The Ruin (Convenience Book 3)

by Stella Gray

  Remi has me go for the canoe right out of the gate, since we want to take advantage of the sunset. The shore is a little rocky, which is tough to navigate even in my oversized, clunky boots, but I manage to get myself arranged in the narrow boat that’s tied to the dock. Even as I’m posing, all I can think is: this place is so beautiful, the water beneath me so blue. It’s paradise.

  “Love it, love it, love it,” Remi says. He’s in waders that come up to his knees so he can get as close to the canoe as possible with the camera, and I just know he’s getting great shots.

  The temperature drops as the sun makes its final descent. Of course, that’s when it’s time to lie in the snow with my coat wide open. My bib necklace gets traded out for a variety of chunky chains, and Becca works my braids loose so my hair cascades in tousled waves over the icy ground. I try not to shiver and focus on exuding an aura of dreaminess, but when the wind blows, the faux fur on my hood gets stuck to my lip gloss. More than once, I spy Luka holding back a chuckle at my expense. Honestly, so am I.

  It’s good to see him enjoying this instead of feeling as if he needs to direct my every movement. This shoot is fun. Remi and Malia are fun, too, and had Luka micromanaged everything, I don’t think we’d have achieved the same level of carefree “winging it” that we have. I just hope Steffany & Co. are happy with the results.

  Finally, we head back over to the rustic old barn for a few shots with the baby lamb, flashy armloads of bracelets added to my wrists. The lamb is soft and warm and ridiculously cute—and as wiggly as can be as he bleats in my arms. At one point, he tries to eat the fake fur on the hood of my coat. I scold him with a helpless laugh, the camera flashing rapidly nearby.

  “That’s it!” Remi exclaims. “That’s the one! I guarantee you’re going to see this exact shot on every Steffany & Co. billboard and magazine advertisement this holiday season.”

  With that, he tosses the camera to Malia and starts waving his arms around.

  “I’m calling it a wrap, everyone! Let’s pack it in.”

  As the lamb is taken back to its mother, the stylist comes over and starts sliding bracelets off my wrist, unclasping chains from my neck. I hear the unmistakable pop of a cork. Seconds later, Luka is at my side pressing a flute of champagne into my hands, the crew cheering and toasting us even as they pack up. What a blast. The shoot couldn’t have been any more amazing.

  I lean into my husband and whisper in his ear. “Thank you for today.”

  “It was my pleasure,” Luka says, tracing the line of my earlobe again. That’s when I realize I’m still wearing the diamond earrings. My heart flutters.

  “Oh! Becca forgot to take the earrings back,” I say, looking around for the stylist.

  Luka takes my chin in his hand and gently turns my face toward him.

  “They’re yours now,” he says. “They looked so perfect on you, I had to buy them.”

  It’s silly how moved I am by this, but for a moment I’m speechless. “I can’t believe you bought these for me,” I finally murmur. “I’m…so grateful.”

  “You can show me how grateful you are later, when you’re wearing them,” he says, his voice going husky with desire, “and nothing else.”

  Luka

  Chapter 21

  She listens so well.

  I unbutton my jeans as I stride into the bedroom, where Brooklyn waits for me on the bed. She’s splayed out naked on top of the crisp white comforter, her dark hair spilled across the pillows, her olive skin a striking contrast to the fabric beneath her perfect body. And those earrings. They glitter against the warmth of her golden skin, making her look like a goddess.

  Damn. Money well spent.

  The curtains are open to the view of the quaint village shops and streetlamps below, pinpoints of light that glow softly in the darkness against distant, snow-covered mountain peaks. The mild daytime temps have dropped down to the 40s now, but inside, it’s warm and cozy…and about to get a lot hotter.

  My wife smiles as I shed my shirt and jeans. My cock is already rock hard and ready, but I’m going to make her wait. I’m going to make us both wait.

  I don’t know what happened up on the mountain over the last few hours, but seeing Brooklyn so totally at ease and yet so confident and in control throughout the shoot—it did something to me. Broke through the last of my walls. She was just…perfect. Perfect for me.

  She’d been professional but playful about climbing the mountain path, reclining in the snow, posing in the canoe with one oar dipped in the water as if she was actually about to paddle across the lake. It was obvious she was having fun. In fact, it took everything I had not to jump in and join her, and I could tell by the reactions of the photographer and the crew that her magnetism was affecting more than just me. Every pair of eyes was glued to my wife.

  And then when Brooklyn gave that full-throated laugh over the misbehaving lamb in her arms, and Remi snapped the money shot, it suddenly hit me: my wife had finally come into her own. She exuded that mix of charisma and je ne sais quoi star quality that celebrities spend their whole careers trying to achieve. All because I’d stepped back, trusted her, and let her shine.

  She must have felt something different in the air, too. She kept looking at me with a glint in her eye, as if she were feeling the same contagious good vibes that I was. I couldn’t stop thinking about how lucky I am to have her in my life. Now that we’re alone, I’m going to show her exactly how I feel.

  “Long day?” I ask, stepping toward her.

  “Mmm,” she purrs. “But it’s not over yet. Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Zoric?”

  She pats the bed beside her. I grip my cock and give it a long stroke with one hand while pointing at the mattress with the other. “Right here, Mrs. Zoric?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I sit next to her and then roll over so we’re lying face-to-face. I prop up on one elbow to take in the sight of her body, drawing in a long breath. She bats her lashes playfully.

  “You’re admiring my earrings, aren’t you?”

  “Actually, I was admiring your tits. But the earrings are great, too.”

  “Thank you. My handsome, intelligent, sexy husband bought them for me.” She trails her fingers across my chest.

  I give a cocky grin. “The tits or the earrings?”

  She laughs and I swear I will never get tired of that sound. “Come here,” she says.

  My mouth waters as she cups her breasts, squeezing them together for me.

  “Maybe I’ll just watch you for a minute,” I tell her, my voice gone husky with lust.

  “What would you like to see?” she asks, her thumbs moving to toy with her nipples, tweaking and teasing in little circles until they’ve tightened into hard, beautiful peaks.

  “Just keep doing what you’re doing,” I say. “That’s real good.”

  She turns onto her back and rests her head on the pillow, eyes closing as her hands slide down her taut abs and between her legs. I move to pull her thighs apart and settle myself between them so I can get a better view. When she pinches her clit, I shudder along with her.

  “Mmm,” she moans.

  When she dips a finger lower to trace the wet lips of her pussy, my pulse kicks up another notch, my balls aching. I love watching her touch herself. I’d happily devote an entire evening to watching her get herself off. I make a mental note of that for later. Tonight, we’re both getting off. Together.

  Noticing I’ve gone quiet, Brooklyn shifts to catch my gaze. “You like that?” she asks.

  “I love it,” I say. But what I really mean is, I love you.

  How could I not? She’s stood by me through some of the hardest moments of my adult life. She’s helped transform my family’s business while supporting me in solidifying my role in it. She’s brought my family closer together, and fits right in with Emzee and my sister-in-law. I honestly don’t know how I would have survived my father’s criminal trial without Brooklyn at my side. Even more miraculously, she convi
nced me to adopt Mr. Kibbles. If it weren’t for my wife’s stubborn insistence and tender heart, I’d never have even met that ridiculous little snugglebug. And now we have our own little family. The start of one, anyway.

  She’s getting into it, fucking her fingers, her breath coming in little gasps, watching me watch her.

  “Good girl,” I coax. “That’s it. Fuck yourself. Get yourself off.”

  I trail my fingers over her inner thighs as they flex, savoring the silken feel of her skin. When she moves her hand away to stroke her clit again, I can’t hold back any longer. I dive in and lap at her cunt, savoring her sweet taste. My cock throbs at the sound of the moans I’m unleashing from her as I work her with my mouth. I feel her hands in my hair, tugging me closer, and I reward her with a little tongue-fucking, letting her ride my face.

  “Yes,” she’s murmuring breathlessly. “Yes, fuck, yes.”

  With every thrust, I know she’s getting closer to the edge. But I’m not done with her yet.

  I intended to work my way toward her breasts next and take full advantage of them, but the way her pussy feels against my tongue waylays me. Both of us need to slow down. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

  “Let’s take a minute,” I tell her softly.

  Pulling back, I climb up next to her and thread my fingers through her hair, working at her temples and running to the ends of the strands until her eyes are closed again and she’s practically purring. Her hair is so soft and smooth, I can’t help reveling in the feel of it. Then I trace my fingers along the side of her neck, slowly working my way around her ear and behind it, gently pinching the lobe before caressing the shell.

  “That’s nice,” she murmurs dreamily.

  I love how my touch makes her feel so good, that I have the power to bring her pleasure with my hands alone. I take my time tracing the lines of her collarbone, her shoulders, and down her arms. Goosebumps follow in my wake. Finally, I reach her breasts. She gasps as I roll her nipples and cup her with a firm grip, flicking the hard nubs with the tip of my tongue. I take my time with her, paying attention to the quickness of her breaths, until she starts to tense up and I get the impression she’s about to jump me.

  “Don’t move,” I whisper. “Please.”

  “Please?” she teases. “You’re being uncharacteristically polite this evening.”

  I lean down so my lips hover over hers. “Well, we are in Canada.”

  She laughs. I laugh in return as I kiss her softly, fully, savoring the moment. But my intent to go slow doesn’t last long as our tongues tangle and our bodies respond to the undeniable chemistry between us, the feel of skin on skin. I devour her, covering her with my body as I deepen the kiss, pushing us both to our limits until we’re breathless. She writhes against me with a sexy eagerness that jacks my desire and heats my blood. How did I get so lucky to find a woman who matches my passion?

  “Are you ready?” I ask.

  “I’m always ready for you,” she answers truthfully, and I realize I just can’t get enough of this woman.

  I feed my cock into her, inch by inch, drawing out the penetration just to hear her moan. Then I slide out, leaving just the tip inside her, dipping in and out with the gentlest back and forth motion until she’s dripping wet, begging for me, and I can see real emotion in her eyes.

  “I need you,” she says.

  “I need you too,” I tell her.

  With that, I thrust into her so deep and hard that we both go still with the full-body shock of our connection, catching our breath and holding tight to each other. I start moving inside her, keeping the pace gentle, but Brooklyn whispers, “Wait.”

  I go still and her hands slide up my back and then through my hair before she grips it to hold me even tighter against her, every inch of our bodies lined up.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” she says in my ear. “Fuck me, Mr. Zoric.”

  “I feel like your filthy boss when you call me that,” I say with a laugh.

  “As long as you feel filthy, you can be whatever you want,” she says.

  Still fully inside her, I ease back so I can look her in the eye. “Whatever I want?”

  “Yep. What do you want to be?”

  “Just the man who loves you,” I say, keeping my voice steady so she knows I mean it.

  Her eyes widen. Even I feel a little stunned at the confession that just escaped my lips. A series of emotions play on her face as she processes what I’ve just said. She touches my cheek softly, and I swear that one connection between us almost breaks me.

  “You love me?” she whispers.

  I’ve never said the “L” word to her before. In fact, I can’t recall one single time I’ve said it to anyone I’ve been with. But with Brooklyn, I don’t even need to think about it. It just is.

  “I do,” I tell her simply. “I love you.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You’re sure it’s not just the polite Canadian air making you say that?”

  I kiss her softly, a smile curving my lips. “I’m positive.”

  Her arms wrap around my neck as she hugs me even tighter. “I love you too, Luka.”

  My chest feels light as air. Without breaking our connection, I roll her on top of me and brush the hair back from her face, drawing my hand down to squeeze her breast. She leans back and widens her knees, giving me a full view of her sliding her wet pink pussy up and down my cock. I pull in a hard breath and grip her hips as she starts to ride me, taking me hard and fast.

  We’re both moaning, hurtling toward orgasm, cursing softly as we fuck our hearts out.

  God, I love this. I love that we have this, that she’s so free to give me her body. Brooklyn leans over to kiss me like we’ve got all the time in the world, groaning into my mouth as she bounces up and down my cock, completely soaked and slick. I slide a hand between her legs and stroke her clit as we grind together. Her breaths come faster and harder as her pussy clenches tighter around me. She moves at an even more frantic pace, panting against my neck as she grips my shoulders for leverage.

  “I’m coming,” she’s saying. “Come with me, Luka. Come inside me.”

  For some reason, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. Her eyes are glazed over when she looks at me, and I watch the ecstasy play across her face as I feel the hard contractions of her orgasm squeezing my cock. Fueled by her climax and her moans, I flip her so I’m on top and drive back into her.

  She holds my hands as I begin to swell and harden inside her.

  “I love you,” she tells me, pushing me to the most intense edge I’ve ever experienced.

  “I love you.” I’m not sure if I say the words or think them, but suddenly I’m lost in an all-consuming wave of pleasure, everything I think and feel and am just pouring into her. I have no idea when I come down from it.

  I’m lying with her in my arms, stroking her hair, when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Who’s that?” Brooklyn murmurs.

  Glancing at the clock, I remember that I’d arranged for a midnight dessert delivery from room service. I slip out of bed and throw a robe on, then go crack the door. There’s a staff member in the hallway standing beside a cart loaded with a silver domed tray, a small floral arrangement, two goblets of ice water, and a bottle of the best red wine they had on the menu. I give him a nod, sign the receipt without looking at it, and then bring the cart into the bedroom. Brooklyn sits up in all her naked glory and pulls her hair over one shoulder.

  “Surprise for Mrs. Zoric,” I tell her by way of explanation.

  “This is a good surprise,” she says.

  I pull the curtains open wider so we can see the soft glow of the snow-topped mountains, and then get back into bed with a fat slice of chocolate cake and a glass of the wine.

  I feed her a bite of the cake. It’s five layers of Belgian chocolate cake with alternating dark and white chocolate ganache filling, a delicate raspberry glaze over the top. She takes her time, savoring it, then takes the fork and feeds me a piece. This cont
inues until the cake is gone and she’s purring over the last bite. There’s some chocolate on her lower lip. I pull her in for a slow kiss, and then we share the wine.

  “Say it again,” she purrs, eyeing me over the rim of the glass.

  “I love you.” There’s no need to withhold it from her.

  She smiles. “I love you, too.”

  And so, we’ve become that couple. The kind that professes their undying love while feeding each other cake in bed.

  But truthfully?

  I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

  Brooklyn

  Chapter 22

  It’s a weekday afternoon, and I’m sitting across from Emzee at a tiny table outside a famous Hyde Park deli that’s overrun with locals and tourists alike. After standing in line for over twenty minutes, we’re finally reaping our reward: a massive Italian beef sandwich we’re sharing under the shade of a huge umbrella. The famous special is served on a soft house-made roll, with piles of thinly sliced meat smothered in giardiniera, roasted peppers, and au jus. Emzee insisted we get Cherry Cokes and a side of cucumber salad to go with it, and I’m glad I agreed.

  “This is literal heaven,” I mumble around a mouthful of, well, heaven.

  “Told you,” she says, her mouth equally stuffed and her words equally garbled. After washing down her bite with a slug of soda, she sighs happily and looks around. “I love this neighborhood. The barrel-fronted brownstones, the parks, the big old trees.”

  “Sorry Tori has to miss it,” I say, snapping a few photos with my phone to send to her.

  “The pregnancy is really taking its toll,” Emzee admits. “I don’t think she’s kept a full meal down in weeks. The doctor has her on some anti-nausea meds, but it’s still pretty tough.”

  “Poor thing. Hopefully the morning sickness will be over soon, though.”

  “Yeah.” Emzee clears her throat and avoids looking at me as she asks, “So, uh, do you want to take a picture of me with my sandwich?” She takes a big bite of cucumber salad and raises her eyebrows in a failed attempt to look innocent.