Page 209 of Ruins
A dark thrill rolls through me.
She’s so undone, so wrecked, and it’s all because of me.
“Good girl.”
I dip my head back down, licking and sucking, my fingers sliding inside her, curling, finding that spot.
She gasps, writhing, moaning my name, high and desperate now.
“Santo... I’m—”
I feel it. The way her pussy clenches, tightens, hovering at the edge.
I circle my tongue over her clit, whispering the command into her skin, “Come for me, Dea.”
And she shatters.
Her body shudders, a keening cry tears from her throat as she convulses through waves of pleasure crashing over her.
I don’t stop.
I drink her down, savoring every last tremor, every last moan, until she is completely spent.
Only when her body finally relaxes, trembling in the aftermath, do I pull away.
She reaches for me, breathless, pulling me up, crushing her lips to mine.
She tastes herself on my tongue, and fuck, it seems to turn her on even more.
“More,” she whispers against my lips, her legs wrapping around my waist.
My cock throbs painfully, desperate for her.
But I pull away, smirking against her skin as I trail kisses down her neck.
“Not yet, Dea,” I whisper against her skin. “We have the whole month.”
Chapter 40
Vasilisa
“There.Perfect,”Santoboasts,stepping back to admire his work as he hangs the final canvas in the living room.
After what had been the best experience of my life, Santo had gotten the idea to display the rest of my paintings, inspired by the one he’d been admiring above our bed. An hour later, every piece of my art is proudly on display throughout the house. My heart soars—I’ve never had the chance to showcase my work anywhere before, let alone in a home of my own.
I giggle at the thought of the guards walking past all these portraits. “I didn’t think you’d want so many paintings of yourself around the house.”
“How could I not when you make me look this good?” he teases, pressing a quick kiss to my lips.
The warmth of his gesture settles deep inside me, and emotion wells in my chest. “It means a lot that you did this for me.” My voice trembles, the weight of the moment pressing on me.
Santo cups my face, his thumb stroking away the tears before they can fall. “Mia Dea,” he murmurs, reverence in his tone. “Your art is a part ofyou. I want you in every corner of this house.”
His words mean more than I can express. A confession rests on the tip of my tongue—I feel so much for him, too much, and I want to say it. But before I can, his phone rings, slicing through the quiet of our day. My stomach twists, dread pooling in my chest.Not yet.We’re supposed to have a month.
He presses a gentle kiss to my lips, as if reading my mind, soothing me before he pulls out his phone.
I hear a muffled masculine voice on the other end.
