43. Santo
Chapter 43
Santo
M orning light filters through the curtains, carrying the scent of warm amber and jasmine… her . I stretch, basking in the warmth of Vasilisa’s body pressed against me, soft and claiming even in sleep. Her face is nestled against my chest, her arm draped across my torso, and her leg draped over my hips. I can feel the heat radiating from her body, and if she shifts even slightly, she may brush against my hardened cock beneath the sheets.
Last night, after our bath, I couldn’t resist taking her again and again. As we dried off, my hands couldn’t help but wander over her silky skin. One touch led to another until I was carrying her to bed, unable to resist plunging inside her once more. I had wanted to bend her over the bathroom counter, but I restrained myself. Vasilisa needs time before she can handle that kind of intensity. I don’t want to scare her. She may act boldly at times, but deep down I know she is sensitive and sweet.
I watch as she stirs in her sleep, her leg shifting over my cock causing me to stiffen even more. I look down at her sleeping face and see that those gorgeous eyes are wide awake now, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. She starts to pull away from me, but I pull her naked body back into mine. I pepper kisses all over her face and neck until she giggles that infectious melodic sound that I adore so much. She lets out an idle sigh and begins to lower her hand down my chest, past my abs and toward the base of my cock. Before she can get too close, I grab her hand gently.
“You’re sore, Vasilisa,” I say sternly.
“So what?” She replies with a mischievous glint in her eye.
I chuckle at her brazenness. “You need a couple of days to recover.”
Her lips purse, frustration flashing in her gaze. “I don’t want to wait that long. And besides…” Her eyes drop, bold, unashamed. “You’re already hard.”
Now, she doesn’t shy away from staring at my cock. It’s as if all her inhibitions have disappeared in the comfort of our shared bed.
“That’s because I have a beautiful naked woman in my bed,” I tease, tightening my hold on her.
Vasilisa’s eyes remain fixed on my cock, and she surprises me once again with her brazenness. “Then fuck the beautiful naked woman,” she says, her voice unapologetic.
I almost choke at the word ‘fuck’ passing her lips. “My, what have you turned into?” I playfully scold, holding her tighter.
“Do I have to beg , Santo?” she asks with a hint of pleading in her voice.
“No, my goddess, you’re too sore, but I can take care of you,” I reply with a smirk.
Her lips curve into a bright, confident smile as she pulls me closer and presses her mouth against mine. The way she kisses me now is different—hungry, claiming, unafraid. She grasps my hardened cock and strokes it firmly, causing me to let out a deep groan of pleasure. I roll on top of her, tracing my lips over the marks I left on her skin last night. I’ve marked her countless times - her neck, shoulders, and breasts - and it gives me a possessive thrill to see her bearing my marks. She is mine .
I kiss down the valley between her breasts and lick my way along her smooth stomach until I reach her wet, hot pussy. She has to be sore from last night; the proof is there, her pretty pussy slightly red where she stretched around my cock, where I claimed her. I bring my lips to her sensitive clit, I kiss and lick gently, worshiping what belongs to me and only me. Possession rolls through my body in waves.
She starts to buck under me, moaning with pleasure. My tongue swirls around her clit, focusing all my attention there so I don’t cause any discomfort. I want to give her relief but also give her body time to recover. Her moans grow louder as my tongue keeps a steady rhythm on her sensitive clit.
“No, I need more,” she gasps as I suck on her clit. “Stop,” she breathes out suddenly, her hands gripping my hair. “I want you inside me.”
“No Dea,” I mummer into her skin.
Her breath stutters, caught off guard. “What?” Confusion flickers across her face as I shake my head, firm in my decision.
She pulls away from me and scrambles off the bed.
“You’re not going to hurt me,” she says arms folded over her chest, “Just lay on the bed.”
“What?” I chuckle, taken aback by her sudden demand.
“Lay on the bed,” she repeats firmly.
“No,” I refuse just as sternly, determined to understand her reasoning before complying. “Not until you tell me why.”
“Well, if you won’t fuck me, I’ll fuck you , get on bed and teach me how to ride.”
I chuckle darkly at her bravado, the fire in her eyes pushing Scythe forward in a need to dominate that brazenness right out of her. “Oh, you’ll regret your words, Dea.”
“No, I won’t” she sasses.
My eyes narrow at her, a sudden surge of adrenaline rushes through me, similar to the feeling I get right before I make a kill. Without hesitation, I grab her and haul her onto the bed. Her wrists locked tightly in my grip as I pin them above her head with one hand, using my other hand and my legs I forcefully spread her thighs apart. Her eyes widen, mouth parting—but I don’t let her speak. With one unrelenting thrust, I plunge into her.
A surprised yelp escapes her lips, quickly followed by a long-drawn-out moan as she writhes beneath me. Every nerve in my body comes alive, reveling in the feel of her tight warmth snug around my cock, the intoxicating scent of her arousal filling my senses. I continue my assault on her body, pulling out slightly before slamming back into her
“Is this what you begged for?” I growl, each thrust forcing a wrecked, desperate sound from her lips.
“Yes,” she gasps, her hands straining under my grip. I can see the determination in her eyes, and it fuels me further. I maintain a punishing rhythm, thrusting hard and unrelenting into her slick, weeping pussy.
“It’s too much,” she moans, her voice barely audible over the sound of our bodies colliding.
“I’m only giving you what you asked for, Dea,” I reply, my voice strained with effort. She’s so tight, so perfect, so fucking mine . I fight to hold on to my control, but it’s slipping, unraveling; just like she is.
Her hands trapped above her are turning slightly red, so I release them, and they clutch onto my back immediately digging into my skin as she takes the pounding.
“Such a good girl, taking my cock,” I compliment her, feeling a rush of pleasure at the way she preens under my praise.
I slow my movements, savoring the desperate whines escaping her lips. I pull away from her and position myself on my knees, meeting her lust filled gaze, I thrust harder, holding onto her hips tightly as I watch my cock slide in and out of her wet pussy, glistening with her arousal. The sensations are nearly overwhelming, causing my heart to race with intensity. I trace my fingertips along the skin where our bodies are connected, eliciting moans of pleasure from her in response.
“What’s wrong, Dea, feeling too good?” I mockingly ask as her eyes glaze over with pleasure.
“Too...much,” she gasps out. Her chest is heaving, her cheeks flushed. She’s panting hard, her body writhing beneath me in blissful agony. Her hands clutch at the sheets as she tries to manage all the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body.
“Your body can’t lie, Dea,” I grin wickedly, my thrusts become more deliberate, focusing on the spots that make her gasp and moan louder. Sweat trickles down my back as my muscles strain to control the pace and angle of my plunges into her delectable body.
She’s a fucking gift. I want to devour her, wreck her, claim her in every way possible. My fingers twitch with the urge to wrap around her throat, to sink my teeth into her skin, to find out if she loves the pain as much as she loves me.
No.
That’s not me.
That’s Scythe. He wants to break her, to mark her as something brutal and raw. But she’s not built for that. Not yet. Not ever. As she furrows her brows and bucks against me, urging me on, I realize I’ve stopped thrusting.
I shake Scythe out of my head and cover her body with mine kissing her deeply and wrapping my arms around her as I flip us over. With her on top, I surrender, just enough. Letting her take control, letting her steady me, letting her pull me back from the edge. I push Scythe away, burying myself in her instead.
Her eyes widen as she finds herself suddenly straddling me, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. She hesitates, hovering above me, her gaze flickering between surprise and something deeper… something wanting . I leisurely slide my hands up from her hips to grip her slender waist, my thumbs gently brush her sides.
“Ride me,” I prompt her. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes before she nods slowly, placing her hands on my chest for support.
She moves tentatively at first, uncertain but eager, adjusting to the shift in control. Each slow roll of her hips sends a fresh wave of pleasure spiraling up my spine. I bite down on my lip watching the confusion and ecstasy flicker on her face. My hands on her hips provide guidance as she continues to ride me.
“Like this?” she murmurs, experimenting, testing, pushing herself. Her body finds its rhythm, and I feel it—the exact moment when hesitation turns to certainty.
The sight of her above me, flushed and panting, is enough to drive me to the edge. I nod encouragingly, the words sticking in my throat.
“That's my girl,” I manage, my voice breaking slightly as her rhythm picks up pace. She seems to understand, her body responding to my voice and the encouragement in my touch. With every stroke, she moans softly and closes her eyes in pleasure.
My hands roam over the smooth curve of her back, memorizing every inch of what’s mine.
My wife is flawless, perfect in every way.
She continues to ride my cock, and my hands wander from the contours of her waist to the swell of her breasts. Her breath hitches at the contact and a shudder runs through her. Encouraged by her reaction, I knead her breasts gently at first until my need for control takes over again.
She gasps, startled, as my grip tightens—too hard, too desperate. But the sound that follows isn’t protest; it’s a moan, and it sends a sharp pulse of need straight through me.
“That’s it…” The words escape from my lips before I can stop them. Seeing her in this state of disarray is making it hard to hold on to any of my restraint… to hold back Scythe.
Her movements become more frantic now. Her fingers claw at my chest as if searching for something to anchor herself. Her nails drag along the skin of my chest leaving trails of red behind them. A mix of pain and pleasure shoots through me causing me to buck underneath her. She gasps and digs her nails in harder, a flash of mischievousness in those gorgeous eyes.
Control slips through my fingers like sand, and suddenly he’s there—Scythe, clawing at the edges, demanding to take. I fist my hand in her hair, pulling her down into a searing kiss—one meant to distract, to claim. And before she can react, I move, rolling her beneath me in one fluid motion. Now under me, she looks up at me, with questioning eyes.
“Yes, keep those eyes on me,” I command roughly. She nods, holding my gaze with those lust-filled eyes of hers. The sight is enough to send shivers down my spine. The weight of her submission, the way she gives herself to me so completely—it’s intoxicating. It makes me feel invincible. Unstoppable.
I resume my thrusts, this time harder. She screams out in pleasure, her body shuddering violently beneath mine as the first wave of climax hits her. Seeing her unravel like that is the most satisfying sight. I continue pounding into her, extending her climax until she’s crying out in overstimulated pleasure. She’s trembling and gasping for air but there’s pure ecstasy painted on her face.
I become lost in her pleasure, driven by the sounds of her uninhibited cries, the feel of her dripping pussy tightening around me, and the sight of her beneath me as she falls apart. With a final, desperate thrust, I reach my own climax, gritting out a broken groan as my body succumbs to my release.
She collapses beneath me, her body spent, trembling, completely mine. I hover over her, watching the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the flush staining her skin. She’s breathtaking like this. Wrecked for me. Her face is flushed; waves of heat radiate from her skin, mixing with the cool air around us. Slowly and yet reluctantly, I withdraw from her body and kneel before her.
She winces.
A flicker—so quick I almost miss it. But it’s there. And suddenly, nothing else exists.
She winced.
Scythe hurt her.
I hurt her.
The thought slams into me, a fist to the ribs, stealing my breath.
My hands tremble, unsteady, unsure as I brush a stray lock of hair from her face. She’s watching me with dazed, but still trusting eyes. There’s no accusation in them, no blame, but I can’t help but feel as if I’ve crossed a line. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.
“Are you okay?” The question escapes even though it sounds absurd. It’s a little too late for that.
She offers me a weak smile. “More than okay,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her fingers find mine and she interlaces our hands together, squeezing gently.
“No, I mean...” I trail off, unable to vocalize my concern. My gaze falls on the red trails left by her nails on my chest, then to her breasts and hips reddened from where I had gripped too hard.
Her eyes widen, and before I can retreat into my own mind, she’s reaching for me, cupping my face in her hands—soft, grounding, real. “I wanted this, every second of it.”
Her words seep into me, slow and warm, a lifeline against the guilt threatening to pull me under. She pulls me in, and I let her pull me down beside her as I wrap my arms around her and pull her close. She sighs and cuddles up to my chest. Scythe doesn’t belong here. Not with her . Not in this bed, not in the softness of our world. He doesn’t fit. And yet, I can still feel him, lurking, waiting , a shadow that refuses to fade.
“Vasilisa,” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. “Do you remember the lake? When I told you that after my mother died, I became someone I never wanted to be? That I hurt people?”
Vasilisa meets my gaze and nods, her fingers tracing the faint red lines she left on my chest
“That’s Scythe,” I confess, the words tasting like ash. “He’s ruthless. Violent. He has no place near you.”
Her hand roaming my chest feels like a lifeline, her touch grounding me in reality as I grapple with my darker self within.
“Santo,” she says softly, her fingers stilling over my chest. “I’ve known about Scythe.”
I blink. “You have?” Surprise flickers through me, tightening my chest.
“Yes.” She shrugs, casual, unbothered. “You kill your enemies. So does Maksim.”
“But Scythe enjoys in it!”
“ You enjoy it.” Vasilisa replies plainly. “You talk about Scythe as if you aren’t him, but you are.”
I freeze. Her words land like a punch to the ribs, knocking the air from my lungs. Simple. True. Unforgiving. For a moment, silence hangs heavily between us as our eyes lock in unspoken understanding; she sees me for what I truly am and accepts it unabashedly and I don’t deserve it.
I stare at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. “I became him because I had to. To do what needed to be done. To avenge my mother.”
Her fingers move again, slow, grounding, as if pulling me back from that place. She presses tighter against my side, her warmth seeping into me. “We all do things we never imagined to survive. This life demands it. And I support you, Santo.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” she admits quietly. “Because I know that underneath all that ruthlessness and violence is a man who loves deeply and ardently. A man who’s afraid of hurting the one he loves.”
Her hand slides up to my cheek and she turns my head to look at her. “I love that man; Santo and I understand the darkness he carries within him. It doesn’t scare me.”
Her confession steals the breath from my lungs. I’d always feared my darkness would be too much, too heavy, too cruel . But seeing her compassion and understanding now makes me realize how wrong I was to think she couldn’t handle it.
“I don’t ever want to hurt you, Vasilisa,” I sigh, lifting her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm like a vow.
“You won’t and you didn’t,” she replies with certainty in her eyes.
Relief washes over me as I pull her close, planting soft kisses on her forehead.