Page 122 of Ruthless God

“Claudius.” My voice is meant to sound firm, but it comes out breathless. Weak.

I feel his smirk against my skin. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The bastard.

“Yes?” His voice is nothing but dark amusement as his hand continues its slow, agonizing descent.

I need to just tell him.

But then he nips my neck, just enough to make me shudder.

His lips travel lower, slow and deliberate, his touch teasing and possessive.

A gasp slips from my mouth as his fingers slide to my heat.

“Claudius…”

His name leaves my lips like a prayer, like a surrender.

And he knows it. He feels it. His hand moves higher, then lower again, teasing me, torturing me. Never quite giving me what I need. What I want.

“Please.”

And then he’s there, at my opening. Slowly, he slides into me. I press back into him, tilting to give him better access, silently begging him to continue. He does. Harder. Deeper. More. My body arches, my breath catches, the slow, lazy roll of his hips against me leaving me completely undone.

This isn’t a game anymore. This isn’t just lust. It’s complete surrender. And for the first time, I don’t care. I let him ruin me. I let him own me. Because God help me, I want him to.

When I finally come down, I exhale. The world feels different now. Slower. Softer. Like the fire between us has burned so hot, so wild, that all that’s left is the warm, golden embers. I don’t move. Neither does he. His body is still pressed against mine, his breath warm against my neck.

For a moment, we just exist. No words. No complications. Just him. Just me.

His fingers ghost along my skin, and I sigh, content in a way I don’t understand, in a way that should probably scare me.

Because this? This is dangerous. Not just the way he feels against me. It’s the way I feel right now. The way I don’t want to leave. The way I don’t want him to leave.

I should move. I should say something.

But then, Claudius does something that shatters me completely. He presses a kiss on my temple. Soft. Unthinking. Unpracticed. Like it was instinct. And that? That’s more intimate than anything else he’s done to me.

My breath catches and I know what I need to do.

“Gabriel was here last night.”

The warmth of Claudius against me vanishes. Not physically. Not yet. But I feel it. The shift. The tension. The way his body stills, his breathing sharpens, his grip tightens like I just set off a bomb between us.

“What?” His voice is flat. Cold.

I exhale slowly, steadying myself. “Gabriel was here. When I woke up.”

I feel his fingers twitch against my skin, like he’s fighting the urge to move. I moisten my lips, forcing myself to push through the unease curling in my gut.

“He knows you’re bringing my sperm donor here.”

Silence. Thick. Suffocating.

Then Claudius moves. He shifts onto his back, his arm dragging away from my waist, his warmth replaced by something colder. Something dangerous.

I sit up, watching him carefully.

His jaw is clenched so tight I swear I can hear his teeth grinding. His eyes are hard, stormy, unreadable.

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