Page 45 of His Savage Ruin
I break the kiss, and she actually whimpers at the loss of contact. The sound makes satisfaction curl hot in my chest.
"Tell me you want this," I murmur against her lips. "Tell me you want me to be your first."
"Yes." The word comes out breathless, desperate. Her hands are still fisted in my shirt, holding on like I might pull away. "Yes, I want you."
Cristo.
The way she says it—no hesitation, no games—makes my control slip another notch.
I lift her easily, her weight nothing in my arms, and she gasps in surprise but doesn't protest. Her legs come around my waist automatically, and the heat of her core presses against my stomach even through the layers of clothing between us.
I carry her to the bed, setting her down and trying to show more gentleness than I've shown anyone in years. She bounces slightly on the mattress, hair spreading across my pillows like dark silk, and I have to pause just to look at her. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, golden eyes watching me with a mixture of nervousness and want.
She's wearing one of my shirts—black silk that falls to mid-thigh, buttons undone just enough to show the curve of her breasts. The sight makes possession roar through me again. Wearing my clothes in my bed, looking at me like I'm something she needs instead of something she fears.
"We're going to take this slow," I tell her, starting to unbutton my own shirt. My fingers are steadier than I expected, muscle memory taking over even though my mind is barely functioning. "I'm going to take care of you. Make sure you feel nothing but pleasure."
Her throat works as she swallows, but she nods.
"Good girl." The praise makes color bloom higher in her cheeks. "Now lie back for me."
She complies, settling against the pillows with graceful uncertainty. I shed my shirt completely and watch her eyes widen as she takes in my chest, my tattoos, my scars. Her gaze lingers on the ink that winds across my ribs and shoulders—dark patterns that tell stories I don't share with anyone. Then her eyes find the scar along my jaw and something in her expression softens.
When I join her on the bed, I keep my movements slow. No sudden gestures, nothing that might trigger memories she's trying to forget and make her flinch like she’s done more than once. My hand finds the hem of the shirt she's wearing—my shirt—and slips underneath to find warm silk skin.
She shivers at the contact, her stomach muscles jumping beneath my palm.
"Beautiful," I murmur, watching her face as my fingers explore. I trace the curve of her ribs and move higher until my thumb brushes the underside of her breast. "So responsive."
She arches into my touch with a soft whimper that makes my cock throb against my zipper. I want to be inside her already, want to claim her in the most primal way possible, but I force myself to maintain control. This is about her pleasure, about making her first time something worth remembering.
I push the shirt up slowly, revealing inches of pale skin until her breasts are exposed to the cool air. Her nipples are already peaked, dusky rose against cream, and I have to pause again just to appreciate the view.
"Perfect," I tell her, and mean it. "Absolutely perfect."
My mouth closes over one nipple, and her back bows off the bed. Her hands fly to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands, and I'm not sure if she's trying to push me away or pull me closer. I suck harder, using teeth just enough to make her gasp, and her hips roll against my thigh in instinctive need.
"Matteo," she breathes, and hearing my name in that voice—breathy and desperate and wanting—nearly breaks my control entirely.
"Patience,principessa." I move to her other breast, giving it the same attention while my hand trails lower. "I want to take my time with you."
My fingers find the waistband of her underwear—silk I ordered along with everything else. I hook my thumb under the elastic and pause, giving her time to object.
She doesn't. Instead, her hips lift slightly, giving me permission.
I drag the silk down her thighs slowly, watching her face the entire time. She's breathing hard now, chest rising and falling rapidly, and I can smell her arousal mixing with the jasmine scent that clings to her skin.
When I finally touch her pussy folds—fingers sliding through slick heat—she cries out. The sound echoes off the walls of mybedroom, uninhibited and perfect, and I want to hear it again. Want to hear every sound she's capable of making.
"Look at me," I command, my voice dropping into registers I usually reserve for giving orders. Her gaze snaps to mine immediately, wide and uncertain. "Keep your eyes on me, Alessia. I want to see how you come for me."
I circle her clit with my thumb slowly, and watch her struggle to maintain eye contact. When she tries to close her eyes, I stop completely.
"Eyes on me," I repeat.
She whimpers, hips rolling helplessly, seeking friction I'm not giving her. "Please, Matteo..."
"Please what? Tell me what you need."
