Page 75 of His Savage Ruin
I thrust back in, deep and controlled, and she cries out. Her hands fly to my shoulders, nails digging in. I set a deliberate pace—slow, measured, making her feel every inch of me. The tile is warm beneath my knees, rough texture grounding me even as pleasure threatens to overwhelm.
"Please," she whimpers after several torturous thrusts. "More."
"You'll take what I give you." I pin her wrists above her head with one hand, the other sliding between our bodies to find her clit. "And you're going to thank me for it."
I circle the sensitive bundle of nerves with my thumb, feeling her clench around me. Her head thrashes against the tile, back arching, breasts pressing against my chest. Water still clings to her skin, and I lower my mouth to lick droplets from her collarbone, then move to one nipple, sucking hard.
She keens, hips bucking up to meet mine, but I keep my pace maddeningly slow.
"That's it," I murmur against her breast. "Let me hear you."
I pick up the pace gradually, driving into her harder now, the slap of wet skin echoing across the garden. She's making thesedesperate little sounds with each thrust—half whimpers, half moans—and they're driving me insane. Her inner walls flutter around me, gripping me tight, and I know she's close.
"Look at me," I demand, releasing her wrists to grip her jaw instead. "I want to watch you come apart."
Her golden eyes open, glazed with pleasure, locked on mine. I angle my hips, hitting that spot deep inside her that makes her vision go unfocused, and feel her start to tremble beneath me.
"Matteo, I can't—I'm going to?—"
"Then do it." I press down hard on her clit, thrust deeper, grinding my hips against hers. "Come for me, Alessia. Now."
She shatters with a scream that probably wakes half the estate, body convulsing beneath me, inner walls clamping down so hard it borders on pain. The sight of her—head thrown back, throat exposed, completely undone—and the feeling of her pulsing around me drags me over the edge. I bury myself to the hilt, groaning her name as I spill inside her, pleasure whiting out everything else.
For a long moment, I can't move, can't think, can't do anything but feel her body trembling beneath mine. My arms shake from holding myself up. Sweat mixes with pool water on my skin. Her legs are still wrapped around me, holding me inside her like she's not ready to let go.
Finally, I pull out carefully. The loss of contact makes us both gasp. I watch, mesmerized, as my release drips out of her, marking her as mine in the most primal way. My cock twitches at the sight, already half-hard again despite having just finished.
"Come here." I scoop her up, ignoring her small sound of protest, and carry her back into the pool. The water is warm and soothing against overheated skin. She's boneless in my arms, head resting against my shoulder, breathing still uneven.
I settle us on the underwater bench, pulling her into my lap so she's tucked against my chest. My arms wrap around her, holding her close while we both come down from the high. Cicadas drone in the garden. The underwater lights cast shifting patterns across our skin.
"That was..." she starts, then trails off.
"Yes." I press my lips to her wet hair, breathe in the scent of chlorine and jasmine. "It was."
We float like that for a while in comfortable silence, her arms around me. Her fingers trace idle patterns on my chest, following the path of old scars.
Then her hand moves to my face. Traces the raised line from temple to jaw.
"Tell me about this one."
My body goes rigid. "Alessia?—"
"Please." Her eyes find mine, and there's something in them I can't refuse. "If I'm going to be your wife, I need to know who I'm marrying."
The man underneath the monster, she means, as if there's anything left of him buried under years of violence and survival. But she's looking at me like she believes he might still exist, and maybe that's why I nod. I'm about to tell her things I've never spoken aloud to anyone, not even to the men who've bled beside me.
"I was seventeen." The words stick in my throat and I have to force them out one at a time. "My father brought me to a meeting with the Morettis."
Her hand stills against my face. "Emilio?"
"Emilio, and my uncle too." Even saying his name makes something twist sick in my gut. The warehouse smell hits me suddenly—rust and standing water and something sweet-rotten I didn't recognize it then but know now that it was blood starting to spoil, and I have to breathe through my mouth for a second because the memory is so vivid it's like I'm back there. "Arian. My father's brother. The man who taught me to shoot, who used to sneak me extra dessert when I was a kid, who I trusted almost as much as I trusted my father."
"Your uncle was there with you?"
"He was there withthem,standing on Emilio's side of the room with the other Moretti soldiers." My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache, and I can feel rage building in my chest even now, seventeen years later, because betrayal like that doesn't fade with time. "Smiling like he was attending a fucking party."
She sucks in a breath, and her fingers press against the scar, grounding me. "What happened?"
