Ruin Me, Alpha-Chapter 44: Mine, In Every Timeline

Three empty wine bottles sat on the nightstand like a graveyard of good intentions.

I sat cross-legged on the mattress, completely naked, holding a half-full glass of the dark red vintage. My hair was a disaster, a tangled mess of jet black waves cascading over my shoulders, but I didn’t care.

Devon lay back against the headboard of his bed, one arm thrown casually over his eyes, the other balancing his own glass on his chest. He was naked as well and I was on my thiry-forth time loop.

The sheet was pooled around his waist, barely covering him. He looked infuriatingly composed for a man who had just been murdered by me in twenty-four different timelines.

"Seventy-four," he said, his voice rough, vibrating in the quiet room.

I took a long sip, letting the alcohol burn my throat. "Excuse me?"

He moved his arm, revealing those icy grey eyes. They were focused on me, heavy and lidded. "That’s how many times you tried to kill me but in the loops and the real world. I counted."

I scoffed, swirling the wine in my glass. "You’re lying. You can’t remember all of them."

"I remember everything, Irene. I remember the knife in the library. The poison through that kiss. The time you thought of pushing me off the cliff." A ghost of a smirk played on his lips. "That one was creative. Violent, but creative."

"Wow. Impressive. So, you read thoughts, too?" I smirked "You deserved it," I shot back, though the venom had left my voice hours ago, replaced by this heavy, intoxicating buzz.

"Did I?" He sat up slowly, the sheet slipping lower to reveal the V-lines of his hips. He took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving my face. "And yet, here we are. You stopped killing me. You started... this."

He gestured vaguely between us.

"I didn’t start anything," I lied. "I just got tired of running."

"Liar."

Devon shifted, placing his glass on the nightstand with a definitive clink. He reached out, his large hand wrapping around my ankle. His thumb rubbed circles against the bone, a touch that sent electricity shooting up my leg.

"You like the chase," he murmured. "You like the violence. It makes you feel alive. Just like I do."

I kicked his hand away, but not hard. I crawled toward him, the movement predatory. I stopped when I was kneeling between his spread legs, my glass still in hand.

"You think you know me so well, Alpha," I whispered, leaning in until our noses almost touched. "But you’re just a narcissist who thinks the world revolves around his dick."

Devon laughed, a low, dark sound that rumbled in his chest. He took the glass from my hand and set it aside without breaking eye contact.

"My world revolves around you, Irene. It always has. The loops, the resets, the pain... it was all just background noise. The only thing that mattered was getting you back in this bed."

"You’re obsessed," I breathed.

"Completely," he agreed, his face cool, unbothered. "I’d burn every pack in the North just to keep you looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to devour me."

My breath hitched. The air between us was evident, charged with a tension that was snapping like a live wire.

"Maybe I do," I challenged.

"Then do it."

His hands moved to my hips, gripping them firmly. He didn’t pull me down; he just held me there, waiting. Challenging me.

"Show me, Irene. Show me who owns you."

"I own myself," I snapped.

"Prove it."

I didn’t hesitate. I lifted my hips and positioned myself over his erection. I looked down at him—at the hard planes of his chest, the arrogance etched into his jawline, the sheer power radiating off him even when he was lying down.

I sank down.

I gasped, my head falling back as I took him in. He was huge, stretching me, filling me completely.

"Fuck," Devon hissed, his composure cracking for a split second before he masked it. His hands tightened on my hips, bruising, possessive.

I didn’t start moving immediately. I just sat there, breathing hard, feeling him pulse inside me. I looked down. He was watching me with that terrifying intensity, his eyes dark pools of hunger.

"You feel that?" he rasped. "That’s where you belong. Right there. On top of me. ruling me."

"I thought you wanted to own me," I taunted, placing my hands on his chest, feeling the heavy thud of his heart beneath my palms.

"I do," he said smoothly. "But I’ll let you be in charge. As long as you remain right in this position."

I narrowed my eyes and began to move.

I ground my hips down, a slow, circular motion that made his jaw clench tight. I lifted myself up, sliding along his length, and then slammed back down.

Slap.

The sound of my ass hitting his thighs echoed in the room, loud and obscene.

Devon groaned, his head pressing back into the pillows. "Fuck, Irene."

"Do you like that, Alpha?" I whispered, leaning forward so my hair brushed his chest. I snapped my hips again. Slap.

"You know I do," he gritted out.

I picked up the pace. Up and down. Grinding. Riding him with a desperation that terrified me. I needed this friction. I needed to feel him deep inside me to know that I was real, that he was real, that we weren’t just ghosts trapped in a time loop.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

The rhythm took over. My breath came in short, sharp pants. My skin was slick with sweat, sliding against his.

Devon’s hands left my hips and traveled up my body. He thumbed my ribs, his touch searing, then moved higher to cup my breasts. He pinched my nipples hard, making me cry out.

"So responsive," he murmured, his voice dropping to a filthy growl. "You’re so wet for me. Look at you, riding me like you didn’t swear to kill me."

"Shut up," I moaned, throwing my head back, increasing the speed.

"Make me," he challenged. "Ride it harder. Take it all."

He bucked his hips up to meet my thrusts, destroying my rhythm and replacing it with his own. He was driving into me now, hitting that sweet spot deep inside with punishing accuracy.

"Devon!" I screamed, my nails digging into his shoulders, drawing blood.

"Look at me," he ordered.

I forced my eyes open. He was right there, staring up at me. He looked effortless. Cool. Collected. Like he was studying a map, memorizing every inch of my pleasure.

"You’re beautiful when you come apart," he said. "I could watch this for a thousand years."

"I hate you," I sobbed, the pleasure building in my belly, tight and coiling.

"Good," he snarled. "Hate me. As long as you’re screaming my name."

He reached between us, his thumb finding my clit. He rubbed it in a brutal, rhythmic circle while he slammed his hips upward.

It was too much. The sensation was blinding white light.

"I’m close," I panted. "Devon, I’m—"

"Go," he commanded. "Cum for me, Irene."

My body seized. I screamed, my back arching, my inner muscles clamping down on him in spasmodic waves. The orgasm ripped through me, shattering my reality.

Devon roared, his composure finally shattering. He grabbed my waist, holding me down as he thrust up into me one, two, three times—hard, deep, guttural strokes that seemed to touch my soul.

He spilled into me with a groan that sounded like he was dying.

I collapsed on top of him.

My face buried in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of sandalwood, musk, and sex. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

His arms came around me immediately, wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth and iron. He stroked my hair, his breathing harsh and ragged against my ear.

"Mine," he whispered into my hair. The word was a heavy seal. A promise. A threat.

I didn’t have the energy to argue. I didn’t have the energy to move. My limbs felt like lead. The adrenaline crash was instantaneous and brutal.

"You talk too much," I mumbled against his skin, my eyes already drooping.

Devon chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. "Rest, baby. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

"If there is a tomorrow," I slurred.

"There will be," he promised. "I’m not letting you go anywhere."

The darkness was creeping in at the edges of my vision. Not the darkness of the time loop, but the heavy, velvet blackness of sleep. I felt safe. For the first time in twenty-four loops, in countless years of death and blood, I felt safe.

I listened to the steady beat of his heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

It was the only clock that mattered.

"Devon?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"I’m here," he said softly. He kissed the top of my head. "Sleep."

I let go. I let the darkness take me, my body heavy and sated, draped over the man I was supposed to hate, the man I was supposed to kill.

My eyes snapped open.

Gasping, I sat bolt upright, my heart slamming against my ribcage.

The air was freezing.

Panic clawed at my throat. I looked around frantically, expecting the ballroom. Expecting the music. Expecting the champagne glass in my hand and the "In Loving Memory..." banner. Expecting the reset.

But the room was quiet.

It was the same room. The Alpha’s bedroom.

The moonlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting long, pale shadows across the floor. The scent of sex and wine still filled the air, stale and undeniable. The three empty wine bottles were still on the nightstand.

I wasn’t in the ballroom. The loop hadn’t reset.

I looked down at myself. I was naked. I was still sitting in the middle of the massive four-poster bed, my skin cooling rapidly in the chill air.

I turned to my left.

"Devon?"

The space beside me was empty.

The sheets were cold. Smooth. Unwrinkled, as if no one had lain there for hours.

I reached out, my hand trembling, and touched the pillow where his head had been resting moments ago.

It was ice cold.

"Devon?" I called out, louder this time, the fear spiking in my chest.

Silence answered me.

I scrambled to the edge of the bed, my legs tangling in the sheets. I almost fell onto the floor.

"Devon! Stop playing games!"

I ran to the bathroom. Empty. The marble was pristine.

I ran to the closet. His clothes were hanging in perfect rows.

I sprinted to the door and yanked it open, stumbling into the hallway. It was dark, silent as a tomb.

I spun back around, staring at the empty bed.

My heart stopped.

On the pillow—the pillow that was cold, the pillow that should have been warm from his head—lay a single object.

I walked over to it slowly, my breath misting in the sudden unnatural cold of the room.

It was a black chess piece. The King.

And underneath it, a folded piece of paper.

My hands shook so hard I could barely pick it up. I unfolded the note, squinting in the moonlight to read the familiar, sharp scrawl.

"Find me."