Page 84 of His Savage Ruin
His fingers thrust deeper, tongue flicking rapidly, and I shatter. Pleasure crashes through me in waves that make my back arch, make sounds tear from my throat that I barely recognize. He doesn't stop, just keeps working me through it until I'm writhing, oversensitive, begging.
Only then does he pull back. I hear him moving, feel him kneel between my spread thighs. His hands grip my hips, and then he's entering me in one slow, deep thrust that makes us both groan.
"Damn," he breathes. "You feel incredible."
He starts to move—long, deep strokes that make me feel every inch of him. Without sight, all I can do is feel—the stretch, the fullness, the way he grinds deep before pulling almost all the way out. My hands find his shoulders, nails digging in.
"Turn over," he says, voice rough with need.
"Okay."
He pulls out carefully, helps me turn onto my stomach. His hands guide my hips up, positioning me on my knees. I feel the cool air on my exposed skin, hear my own breathing too loud in the darkness.
"You're safe," he murmurs, one hand sliding up my spine. "I've got you."
Then he's entering me from behind, and the angle is different—deeper, more intense. I bury my face in the pillow, overwhelmed by sensation and vulnerability and trust.
He moves slowly at first, letting me adjust. One hand grips my hip, the other slides around to find my clit. When he starts thrusting harder, the dual sensation makes me cry out into the pillow.
The darkness heightens everything. I can't see him but I feel him everywhere—inside me, around me, his breath hot on my back, his fingers working between my legs. The vulnerability of the position combined with the blindness pushes me toward an edge I didn't know existed.
"Touch yourself," he commands, and I do, my hand joining his between my legs.
The pressure builds impossibly fast. His thrusts grow harder, deeper, and I feel him everywhere—stretching me, filling me, owning me completely while I can't see anything but darkness.
"That's it," he growls. "Let go."
My fingers work frantically, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. When I come, it's with a scream muffled by the pillow, my entire body convulsing as pleasure whites out everything else.
He follows seconds later with a groan that vibrates through his chest into my back. I feel him pulse inside me, feel the warmth, and something opens wide in my ribs with the intimacy of it.
He collapses forward carefully, his weight pressing me into the mattress without crushing me. We're both breathing hard, sweat-slicked, still connected. His lips press against my shoulder blade, gentle despite the force of what just happened.
"Are you okay?" His voice is rough.
"Yes." The word comes out breathless. "More than okay."
He pulls out slowly, and I feel the loss of him. His hands guide me onto my back, and I expect him to remove the blindfold. Instead, he settles beside me, pulls me against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat thundering, feel his chest rising and falling.
"Keep it on a little longer," he murmurs against my hair. "Just feel this."
So, I do. Let myself exist in darkness and sensation—his warmth, his scent, the rhythm of his breathing evening out. My fingers trace patterns on his chest, following scars by touch alone. His hand strokes up and down my spine in lazy patterns that make me drowsy.
This is trust. This is surrender. Lying blindfolded in his arms, vulnerable and sated and safe.
Until there’s a sharp knock on the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Matteo
The knock comes sharp and insistent, cutting through the quiet warmth of Alessia's breathing against my chest. I feel her tense in my arms, her fingers stilling on my ribs where they've been tracing lazy patterns over my scars.
"Matteo." Rafael's voice carries through the door, rough with urgency. "We have a problem."
Rafael doesn't interrupt for small problems and would never come to my door in the middle of the night, especially on my wedding night, unless something was seriously wrong. I don’t even know what he’s doing in my house and why he’s not at his palace of a place. I ease away from Alessia carefully, my hands finding the knot of the blindfold at the back of her head.
"Give me a minute," I call toward the door, then lower my voice as I slip the silk free from her eyes. "Stay here. I'll handle this."
