Page 239 of Ruins
One of his hands slides lower, cupping me through my shorts. He pauses, his smirk brushing against my skin. “Are you bare under these, Dea?”
I bite my lip, relishing the way his voice wraps around me—dark, sinful, filled with promise. “I might be,” I reply coyly, my voice trembling just slightly under the weight of his gaze.
His fingers stroke along the hem of my shorts, teasing. “Well… let’s find out.” His voice is pure gravel, pure Santo.
My heartbeat stutters as his fingers dip beneath the fabric, tracing slow, torturous lines against the sensitive skin beneath. A gasp escapes me, and he chuckles, the sound rich with satisfaction.
“Naughty Dea,” he whispers into my ear, amusement laced with dark hunger.
His fingers toy with the waistband, then hook into it. A beat of stillness—just long enough to make me ache. And then, agonizingly slow, he peels my shorts off, his knuckles grazing my thighs as he slides them down my legs.
He tosses them aside, his gaze dragging over every inch of my exposed skin.
“Legs up, show me what belongs to me.” His voice is pure possession.
I obey, bending my knees and parting my legs, my pulse pounding with anticipation.
His gaze darkens to something primal, reverent, his lips parting just slightly. A growl escapes him, low and raw, full of everything he doesn’t say out loud. His hand runs up my thighs to my hips and lift them slightly.
His thumb grazes over my clit lightly, causing me to gasp and squirm beneath him. “I can never get enough of you, Dea,” he breathes out, admiration seeping through every syllable.
A soft moan escapes my lips as he dips two fingers inside me, slowly curling them.
“Santo,” I whimper out his name, the sound echoing in the spacious room.
His eyes stay on mine, dark and dilated, tracking every flicker of pleasure that crosses my face. His thumb continues to make lazy circles around my clit, and I can feel myself winding tighter and tighter. He pulls his fingers out of me just a bit, leaving me whimpering.
“Patience, Dea,” Santo says, his voice filled with wicked delight. He withdraws completely, causing me to groan in protest. However, my complaint is quickly extinguished when his mouth replaces his fingers.
The sensation of his tongue against me is overwhelming. I hook my arms around my legs and pull them tighter against my chest, giving him complete access. His lips close around me and he sucks, drawing a sharp gasp from me. Then his tongue is flicking back and forth, pressing into me, swirling around my clit. I can barely hold back my cries of pleasure.
“Let it out Dea,” he murmurs against my skin. His fingers replace his mouth briefly, thrusting in a dizzying rhythm that has me clenching around him.
I’m teetering on the brink, my eyes squeezing shut as his tongue stays on my clit as his fingers continuing their relentless pace. I tremble beneath him, every nerve alight. I’m right there, teetering on the edge.
“Santo,please,” I manage to gasp out his name once again, begging without words for that final push.
There’s a low chuckle against my skin that sends vibrations through me. “As you wish,” he murmurs against me, and then he’s intensifying everything. His tongue presses hard against my clit while his fingers curl inside me one more time, hitting that spot that makes me see stars.
The wave of pleasure slams into me—sharp, blinding, all-consuming. I gasp, his name breaking from my lips in a desperate, wrecked cry. Santo doesn’t stop –won’t stop– until I’m trembling, helpless beneath him, ruined by his touch.
Santo looms over me, his dark eyes burning with satisfaction and something deeper, something barely leashed. His arousal is insistent, his thick length pressed against my skin, but he doesn’t move. he waits, watching, letting me feel just how much he’s holding back.
“You’re beautiful when you come unravel for me,” he whispers huskily in my ear.
I can only look at him in post orgasmic bliss before slowly dropping my legs and pulling him down towards me to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. His taste is intoxicating and combining it with the lingering essence of myself on him sends another shudder through me.
“That should be enough stretching for now,” Santo murmurs against my lips.
***
Santo had work to do after a quick shower, disappearing into his home office. I told myself I wouldn’t bother him—I’d be patient,understanding. But patience isn’t my strength, especially when I know exactly how he looks behind that desk, sleeves rolled up, head slightly bowed, all sharp focus and control.
I try to distract myself, painting yet another memory of us together, but I’m restless. Two hours pass. My brush slows, my thoughts drifting. He’s in there, buried in responsibilities, and I know I should leave him be. But I don’t want to.
Finally, I give in.
I press my finger to the lock and enter his office. Santo looks up instantly, his expression shifting—realization, regret.
