Page 109 of Ruins
Relief slams into me so hard my chest aches. I pocket my phone and move toward the sound, stepping into the living room.
I flip on a lamp, its warm glow casting a comforting light over the space.
There she is.
Sprawled across the couch in a silk robe that barely conceals her delicate lace nightgown. Her locks of golden hair spill around her like a halo. Her lips are parted slightly, lashes fluttering like she’s caught in a dream.
I exhale, tension easing as I take in the sight. The stress, the fury from earlier—none of it belongs here. Not with her like this.
I shouldn’t have left her alone tonight.
Then I notice the books—stacked neatly on the coffee table, one left open beside her. The sight makes me pause, the tension in my body giving way to something else.
My intelligent, beautiful wife, up late, lost in literature.
A quiet smile tugs at my lips.
I adore her like this.
I carefully lift her into my arms, cradling her against me, and immediately regret it.
She’s warm, soft, a breath of silk and lace against my skin. The scent of her—sweet, intoxicating—seeps into my lungs, curling around something dark inside me, something feral.
Mine.
The thin fabric of her nightgown leaves little to the imagination. Translucent lace teases over her curves, the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist. My hands burn where they press against the smooth skin of her thighs, and my cock throbs painfully beneath my slacks.
I grit my teeth, adjusting my hold, forcing my focus elsewhere. Not now. Not like this.
She’s too light. The realization creeps in, tightening something in my chest. A reminder. A responsibility. I make a mental note—she needs to eat more. I’ll make sure of it.
As I move through the dimly lit house, I glance down at her peaceful face, the faint rise and fall of her breath. My heart aches as much as the rest of me does.
Fuck.
The second I step into her bedroom, the moonlight spills over her, silver illuminating soft skin, casting shadows along the sheets. It’s a vision that brands itself into me, searing through restraint, through the last shred of my self-control. I lower her carefully, my fingers lingering just a second too long, my gaze trailing over the way she curls up instinctively, pulling the blanket close.
She stirs, a soft sigh slipping past her lips. My fingers linger on the edge of the bedspread, my mind screaming at me to resist, to turn away. But it’s a losing battle, and with a soft curse I sink onto the edge of the bed.
For long minutes, I sit there, staring at her sleeping form, my heart pounding in my chest, fighting the urge to wake her and taste every inch of her skin. She stirs slightly, utterly unaware of the havoc she’s wreaking inside me. I exhale sharply, my fingers digging into the mattress.
She sighs again, a sound so soft, so fucking tempting, that I nearly lose the battle right then and there. My body vibrates with restraint, my muscles locked with the effort of resisting.
With a quiet curse, I push to my feet. If I stay, I’ll lose whatever restraint I have left.
I force myself out of the room, but even as I drag myself to my room, I already know—this won’t last.
She’s mine.
Locking my bedroom door, I strip down to my boxer briefs and slide into the cold sheets, trying to ignore the ache deep within me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing sleep to come, but it’s fucking impossible. Because all I see is her.
Vasilisa.
Her smile, teasing and sweet. Her body flush against mine, warm and soft, the scent of her wrapping around me, pulling me under. The way she sighs as I explore her—slow, deliberate—like she was made for my hands, for my mouth.
The images drag me deeper, until my dreams become something else entirely.
