39. Santo
Chapter 39
Santo
I should stop her.
The thought fires off like a warning shot the second she slides from my lap, her hands trailing down my chest hesitant, but determined.
This was supposed to be for her.
I brought her here to remind her how beautiful she is- to make her believe it.
Not to take from her.
Yet as she kneels between my legs, gazing up at me with those trusting eyes, something inside me fractures.
Something primal. Something dark and possessive, no matter how hard I try to suppress it.
I don’t deserve this.
Not her.
Not the way she’s looking at me, like I’m something more than what I am.
Her hands tremble, barely brushing the edge of my belt.
She doesn’t know what she’s doing.
She’s too soft for this world. Too innocent for someone like me.
But fuck, I am not strong enough to stop her.
My fists clench at my sides, jaw locking tight as I fight against the instinct screaming at me to pull her back up, to lift her onto my lap, to keep her safe there. Unscathed.
But I don’t.
Because I want this.
I want her.
And that realization rips through me like a storm.
Mine.
Her lips part, hesitation flickering across her face. She’s waiting for me to stop her.
Waiting for me to say no.
I should.
Instead, my hand moves on its own, cupping her cheek, tilting her head up until our eyes lock.
The sight of her kneeling there so seemingly eager to please me, so willing, so devoted—knots something sharp and dangerous in my chest.
“You don’t have to Dea,” my voice is low, but rougher than I intend.
She blinks, searching my face for something—permission, reassurance, restraint. Something I’m not sure I can give.
“I know.” She whispers it like a confession.
She knows.
She’s choosing this.
I’ve never wanted anyone more, but I cant.
I shouldn’t.
I drag my thumb along her lower lip, feeling the way she shivers beneath my touch.
There’s no hesitation in her eyes now.
She’s made up her mind.
Maybe she isn’t as fragile as I think.
Still, I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers, letting the warmth of her skin sink into me, trying to steady myself.
“This isn’t about me Dea.”
Her fingers tighten against my thighs.
I exhale, feeling the cracks in my restraint widen.
I’ll give her anything she asks for.
I shake my head, barely.
Then, her voice.
Soft. Barely more than a breath. “Please.”
Fuck.
For someone with no experience my wife knows how to take me apart.
I inhale, long and slow, trying to settle the fire burning low in my stomach. She has no idea what that single word does to me.
I pull away just enough to look into her eyes, to see the quiet plea there.
The need.
I give her a small, approving nod.
“You set the pace,” I manage, my voice hoarse. Unsteady.
Her breath catches.
“You can start by stroking me.” The words feel like sacrilege.
My hands move to unbuckle my belt, the sharp click of metal the only sound between us. I ease my zipper down, releasing my hardened cock, watching her expression closely.
Her lips part.
Her fingers tremble slightly as she wraps them around my length.
A sharp hiss rips through my teeth.
Her touch is tentative, unsure. But intoxicating nonetheless.
Her hand moves slowly at first, fingers adjusting, finding the right pressure. I fight to keep my breathing steady, but when her thumb swipes over the tip, spreading the pre-cum gathered there, my restraint fractures.
A sharp exhale leaves me, jaw tightening as I fight the urge to thrust into her palm.
I watch her.
The way her brows furrow slightly in concentration.
The way her lips part just enough for me to catch the softest peek of her tongue.
She’s mesmerizing.
And I am utterly wrecked by her.
Her hand moves slowly, finding a rhythm that has me gritting my teeth, trying to keep myself from unraveling too soon.
She’s learning me.
I can’t help but place my hand over hers, guiding her gently, showing her where it feels best. She follows. She doesn’t resist, doesn’t hesitate—she allows herself to learn from me.
Her thumb brushes over the tip, grazing a particularly sensitive spot, and I can’t hold back the groan that escapes me.
Her eyes flicker up, something new gleaming there— satisfaction . She knows she’s making me come undone.
And fuck—it makes me smile.
“Like that?” she whispers.
I nod, jaw tightening. Words aren’t possible right now.
My hand drops away, leaving her to explore on her own, and when her grip tightens, I suck in a breath, my muscles going rigid as a low, pleased hum leaves her lips. She likes this. She likes seeing what she does to me, the control she has over my body.
Her confidence grows, each stroke more sure than the last.
I let my fingers tangle in her hair, twisting lightly, just enough to feel her.
The sight before me is ruinous.
The head of my cock, disappearing and reappearing from her grip, her fingers slick with my arousal, the way she stares, fixated, absorbing every reaction.
A growl rumbles low in my chest as her thumb circles the tip again, spreading my slickness with a deliberate touch.
“Use your mouth, Vasilisa,” I encourage her, my voice trembling with need.
She licks her lips, hesitating for a brief second before she leans in, her breath warm, teasing as it washes over me.
I shudder.
Then, finally—her lips part, and she takes the head into her mouth.
Fuck.
A sharp inhale rushes through me as she sucks softly, her tongue darting out to taste me.
Her inexperience only fuels the fire, making every hesitant lick, every slow pull, feel even more erotic.
I grind my teeth to keep from groaning too loudly, but the sheer possessiveness rolling through me makes it impossible to stay silent. My grip in her hair tightens slightly.
She flinches; but doesn’t pull away.
I force myself to loosen my hold, but then my gaze catches her reflection in the mirror.
Vasilisa.
Naked. Kneeling. Her mouth wrapped around my cock.
The image is beautifully fucking devastating.
A raw, primal surge of need tears through me.
Scythe wants to claim her. Mark her.
I watch as she grows bolder, taking me deeper, her movements more certain.
“Dea,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, wrecked.
She hums in response, the vibrations sending a jolt of electricity down my spine causing my body to jerk and tense beneath her.
She’s so goddamn perfect.
And she’s mine .
The obscene, wet sounds fill the space between us as she pushes herself deeper, testing her limits.
Then, she gags slightly, her throat tightening around me.
My fingers twitch in her hair.
I want— fuck , I want to take over.
“Breathe through your nose, relax your throat,” I instruct, my voice strained, desperate to hold onto control.
She nods, her eyes locked on mine, determination gleaming in those stunning, clear depths.
She takes a deep breath and relaxes, sinking further down, taking me deeper than before.
I shudder violently.
Her name slips from my lips, a hushed, broken whisper.
And she smiles around me.
Fuck.
“Beautiful, Vasilisa...” I murmur, running my thumb along her stretched lips. “You’re doing so well.”
She glances up at me again, and the sight of her— Flushed cheeks. Shining eyes. Lips swollen around my cock.
It nearly destroys me.
She’s too much.
“Deeper,” I gasp, my voice rough, raw, breaking.
She doesn’t hesitate.
Her lashes flutter as she pushes herself further, pushing past the snug resistance of her throat, the sensation sending a violent shudder through me
My fingers tighten in her hair, her tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes, her lips forming a perfect, wet seal.
Every instinct in me screams to take over, to fuck her throat, to make her understand exactly who she belongs to.
But she’s learning.
And fuck—watching her learn is going to ruin me.
I press my thumb to the slight bulge in her cheek, feeling the way my length stretches her mouth, the way she struggles to take all of me.
“That’s my girl,” I rasp, my voice trembling with the force of my restraint.
She hums softly, the vibrations sending another shockwave of pleasure through me.
“Faster,” I find myself begging, my own control snapping apart at the seams.
She obeys.
Her hands grip my thighs, her nails biting into my skin as she works me, swallowing into each thrust.
My stomach tightens, heat coiling, pooling, an undeniable pressure threatening to spill over.
“I’m close,” I admit, voice breaking.
Her cheeks flush darker, her movements more fervent.
She knows.
She wants this.
Never has anyone held such power over me.
I lose myself.
I gasp out her name as white-hot pleasure rips through me, my cock pulsing in her mouth as my release coats the back of her throat.
“Fuck,” I groan, my fingers digging into her shoulder, shaking as the sensation wrecks me completely.
Wave after wave crashes over me, my breath ragged, uneven, my entire body trembling.
Out of breath and completely sated I open my eyes and see her. Vasilisa, kneeling before me, her eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips wet and swollen from taking me so beautifully.
I shudder at the small drop of my release on her chin.
I swipe it away with my thumb, bringing it to her lips.
She licks it off, never breaking eye contact.
My cock twitches in response.
“Perfect,” I breathe, tucking myself away before lifting her into my arms.
Her legs tremble—whether from kneeling for so long or from the intensity of the moment, I’m not sure.
“Did you like it?” she asks, hesitant.
I meet her gaze, the answer absolute.
“You were so perfect.”
She bites her lip, as if holding back, but then—softly, hesitantly asks, “Can we do it again?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. This woman will be the end of me.
“Not right now, Dea,” I murmur, lifting her fully into my arms and pressing a kiss to those swollen lips. “Now, it’s your turn.”
She rears her head back, breathless. “My turn?”
“Yes,” I respond carrying her out of the bathroom to our bed. “I need a taste.”
Her eyes widen—anticipation warring with uncertainty.
“Calm down, Vasilisa,” I whisper, my fingers trailing down the curve of her throat, over her collarbone, until they graze the soft rise of her chest.
She shivers beneath my touch.
A smirk tugs at my lips. She’s so responsive. So beautifully mine.
I lay her down, the mattress shifting beneath her weight.
“I—” she stammers, trying to push herself up, but I gently press her back down, covering her with my body before she can protest.
I silence her with a kiss.
Soft at first, coaxing, but deepening when she melts beneath me, surrendering.
“Just lie back,” I whisper against her lips, tasting the quickened rhythm of her breath. “Trust me.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, trying to relax.
And fuck—
The sight of her beneath me, flushed, eager, despite the nervous tension in her body, sends a sharp pulse straight to my cock.
I kiss my way down her neck, lingering to suck lightly at her pulse point. A sharp gasp escapes her, her fingers curling into the sheets beneath her.
“Easy,” I soothe against her skin before moving lower.
Her nipples are already pebbled, hard and aching as I circle one with my tongue.
Her gasp turns into a moan, then a whimper, as I tease her, suck her, drag my teeth lightly across the sensitive bud before soothing it with a broad stroke of my tongue.
My other hand trails light, lazy circles around her other breast, pressing just enough to make her squirm, to make her writhing, breathless, needy.
“Santo…” she whispers, and fuck.
The way she says my name, reverent, pleading, surrendering, nearly sends me over the edge.
But this isn’t about me getting my taste.
This is about her.
Worshipping my wife in the way she deserves.
My hand trails lower, past the soft dip of her stomach, until I reach the apex of her thighs. She jerks up at the first brush of my fingers against her clit.
“Still sensitive?” I ask, lifting my head to meet her gaze.
Her chest rises and falls erratically, her cheeks burning. “Yes,” she breathes. “But don’t stop.”
The corner of my mouth lifts into a wolfish grin.
That’s my girl.
I circle my finger around her clit again, slow, deliberate; watching as her thighs tremble, her lips part, her brows pull together in sweet agony.
She’s soaked.
So fucking wet for me.
A deep, satisfied groan rumbles from my chest.
“Such a beautiful mess you’ve made,” I praise removing my hand to a distressed whimper. My mouth follows the path my hands took, trailing kisses down her stomach.
Her breath hitches.
I graze my lips along the sharp dip of her hip bone, my tongue darting out to taste the skin there.
A violent shudder rips through her.
“Patience, love,” I whisper against her skin, smirking when a weak laugh escapes her—cut off by a sharp gasp when I move lower.
My fingers skim up her inner thighs, and she parts them wider for me.
A perfect invitation.
A perfect offering.
She is laid bare, trembling, open for me.
I take a moment to appreciate the sight before me before kissing the inside of her thigh.
She shakes.
“Santo…” she whispers, her hands tangling in my hair.
I press a kiss to her pussy, feeling her body jolt from the contact.
“Just let me,” I soothe. My voice thick with need, with reverence, with possession.
Her sharp inhale is the only sound I hear before my tongue finally touches her.
And fuck me—
Her taste is heaven.
Perfect. Sweet and intoxicating; a heady mix of warmth and salt, honey and desire.
I groan against her, the vibration drawing a broken cry from her lips.
Her hands tighten in my hair, her hips rolling instinctively, searching for more.
I lap at her, flicking my tongue over her swollen clit, drawing slow, precise circles before sucking it between my lips.
She arches off the bed, crying out, her fingers yanking at my hair, legs shaking around my head.
I hold her down, spreading her wider, drinking her in, completely addicted.
Every sound, every gasp, every plea she gives fuels something dark and primal inside me.
She is my finest addiction.
I will never get enough of her.
“Santo...” she breathes, barely able to form words.
I pull away for a fraction of a second, my lips glistening with her slickness.
“Please what?” I rasp, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her inner thigh.
She whimpers, her body trembling beneath me. “I need... I...” She bites her lip, unable to say it.
“You need to come?”
Her cheeks flush even more, if that’s possible. She nods desperately.
I flick my tongue over her aching clit before demanding, “Say it.”
“I—I need to come. Please .”
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.”