I Fell for the Man Who Ruined Me, Then He Forgot He Ever Loved Me Back novel Chapter 113

Turning the handle, Jorrod opened the door. He was still wearing the same clothes he had on when they went out. He stood backlit by the cold white light of the living room, his sharp, chiseled features hidden in the shadows.

Sienna looked up at him, and he gazed back.

Neither spoke; you could hear a pin drop.

Sienna broke the silence first. She abruptly lay down, turning her back to him.

"There are blankets in my closet. If you don't mind it being uncomfortable, you can sleep in here."

Jorrod paused, then gave a soft "Mm."

Lying on her side, Sienna listened to the rustling behind her until the bedroom returned to its pre-sleep silence.

But she was acutely aware that there was another person in the room.

Merely a few feet away, she could vaguely hear his even breathing.

Steady. Powerful.

Her own breathing began to falter.

Facing the right, she truly couldn't fall asleep, especially with a man in the room.

Ten minutes later, Sienna quietly rolled over.

She found herself staring directly into his dark, fathomless eyes.

She froze, feeling awkward. "You..."

Sienna wanted to tell him to turn around, but before she could finish, Jorrod pressed his lips together and silently rolled over, presenting his back to her. He pulled the blanket that was bunched at his legs up over his waist.

Now they were facing opposite directions.

The room was dark.

But the moon was exceptionally bright tonight, its cold, clear light filtering silently through the window, bathing the room in a silvery glow.

Jorrod lay on his side.

She could clearly see the broad curve of his back, the thin blanket draped casually over his waist. The wrinkled fabric of his shirt clung to the distinct outlines of his shoulder blades, rising and falling rhythmically with his breaths.

He didn't know how to whisper sweet nothings; his eyes were just dark as ink. Driven by raw, primal instinct, he conquered her with relentless dominance, refusing to withdraw even when she was in tears and begging for mercy.

That was when she realized her squeaky, shaky bed desperately needed replacing.

Sienna's cheeks burned. Belatedly, she pulled the blanket up, hiding half her face.

Forcing her gaze elsewhere, she easily spotted his right hand resting outside the covers.

Jorrod's hand.

It was beautiful.

Long, elegant fingers, his skin smooth as flawless marble.

It was a hand meant for signing multi-million dollar contracts, accustomed to being scrutinized at the pinnacle of power.

But now.

The faint scars from a recent fight hadn't faded, and a fresh bruise from the door frame slashed across the back of his hand—red and purple, bruised and battered.