival drums, even the river I’d fallen into. It all faded until there was nothing left but the two of us, suspended inside a room made of warm lantern light and unspoken want.

My thumb brushed beneath her jaw, and her inhale snagged—soft, sharp, electric.

Then her gaze swept over me, softening.

Searching.

Asking.

Answering.

That was all it took.

I kissed her.

Gentle at first, testing the edges of something fragile, terrified it might break. Then deeper—need rising like a tide, pulling me under with every shared exhale. She tasted faintly of warm tea, her lips soft but certain as she leaned into me.

The towel slipped from my hands and hit the floor without a sound.

She made a quiet noise—half sigh, half surprise—and it almost unraveled me. I felt her fingers found the waistband of my pants, curling there, pulling me closer, anchoring me to her.

The lantern flickered overhead, shadows shifting across her face, over the curve of her cheek, across the space where my body met hers.

I wasn’t thinking anymore.

I wasn’t remembering.

I was simply feeling—every shiver, every rise of her chest, every silent plea echoing between us.

By the time we moved toward the bed, neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to.

We lay down together in a tangle of warm skin and cool cotton, the mattress dipping beneath our combined weight. The river outside faded completely, replaced by the quiet rhythm of her breaths, the rush of my own heartbeat, the faint brush of her fingers against my spine.

In the soft glow of the lantern, with her body curled against mine, everything else—the chaos, the fear, the questions waiting outside this room—fell away.

Until there was nothing left.

Nothing but her.

“Morning,” June mumbled, stretching her arms above her head. Her hair stuck out in a tangled halo, wild and adorable. Then she froze, eyes widening in horror.

“Shit—my breath smells.”