Page 272 of Ruins
“You still don’t understand Dea,” my voice drops, my thumb pressing lightly against her throat, feeling the soft, rapid beat of her pulse. “If Ieverlet someone live after touching you... it wouldn’t be for them, it would be for you.”
She shudders slightly exhaling, “Santo—”
I shake my head, silencing her with a kiss, her soft lips part, but I pull away. Her eyes flutter open meeting mine, “But I can’t do that this time, not even for you Mia Dea. No one is allowed to takemylight.”
I pull back, watching the way her lips part, her breath uneven.
She blinks up at me, searching my face, her fingers tightening against my forearm as if trying to hold onto something—onto me.
My final words hang between us, thick and unchallenged.
Her brows furrow slightly, and for the first time tonight, there’s something different in her expression—not fear, not hesitation, but determination.
Slowly, she moves, shifting forward on her knees, her weight pressing against my thighs.
“Vasilisa—”
I don’t stop her.
Her small hands press against my chest, her nails lightly dragging over my skin as she moves deliberately, pushing me back until my spine hits the mattress.
I let her.
Because aftereverything,after being struck, after almost being taken, after being made to feel powerless—she deserves this.
She deserves to reclaim herself.
Her thighs settle on either side of my hips, her knees pressing into the mattress, straddling me.
And for the first time since she touched me tonight,sheis the one in control.
I exhale through my nose, watching her. My hands settle against her waist—not guiding, not taking, just grounding her, letting her breathe in her own power.
Her fingers slide up my jaw, her touch delicate but firm, as if tracing every shadowed part of me, reminding herself that she ownsallof me.
“Santo,” she murmurs, her voice barely a breath.
I tilt my head back slightly, allowing her touch, letting her take whatever she needs.
“You have me, Dea,” I murmur, my grip tightening on her waist. “Take what you want.”
***
Spending my day with Wesley Beaumont was the last thing I wanted, not when Vasilisa was home waiting for me.
Last night, with my wife, was everything. And now, the ache of not being with her is a constant throb at the back of my skull.
I can still taste her on my lips, feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine. Wesley prattles on about code words and the dock deal, but my mind is somewhere else—with her, always withher.
I want to be home. With my Dea.
Her asking for mercy on that bastards life weighs on me.My sweet girl,always filled with compassion and light. But I couldn’t give her that mercy on his behalf, and I won’t. She doesn’t understand—she iseverything.
If she wanted to leave this all behind, I’d pack up and go. No hesitation. No second thoughts.
I meant it when I said she was my world.
Nothing matters but her.
