Page 49 of The Ruin I Chose

“I did,” I said.

“But I woke up and the bed was empty. I just came to check on you. I can leave if you like.”

I gestured towards the door, meeting his gaze—knowing I’d interrupted something important, but unwilling to leave without him. Antonio stretched.

“No, stay. I’m beat as is. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

He smiled at me. “If it weren’t for you, this man wouldn’t have let me get a shut eye tonight. As it is, I don’t sleep much—with toddlers crawling over me.”

He chuckled and left, shutting the door behind him. Santino followed, silent.

The study was old-world Italian—arched ceilings with limewash finish. Hardwood flooring warm to the touch. A heavy oak desk stood to the right. The windows in front were tall, framed in stone, and the fire to the left in the hearth crackled low. Surrounded by dark walnut shelves lined with leather-bound books.

“You shouldn’t have come down wearing just this,” he said, putting away a file into the drawer.

His hand moved to my ass, fingers curling just enough to make me gasp. I felt the tension in his jaw, the way he was holding back everything he wanted to do to me. My breath hitched—a tiny sound, but it pulled his gaze down my body like gravity.

“What are you going to do about it? Bend me over this desk and spank me?” I teased.

He pulled me closer, resting his head against my stomach, hands now gripping my ass like he was holding back a storm. His breath was hot against my skin. I felt the tremble in his jaw. His fingers dug into me slightly, a warning and a promise all at once, and my body responded before my mind could catch up.

“Don’t tempt me.”

My chest tightened, and heat swelled between my legs. This man’s had a way to undo me with words alone. He stood up and swiftly lifted me over his shoulder—caveman style. I was no frail woman. I was curvy, plump, and yet this gorgeous, muscled man hoisted me with effortless ease, as if my weight was something he welcomed, not noticed. I yelped, giggling as he carried me through the hallway up the staircase to the room.

Each step up the stairs was a declaration. His hand landed on my ass—firm, territorial. I giggled, but inside, my core was on fire, anticipating the next time his hand met my ass.

Thank God it was the private wing of the resort; otherwise, the guests would’ve woken up to all our playful noise. He tossed me onto the bed, panting slightly. I propped myself up on my elbows, one leg bent.

“You’re strong, Mr. Vitale.”

It was the first time I’d called him that. That alone made him grin ear to ear like he loved the sound of it. He peeled off his shirt.

He kissed his way up my legs, unhurried and careful, as though he was trying to make the moment last before the goodbye neither of us wanted to say.

His fingers brushed the nape of my neck, and I shivered from the ache of wanting to belong to him. He kissed me—deep, consuming. This time, it wasn’t desperate. It was slow and intentional.

Clothes came off. We memorised each other—breaths, scent, skin. I pulled him closer, as he trailed tiny bites across my neck, down to my chest and breast. He teased me as he was grinding against my entrance.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, voice thick with need.

“You. All of you,” I gasped.

He slid into me slow and deep. And I broke, responding to him the way my body always did. Each gasp and moan left me exposed in a way I didn’t know I wanted, my body and mind surrendering to him completely.

“You fit me perfectly. It’s like you were made for me,” he said between kisses.

It was true. I never felt this with anyone before. I could feel my walls convulsing around him, making him feel thicker. The way he held me made it impossible to pretend this was just physical. I came undone, calling out his name as my nails dug into his arm, leaving marks.

We switched over. I straddled him, hips rolling in slow circles. I wanted him to see me unravel, to know I belonged to him in this moment, and only him. My fingers danced over my skin—neck, breasts, thighs. I touched myself; eyes locked on his. I wanted him to see me. To watch me fall apart. To know that this chaos was his doing. It was reckless, giving him that kind of power—but I couldn’t stop.

With one hand, I reached down and massaged my clit. His hands dug deeper into my hips, matching my rhythm, eyes feral with lust. Our paces quickened. I dropped down to him as he held me, thrusting deep. I sat up and pushed my head back as we both came undone.

He moaned, sitting up to hold me. I bit his shoulder, then wrapped my arms around him, hugging him into a tight embrace.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I let out a sob. “I…”