Page 84 of Ruins
He nods toward the bed.
Reluctantly, I climb onto the edge, my legs dangling awkwardly over the side.
The ridiculous height of the bed makes it impossible to do anything gracefully—like everything in this house, it’s designed for him, not for me.
A soft chuckle fills the space.
I glance up, my cheeks warming instantly. Santo watches me, eyes stormy and unwavering.
Then—he kneels.
The sight steals my breath.
Santo Amato, larger than life, dangerous and untouchable, kneeling before me.
He sets the shoes beside me on the bed, his hands moving with an ease that feels far too intimate.
Carefully, deliberately, he lifts one of my feet onto his knee.
My breath catches.
He takes the first heel and slips it on, his touch slow, reverent. His fingers brush against my ankle, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
Fastening the strap into place, and the warmth of his skin seeps into mine, sinking deeper than it should.
I bite my lip, stifling a sharp inhale when his thumb drags lightly across my skin.
His gaze flicks up, catching me in the act.
A slow smirk tugs at his lips.
“Are you okay?” His voice dips lower, teasing, coaxing. Like he enjoys unraveling me.
I nod quickly, too quickly.He knows.
He says nothing, just shifts to my other foot, repeating the process with painstaking attention.
I can’t look away.
His hands move with precision, care, reverence. Like this isn’t just some simple task—like this isworship.
Something deep inside me stirs, and suddenly, the room, the house, the world beyond this moment—all of it fades.
There is only Santo. His hands. His touch. His presence wrapping around me like silk and steel.
“Thank you.” My voice betrays me—breathier than I mean it to be.
Santo doesn’t blink.
“Anything for you, Dea.”
His voice is so warm, so sure, it sends a shiver straight through me.
But he doesn’t let go.
His thumb lingers, tracing slow circles against my ankle.
The touch is light, unhurried— yet it leaves behind a heat that spreads through me like a secret I shouldn’t be keeping.
