Page 98 of Ruthless God

Slowly, deliberately, I crawl across the bed toward him. The closer I get, the heavier the air between us feels, thick with something dangerous. Something electric.

Claudius doesn’t move as I crawl toward him, but his eyes track my every movement.

By the time I reach him, the heat in my stomach has spread everywhere.

I stop just inches away, unsure if I want him to pull me the rest of the way or push me back.

He does neither.

Instead, his fingers ghost over my arm, barely a touch, but enough to send a ripple of awareness across my skin.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice like gravel and silk, low and full of something I can’t name.

A shiver works through me, but I don’t back away.

And when his fingers slip beneath my chin, tipping my face up, I don’t fight it.

I should.

I should say something, do something to stop this before it goes too far. But then his thumb drags along my bottom lip, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing me. Like he’s daring me.

“Tell me no,” he challenges. “And I’ll stop.”

I part my lips, pulse hammering.

The word no is right there. I should say it.

But I do something much, much worse.

I lean in, just enough so that my breath brushes against his.

Claudius doesn’t move. He just watches.

His fingers remain beneath my chin, his thumb still resting lightly against my bottom lip, as if he’s daring me to close the last bit of space between us.

I do.

The moment my lips graze his, he moves.

A low, satisfied sound rumbles from his chest as he closes the distance completely, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair.

His lips are demanding, like he’s been waiting for this since the last time we kissed. My heart slams against my ribs, my body melting into his touch as he deepens the kiss, his other hand finding my waist and pulling me fully onto his lap.

The heat between us is instant, consuming, but what sets my pulse racing isn’t just the way he kisses me?—

It’s the way he controls it.

Slow, purposeful, like he’s taking his time unraveling me. Like he wants me to feel every single second of this. I clutch his shoulders, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, torn between wanting more and completely losing myself.

His mouth trails from my lips to my jaw, to the sensitive skin just below my ear, where he whispers, “You should’ve said no, Cecely.”

A shiver runs through me. Because the worst part? I don’t regret it. Not even a little.

His words linger in the space between us, sinking into my skin like an undeniable truth. I should have said no. But I didn’t. And now I’m here, on his lap, his hands gripping my waist like he owns me.

A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips as his fingers trace lazy, deliberate patterns over the small of my back, sending shivers through me.

“No regrets, Cecely?” His voice is low, edged with amusement, but there’s something darker beneath it. Something hungry.

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