Page 238 of Ruins
Lips parting. Hesitating again.
“Actually… it’s not just that.”
I frown, something shifting inside me, tilting my world just slightly off balance.
This is about Scythe. It has to be. That I’m dangerous. That she’s afraid. “Then what is it?”
She exhales, rubbing her temples, as if debating whether to say it aloud.
“I’m just...reallyscared the babies will be too big.”
I blink. “What?”
She gestures vaguely at me. “Have you seen yourself? What if we make a giant baby? I can’t push that out!”
I stare at her, processing.
Then—a laugh bursts from my chest, unexpected and unrestrained.
“Dea.” I shake my head, still smirking as I cup her chin, tilting her face up to me. “Nothingbad will happen to you. Even if we do happen to make giant babies.”
She still doesn’t look convinced.
“Santo, I’m serious.”
“So am I.” My thumb strokes her jawline, my voice dropping. “You think I’d ever let anything happen to you?”
She swallows, still searching my eyes. And whatever she finds there… it seems to settle her.
For now.
Chapter 47
Vasilisa
Therestofthemonth slips through my fingers like sand—fast, warm, impossible to hold onto. One moment, it’s the start of the week, and the next, I’m tangled in Santo’s world, wrapped in him. We paint side by side, mixing colors until our hands are stained and our laughter echoes off the walls. We challenge each other in the kitchen, arguing over spice measurements, stealing tastes off each other’s fingers. We push each other harder in workouts, sweat-slick and breathless, fighting for dominance in a game neither of us wants to win.
Santo promises an orgasm for every set of lunges I complete, and let’s just say, my legs are stronger than ever.
“Dea, shoes off, it’s time to stretch,” Santo murmurs, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I glance up just in time to see him set the heavy weights down like they weigh nothing. His arms flex, his defined abs glisten, and a bead of sweat trickles down his temple. His storm-gray eyes flick to mine, warmth softening their usual storm. His lips curve into that small, rare smile—the one that makes my pulse trip over itself.
I discard my shoes as he reaches for me. His hands finding their place like they belong there, like they always will. With effortless strength, he guides me onto the mat, easing me onto my back before stretching out my legs.
“Remember to breathe,” he instructs, his fingers kneading into the muscles of my calves as he bends my knee, pressing it toward my chest. His touch is warm, firm, commanding, and a shiver of pleasure races down my spine.
His eyes lock onto mine, and my breath catches. He smirks—dark,knowing—before lifting my other leg, guiding it over his shoulder as he leans forward, pressing me deeper into the mat. The stretch sends a slow, sweet ache through my limbs, but all I can focus on is the way the distance between us is disappearing.
I meet his gaze, caught in the storm of his hunger—raw, unrelenting. Tiny specks in his irises flicker like lightning in a dark sky, and when a low growl rumbles from his chest, I smirk at the needy, possessive sound.
“Are we still only stretching, Santo?” I tease, my voice low, breathless.
His smirk widens into something wicked. “Just part of the exercise regimen,” he murmurs against my lips, pressing forward and capturing them in a deep, demanding kiss. His tongue teases the seam of my lips, a silent command—one I obey without hesitation.
Our tongues tangle, the kiss turning hungry, consuming. He lets my leg slide down, his hands trailing up my thighs, fingers tangling in the hem of my shorts. He pulls back slightly, amusement twinkling in his gaze as his lips ghost over my jaw.
His kisses descend—slow, deliberate, tracing heat down my throat, along my collarbone. His hands flex against my thighs, his touch possessive, claiming. The thin fabric of my sports bra does nothing to dull the sensation of his mouth as he pays special attention to each sensitive peak, drawing a gasp from my lips.
