37. Santo
Chapter 37
Santo
I ’ve made a mess of everything.
Her face when she said I only tolerated her, it gutted me. The shock in her eyes when I told her I loved her, it will haunt me.
I can do this. I can push Scythe away, keep that part of my life separate from this side of my life. I can bask in her light and keep her far from the shadows of my darkness.
I can do this.
In the guest room I change into my dark jeans and pull on a light gray t-shirt, the soft fabric feels cool against my skin. I reach for my brown leather jacket in the closet, the familiar weight of it settling comfortably on my shoulders. I lace up my sturdy boots, ready to take Vasilisa for a ride.
I wait for her in the kitchen where Mrs. Keen gives me a weary glance.
“Is everything alright?” she asks concerned.
“Yes, I was wrong, just as you suggested,” I admit. “I’m going to take her for a ride.”
Mrs. Keen’s eyes crinkle with a soft smile. “That is an excellent idea.”
“I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“Have the staff move my belongings back into the master bedroom and then everyone has to leave.”
Her head rears back, her eyes blink many times before she utters, “Leave?”
“Yes, I need time with my wife. Alone. ”
Mrs. Keen bursts into a wide smile, “We’ll be gone before you return.”
Before I can say anything more Vasilisa walks in wearing fitted jeans that hugs her form just right, paired with ankle boots that add a hint of height just how she likes it. Her lightweight knit top drapes elegantly over her, with a soft texture that catches the light. Over her arm, she carries a leather jacket and once again I’m breathless at her beauty.
Her eyes soften when they meet mine. “You look handsome,” she mutters unsurely.
“Thank you, you look breathtaking as always,” I compliment taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles enjoying the blush that creeps on to her cheeks.
She tugs at her hand, but I hold it instead, lacing her fingers with mine, she narrows her eyes playfully, “So, what’s the plan for today that required pants?”
“We’re going for a ride,” I grin and escort her in to the pantry—to the elevator. I pull out my phone and set up access.
“Give me your finger,” I say, lifting our intertwined hands.
I guide her hand to the biometric scanner disguised as a simple silver call button, placing her finger on it. It beeps twice and I reluctantly release her hand.
“Now you can use the elevator whenever you like. Just press your finger on the button and choose a floor,” I explain stepping inside with her.
Her eyes widen in surprise. “How far does it go?”
“To the roof,” I reply with a smirk, pushing the basement button to start our descend.
“So...”
“Basement, kitchen, bedroom, library and roof,” I explain with a chuckle.
“I walk up and down stairs every day for nothing,” she playfully bumps me with her shoulder.
The door slides open, we pass by my home gym and make our way to the garage. I grab an extra helmet and lead her to one of my prized possessions - a sleek, powerful motorcycle. But as soon as she sees it, she stops dead in her tracks.
“Absolutely not,” she declares, taking a step back like the bike itself is a threat.
“Why not?” I ask, genuinely confused by her reaction.
“It’s a motorcycle,” she states matter-of-factly, looking at me as if I’ve just suggested something absurd.
I let out a gentle laugh and place the helmet on her head, carefully strapping it on. “It is, and here’s a helmet for you,” I take her jacket from her arm and put it on her.
She shakes her head, “No way, these are dangerous!”
“I assure you, I’m a skilled driver and it’s perfectly safe,” I put on my own helmet and take a seat on the bike, steadying it for her to get on. “Come, hop on behind me.”
She hesitates for a moment before cautiously getting on. “Wrap your arms around my waist and hold on tight,” I instruct her.
Her arms encircle me tightly and secure. With a flick of the ignition switch, the engine roars to life and we speed out of the garage onto the open road, soon we are speeding down a scenic route. As we zoom past trees and fields of wildflowers, she squeals with both excitement and fear but holds onto me tightly.
A thrill of satisfaction courses through me at her trust and I can’t help the wide grin that splits my face.
The wind whips around us, tugging at our clothes. It’s an unusual sensation, feeling her body pressed against mine. Between the roaring engine beneath us and the feel of her body against mine, I am hyper-aware of everything around and within me.
Her fear seems to ebb away with each mile we cover. The death grip she has around my waist stays secure but less intense.
I feel her head lean against my back. Her fingers begin tracing patterns against my stomach through my shirt - absent-minded doodling or a silent communication - either way it seizes my attention instantly.
It feels right .
As if every wrong turn in life has finally led me to this spot on earth where everything feels balanced.
As we arrive at a small lake surrounded by towering trees, I cut off the engine and steady the bike helping her off first. Her legs are a bit wobbly from the long ride, and she stumbles slightly before steadying herself against me.
We remove our helmets, and she breathes out “Wow.” taking in her surroundings.
She looks utterly amazed, her eyes drinking in the serenity of the lake under the golden sunlight. Her awe makes a smile tug at my lips, and I feel something inside me stirring.
“I used to come here a lot,” I start to explain, “to think...to just get away.”
When she turns to look at me, there’s an understanding in her eyes that makes my throat tighten. She doesn’t say anything but gives me a small nod of appreciation and understanding.
We walk along the edge of the water in comfortable silence, watching as ducks float idly by. She seems lost in thought, gazing at our reflection on the shimmering surface of the water.
“It’s beautiful,” she says softly, not tearing her eyes away from the scene before us.
I glance at her, watching the way the sunlight dances on her golden hair and adds a soft glow to her features.
She is beautiful, in a way that is indescribable. There’s a pang in my chest, a strange mix of longing and fear.
“Yes,” I find myself saying, “it is.”
I love this place, but the woman standing next to me… the woman who makes my cold heart feel a warmth it hasn’t felt in a long time; she’s what’s beautiful.
“These are so pretty,” Vasilisa says crouching down to admire the bluebells growing by the lake bank, careful not to touch them.
“My mother loved them too, always said they were beautiful but knew better than to handle them.”
Vasilisa stands and regards me, her eyes on my profile as I look at the steady water. “She came here with you?”
“She introduced me to this lake,” I reply, “When we were younger, she would bring my siblings and I to have picnics, and she would read to me. Angelo would get bored, and he’d always end up jumping in the lake.”
She giggles and takes my hand in hers. Her fingers are warm against mine, and her touch is light and delicate. Her fingers intertwine effortlessly, she leans her head on my arm, and she takes a soft breath. “That sounds wonderful. She sounds wonderful.”
“She was,” my voice tight with emotion, “I spread her ashes here so she’s always here when I am.”
Vasilisa squeezes my hand, “It’s nice to meet you Mrs. Amato,” she whispers, causing the lump in my throat to triple.
“She would have loved you.” I whisper shifting toward Vasilisa and meeting her gaze. “I need you to know some things.”
Sensing the seriousness in my voice, her eyes grow wide as she takes a step back, releasing my hand. The sudden lack of her touch sends a pang through me.
I reach out and pull her back to me, the warmth from her body seeping into mine as she looks up at me, concern clouding her eyes.
“Is it about Rachel?” she quietly asks.
I shake my head, “Nothing has ever happened with her.”
She worries her bottom lip and nods slightly. “Then what is it that I have to know?”
“I’ve done things... things I’m not proud of,” I start, swallowing down the lump of guilt in my throat. “There’s blood on my hands, Vasilisa. More than I can ever wash away.”
“I’ve hurt people. I’ve destroyed lives,” I admit, my voice raw.
“I know,” she says quietly, her gaze steady on mine. “I grew up in the same lifestyle, remember?”
“But it’s more than that,” I continue, anxiety knotting in my chest. “After my mother passed, I became someone I never wanted to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t tell you,” I reply, hating myself for the secrets I’m keeping from her.
She deserves so much better than this.
“Why?” Her voice is pleading and filled with confusion, “Why can’t you tell me?” She takes a step back wrapping her arms around herself.
“I want to protect you,” I say desperately. The words hang heavily between us, echoing my fears.
“From what?” She questions, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
“Me.”
The weight of my confession settles over me like lead.
The silence stretches between us as she processes what I’ve said. We stand there on the lakeshore for what feels like an eternity, neither of us moving or speaking. Finally, she breaks the silence.
“Santo,” she says softly, reaching out to take my hand in hers. “You could never scare me.”
Her words feel like a balm on my wounded soul, her acceptance washing over me. She squeezes my hand, a silent promise of her trust and faith in me.
“Thank you, Vasilisa,” I say, finally feeling some of the tension roll off of me. Her smile is my reward, her eyes glowing with an emotion that mirrors my own. “Let’s go home.”
Our ride back home is silent but peaceful. Her hands reach under my shirt for warmth as she traces patterns on my skin. I feel her melt into me, the feel of her beating heart thrumming against my back syncing with my own.
The estate looms into view, the only people around are the guards at the gate and the front door. I pull into the garage and take the elevator to the kitchen, as I help her remove her jacket she looks around and her face frowns in confusion.
“Where is everyone?”
“I sent them away.”
She spins around to face me, “Why? Are you leaving too?” her eyes spark with panic. I cup that gorgeous face between my hands.
“No,” I say firmly, my hands cradling her face. “Never again, Vasilisa. Never again will you be alone. Never again will you wonder where I am. Never again will I let you feel unwanted.”
“Never again?” her brow furrows.
“If I have to leave, I will always come home, you will always have friends and I will never leave without telling you why,” I promise her and I mean it.
I will spend the rest of my days making up for the months she was left lonely. I will be the man she deserves and keep Scythe far from her.
She gives me a brilliant smile, “We have the rest of the day?” her eyes glitter.
“We have the rest of the month .”
Her smile widens even more at my words, her hands coming up to drape around my neck as he pulls me closer. “That’s a lot of time,” her voice is quiet, warm.
“It is, and I want to spend all of it with you.” I say, pulling her in tighter as she rises onto her tiptoes for a kiss.
Our lips meet and my heart pounds in my chest as if it’s trying to catch up with something that’s been missing for too long.
I hook my hands beneath her thighs and lift her effortlessly. She gasps, her legs locking around me as I take her mouth, stealing every breath, every sound, every piece of her she’ll give me.
We pull away from each other after what feels like forever, her lips bruised and kiss-swollen, her face flushed and glowing.
She pushes back gently, breathless, eyes shining. “I think we should make dinner together,” she says, grinning in that way that dismantles me completely. That infectious, hopeful smile—one I could never resist.
Cooking together feels like a dream. We move effortlessly around each other, our bodies naturally in sync. It’s effortless, instinctual, like we’ve done this for years.
After we finish eating, I feel the weight of the last few days settle heavily over me.
“I’m going to shower, Mia Dea,” I murmur after we load the dishwasher.
She smiles, but surprises me by following me upstairs.
She doesn’t say anything.
Just watches.
As I strip down and turn on the water, I glance back to find her standing in the doorway, a vision wrapped in soft curiosity and something deeper—something uncertain but willing.
She is so goddamn beautiful.
The soft glow of the bathroom light catches the angles of her face, the delicate line of her throat, the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Her hair spills over her shoulders in a way that makes my breath hitch.
I step into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over me, loosening my muscles, washing away the weight of my sins.
I forget she’s still here—until the lights dim.
Until I feel her.
Her arms slide around my waist, soft, cautious fingers brushing over my stomach.
I inhale sharply, a violent shiver tearing through me.
I don’t deserve this.
I bring her hand to my lips, kissing each fingertip, reverent, worshiping as I turn to face her.
She presses herself against me, her bare skin meeting mine. Warm. Wet. Perfect.
A low chuckle rumbles from my chest.
How bold to come into the shower with me—yet too shy to let me see her completely.
I take her hand from my lips and place it on my chest, over my heart.
I want her to know me, feel me , understand that I am hers.
I tip her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze before I dip down and kiss her deeply.
Her eyes flutter closed, her body pressing closer, surrendering.
I pull her in, memorizing the shape of her, the feel of her, wanting to hold on to her trust and her light.
My hands trace the wet, silken planes of her body, my fingers spreading over the curve of her ass, gripping, lifting her effortlessly into my arms.
She clings to me, the water falling between us, bathing me from my sins as I’m blessed by the sanctity of her lips and her body against mine.
She writhes and it makes my cock throb. The need to plunge deep inside her up against the shower wall is immediate.
I press her back on to the smooth marble wall and she gasps, her eyes opening, lids heavy, lips swollen.
Her pupils are blown wide, her blue irises nearly swallowed by the darkness of her desire.
She’s a revelation.
A beacon of purity and lust intertwined in a way that steals my breath and sets my heart aflame.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me in for another kiss that silences any remaining rational thoughts.
“Please,” she whispers against my lips, the urgency in her voice wrecking me completely.
Her hips flex instinctively, a silent beg I have no hope of denying.
Without breaking our kiss, I slide my hand between us meeting her warm, wet pussy.
She gasps into my mouth, a sound that makes me ache.
With a gentle touch, I let a finger dip between the lips of her pussy.
I find her soaked; ready for me.
I want to bury myself inside her, feel the tight clutch of her body wrapped around me.
But not yet.
Instead, I focus on giving her pleasure. I trace deliberate, slow circles over her aching clit with my thumb, feeling the sharp jerk of her hips, the way she writhes against me.
Her moans grow higher, needier, breaking our kiss.
My lips find her neck, her pulse pounding wildly beneath my tongue.
Her body vibrates in my arms, trembling from need.
I ease a finger inside her, feeling her walls pulse around me, completely drenched.
I look for any signs of hesitation. Her eyes flutter, her head falling back, lips parting in a breathless moan.
I still.
I need to hear her.
“I need words, Mia Dea.”
She whimpers, her hands tightening on my shoulders.
“Please,” she breathes.
I push deeper, feeling the tightness and wetness of her needy core gripping me fiercely as I move with her body.
Her moans fill the air as my mouth explores every inch I can of her trembling body, listening intently for any hint of what she needs from me.
Her breath hitches and catches in her throat, a desperate gasping that borders on wanting and surrender. Each inhale is a ragged, almost pained sound, as if each breath is a struggle against the intense pleasure coursing through her body.
It’s a symphony of soft gasps and moans that fill the air, mingling with the pattering of water hitting the tiled floor.
I slip in a second finger and her nails trail my back. With each thrust of my fingers, her moans turn frantic.
“Santo,” she breathes out, her hands clawing me as she tries to pull me closer.
“Shh,” I soothe her, dropping soft kisses against her shoulder and neck. “I’m here.”
The raw intensity of her pleasure is a drug that I am quickly becoming addicted to and it’s a high that I never want to come down from.
Her body is strung tight, trembling in my arms, on the precipice of breaking.
She is so fucking close.
“Let go for me, Dea,” I whisper, pressing a kiss behind her ear.
She shatters.
A broken cry escapes her lips, her body convulsing against mine, gripping my fingers tight as wave after wave of pleasure rips through her.
She is magnificent like this.
Lost, wrecked , completely undone.
There’s an enchanting beauty in witnessing her submit to the orgasm, lost entirely in the realm of carnal ecstasy with only my voice guiding her through it.
Her release coats my fingers, her trembling thighs clamping around me as her climax crashes through her.
I don’t move, don’t rush her.
I hold her through it, kissing her softly, whispering words I’m not sure I deserve to say.
When her breathing finally slows, when the aftershocks fade, I carefully extract my fingers and just hold her in my arms.
I cradle her against my chest, letting the warm water wash over us both.
Her arms curl around my neck, her trust so complete it steals my breath. I feel my heart swell with a kind of love I thought I was incapable of experiencing. Every soft gasp and sigh she emits is a testament to the trust and faith she has put in me, a responsibility that I have every intention of honoring.
It’s as if she knows I will always hold her, always catch her.
And fuck—I want to.
Her eyes flutter open after what seems like an eternity, meeting mine, but it’s the smile she gives me, sweet and full of satisfaction tinged with exhaustion, that makes me promise silently to myself that when I have her completely it will be with all the love and respect that she deserves.
I step out of the shower with her still in my arms, I dry her gently with a warm towel before putting her down and wrapping her in a robe, tying it securely.
Her gaze drops to my still-hardened cock, a soft heat stirring in her wide, exhausted eyes.
“Santo...” she whispers, her voice hesitant.
I shake my head, wrapping a towel around my waist.
“Another time,” I murmur. “We have the whole month.”
She watches me with those gorgeous eyes as I towel dry her hair, as I tuck her into bed, as I pull on sweats and slip in beside her.
And when I wrap my arms around her, when I breathe her in, I know—
I will never deserve this… to bask in her light.
But I will spend my life worshipping her anyway.