Page 110 of Ruins
She’s beneath me, her golden hair spilling across my pillow, her body open, taking me so perfectly—tight, dripping, mine. My cock buried deep inside her, her back arching, nails clawing at my skin as she screams my name. A silent prayer. A desperate plea.
I wake with a strangled groan, my body coiled tight, my breath ragged.
A cold sweat clings to my skin, but the heat inside me won’t die down. My cock is painfully hard, straining against the fabric of my underwear, the ache pulsing deep. I glance at the clock. Six in the morning. No chance of getting back to sleep now.
With a sigh, I push out of bed, the frustration thrumming beneath my skin, and head for the ensuite bathroom. I turn on the shower and step inside.
I let the icy spray rain down on me, hoping it will quench some of the heat building inside me. My hand instinctively travels down to my cock gripping it tightly as I stroke myself. A bead of pre-cum glistens at the tip and I capture it with my fingers, spreading it over my heated crown. The cold water does little to cool me down. In fact, it only seems to intensify my arousal.
I grab the body wash from its spot on the ledge and pour some into my hand. With slow, deliberate movements, I spread it over my length, sucking in a breath as the slick glide makes my muscles clench.
I close my eyes, and she’s right there.
On her knees.
Her perfect, pouty lips parting as I feed my length into her mouth, watching as her lips stretch around my cock. Her tongue swirls around the tip, greedy, eager, perfect.
Fuck.
My grip tightens, stroking faster as I sink deeper into the fantasy.
Her crystal-blue eyes lock onto mine, filled with adoration, surrender. One hand fisted in her golden locks, I guide her, force her down my length, reveling in the way her throat clenches as she takes me too deep. She gags so fucking beautifully, tears welling at the corners of her eyes as I push her limits.
I curse under my breath, my hips flexing into my hand, chasing the high.
The pleasure builds, coiling hot and tight at the base of my spine. My breathing is ragged, my body trembling with the force of it. With one final thrust, I release myself entirely and ropes of thick come spray against the shower wall. Her name spills from my lips—a whispered mantra, a vow, a fucking promise.
My body shudders through the aftershocks, but the moment the pleasure fades, the ache is still there.
Because she’s not here.
Chapter 23
Vasilisa
Ihadwokenupinmy bed, so either I sleep walk or Santo brought me to my room.
Now I sit perched on a bar stool in the empty kitchen, leisurely eating a bowl of freshly cut fruit. The vibrant colors and sweet aromas invigorate my senses, each bite bursting with flavor. The quiet hum of the house surrounds me, a fragile, early-morning peace.
Santo walks in.
He stops abruptly at the sight of me, his sharp gaze locking onto mine. My breath catches.
He’s devastatingly handsome in a three-piece charcoal gray suit, the crisp fabric molding to his powerful frame, his hair immaculate as always. Every movement—controlled, effortless—draws my attention, the flex of his muscles beneath the expensive fabric making it impossible to look away.
“You’re up early,” he remarks, heading to the fridge. He grabs a bottle of water, twisting the cap off with ease.
I force myself to look away, returning my focus to my fruit. “It’s seven. I usually wake earlier, but I guess I was tired.”
He hums in acknowledgment, his eyes sweeping over me. I had chosen a light dress for the day, as modest as possible with what Cassandra ordered. His gaze lingers, meeting my eyes before he gives me a small knowing smile.
“Ah, that’s right. We have that in common.”
He reaches into the fridge again, this time pulling out a protein shake and setting it on the counter.
I hesitate, my fingers tightening around my fork. “We have quite a few things in common, Santo,” I murmur before I can stop myself.
His head tilts slightly. “What’s that?”
