Page 73 of His Savage Ruin
The pool glows blue-green in the darkness, underwater lights making the water look almost unnatural. And there, cutting through the water with smooth, practiced strokes, is Alessia. Her silk robe and what looks like a nightgown lie folded neatly on one of the lounge chairs, far enough from the edge that they won't get splashed.
The guards are at the garden entrances like Romeo said, but the pool itself is tucked behind high hedges and stone walls that block their sightlines—designed that way for privacy. She must have figured out the blind spots, realized she could slip into the water without being watched, and took advantage of it. Smart.
She surfaces in the center of the pool, water streaming from her hair, and I watch her tilt her head back to look at the stars while treading water. Her skin gleams pale in the moonlight, and even from here I can see the graceful line of her throat, the curve of her shoulders breaking the surface. She's completely naked, comfortable in her own skin in a way that makes my chest tighten because this is the first time I've seen her truly relaxed since she arrived here.
Relief crashes into me so hard I have to stop walking. I grip the garden wall, stone rough under my palm, breathing like I've been running. She's safe. Here. No bullet holes, no blood, no Emilio having her dragged away.
But now that the terror is draining, something else floods in to take its place. She's naked, in moonlit water, and my cock hardens despite everything.
I'm already shrugging out of my jacket, toeing off my shoes. My shirt hits the ground. Belt. Pants. Until I'm stripped down to nothing, standing at the pool's edge watching her surface in the center, water streaming from her hair like silk.
She turns, sees me, and freezes.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. She treads water, arms bare, shoulders gleaming wet. I stand naked at the edge, letting her look, letting her see exactly what she does to me.
"Matteo." My name is breathless, uncertain. "What are you?—"
I dive.
The water shocks cold against overheated skin, stealing my breath. I surface a few feet from her, slicking hair back from my face, and she's watching me with wide eyes—not fear exactly, but something electric and alive.
"You left the bed." My voice comes out lower than I intend, rough around the edges.
"I couldn't sleep." She's still treading water, maintaining distance between us. "I needed air."
"So you came out here. Alone. In the middle of the night." I move closer, slow enough that she sees it coming but not slow enough for her to escape. "Do you know what I thought when I found you gone?"
"That I ran?" Her chin lifts—that stubborn defiance I'm learning to crave. "That I finally escaped?"
"That someone took you." The confession comes out raw. "That I'd failed to keep you safe."
Something shifts in her expression. She opens her mouth to respond, but I'm already closing the distance. My hand finds her waist beneath the water, pulling her flush against me. She gasps, hands coming up instinctively to brace against my chest.
"You're shaking," she whispers.
"Because of you." My other hand slides up her spine, tangles in her wet hair. Water laps around us, warm and alive. "Everything is because of you."
Then she does something unexpected. She splashes me—water hitting my face, surprise making me blink. When I look at her again, she's grinning, mischief lighting features I usually see guarded or defiant or afraid.
Before I can react, she's pushing away, swimming toward the shallow end. Laughter trails behind her—actual laughter, light and free.
Something breaks open in my chest. I chase her, cutting through water with powerful strokes. She squeals when I catch her ankle, trying to kick free, but I'm already pulling her back.
"You're going to pay for that,principessa."
"Oh?" She twists in my arms, still smiling, face flushed and alive. "What are you going to do?"
Instead of answering, I lift her, toss her. She screams as she goes airborne, hits the water with a splash that echoes across the garden. When she surfaces, sputtering and laughing, her eyes are blazing.
"You bastard!"
"You started it."
She launches herself at me, trying to dunk me, but I'm bigger, stronger. We grapple in the shallow end—her legs wrapping around my waist for leverage, hands pushing at my shoulders, both of us laughing like we're not enemies locked in a war neither of us knows how to end.
My feet find the bottom. I stand, lifting her with me, water streaming off both our bodies. Her legs are still locked around my waist, arms around my neck, and suddenly the playfulness shifts. Her breathing changes, chest rising and falling against mine. The laughter dies.
"Alessia." Her name tastes like a prayer and a curse.
