Page 69 of Ruins
I feel like amadman.
Every part of me is unraveling, barely holding Scythe back by a thread.
I grip the nape of her neck, pulling her in, capturing her lips again, this time with none of the hesitation from before. I nip at her bottom lip, sharp enough to make her gasp. The sound goes straight to my cock, hard and aching against the layers of her gown.
I need more.
I leave her lips, trailing down the delicate column of her throat, sucking, teasing, tasting. She moans again, breathless and soft, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging—desperate,pleading.
I could have her right here.
Iwillhave her.
My fingers find the zipper of her gown, and I yank it down in one swift motion. The silk falls away, revealing white lace hugging the curves of her breasts, soft and inviting. I barely take a second to breathe before my lips are on her skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses down her collarbone, across her shoulder, down to the valley between her breasts.
She clings to me, nails digging into my shoulders as though she needs me to keep her tethered to the earth.
I amintoxicated.
By her scent. By the warmth of her body against mine. By the soft, needy sounds spilling from her lips with every touch.
I lift my head, meeting her gaze—questioning, asking,beggingfor permission.
She swallows hard, lips parting, and I already know she’s going to say yes.
A sharp knock shatters the moment.
The air is ripped from the room, from my lungs, from us.
Vasilisa stiffens against me, breath caught in her throat, eyes wide with realization.
I feel like I could kill whoever is standing on the other side.
“What?” I bark, my frustration spilling over before I can rein it in.
“It’s almost time. We’ve got to go,” comes Luca’s voice, calm but insistent.
A growl of frustration rumbles in my chest as I pull away from Vasilisa, my hands lingering for just a moment longer than they should. “Go away, Luca,” I grind out, my voice low and sharp. Of course, he’d choosenowto interrupt.
“No can do, boss. Maksim’s looking antsy.” His tone carries the usual teasing lilt, but the urgency beneath it is clear.
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand down my face. Fuck.
My eyes drift back to Vasilisa. Her lips are slightly parted, her eyes still heavy with desire. A soft blush blooms across her cheeks, and her dress is deliciously rumpled. The roses that once adorned her golden locks now lay scattered on the floor, a testament to what almost happened.
She slowly slips off the dresser, her movements hesitant, her fingers pulling up the bodice of her gown in a futile attempt to erase what we just did.
“I’ll send Cassandra and Isabella to fix your hair,” I say, forcing a small, regretful smile.
Her gaze flickers toward the door, then back to me, her blush deepening.
Wordlessly, I move behind her, zipping up her gown with slow, deliberate care. My fingers linger at the small of her back, adjusting the fabric, smoothing it into place when I know damn well it’s already perfect.
She bends to pick up the fallen roses, hands trembling slightly, movements delicate and careful.
I crouch beside her, sweeping up scattered petals, and before I can stop myself, I reach for a single bloom, tucking it gently back into her hair.
She looks up at me.
