Chapter Twenty-One
Spencer
After the emotion of the night, I’m drained—but I doubt sleep will come.
By the time I shut the front door, Carlo is already three-quarters of the way up the stairs.
His silence speaks volumes: he’s done talking for tonight.
As he disappears into his room and firmly closes the door, he seals the message, finalizing it.
I understand his need to be alone after laying himself bare to me, but I can’t help wishing I’d said or done something more to show him how much he means to me.
It’s obvious he’s still grieving for everything he’s lost in his life.
And my actions have only made matters worse, even now, I’m not sure how to show him.
Sophie kicks off her heels and then disappears toward the kitchen. I’m standing in the hallway wondering what to do. I’m adrift. Lost and unsure if I should instigate more conversations tonight, or just let us all sleep on the drama of the day, and start a fresh tomorrow.
I’m not eager to continue, but my behavior recently has erased my right to an opinion, and right now I need to do whatever it is Sophie wants. This is her time, and I’m determined to be a slave to her needs.
Just as I decide to follow her, she reappears with two large, iced glasses of water. She passes one to me with a smile. Perceptive as always. I take a sip and let the cold liquid soothe my sore throat, dry from too much booze, too many emotions, and the size of Carlo’s cock.
Without speaking, she drifts straight upstairs, and I follow her like an obedient puppy.
As she climbs the stairs, her virtually naked bottom is in my eyeline. I admire the sexy curve of her feminine spine, and the slight wiggle to her hips, which seems more pronounced than usual.
Her lily tattoo is poking out of the fabric of her dress, on the top of her right buttock. I long to press a kiss on it as I habitually do when I see it, but I resist.
We process along the landing to our bedroom suite.
“Where’s Lily?” I ask, realizing I have no clue where my daughter is.
“She’s with my mum,” Sophie’s soft voice replies.
There’s no judgment in her words; in fact she seems pleased that I’ve asked.
“Mum promised to have her all weekend, if that’s what we want.”
My gaze shoots to hers, and her chin lifts an inch, a slight tinge of defiance in her eye.
Hmm, what are you planning, Mrs. Barton-Jones?
Dr. Klein’s words ring in my ears. “Maybe it’s about letting her see you now—really see you—and trusting she still might choose you.”
When Dr. Klein said those words, I thought she was living in a fantasy world. But, maybe she’s right. I need to trust in the love we share, and Sophie might still choose me.
“Has she indeed? That’s very kind of her,” I reply.
We enter our bedroom, and I stride to my side of the bed, place my glass of water on the coaster.
When I turn around, Sophie’s exposed her shoulders. I watch as she slides the rich, red fabric of her dress down her body, allowing me to see her glorious soft skin underneath. My hands twitch to reach for her, but I don’t. Instead, I freeze mesmerized by the vision of her.
Once she’s stepped out of her sexy dress, she bends from the waist to pick it up, trailing it over our bedroom chair before striding toward me, completely naked. Her tits are bouncing with each step, but she never looks up at me.
My dick, which still hasn’t released this evening, is back to full mast. I’m desperate to grab her, throw her on the bed and make love to her.
But I don’t.
I stand staring like the lost boy I feel, admiring a woman who ever since we met has chosen me. Whom I need to find my way back to deserving.
With her back to me, she slides open the drawer beside me and takes out something silky. Her hair is trailing down her back. I’m tempted to slide it to one side and kiss her neck like I’ve done so many times before, to make her giggle and push herself back into me.
But I don’t.
“Are you sleeping standing up?” she asks flippantly as the soft, floaty fabric of her nightdress slips over her body, blocking my delectable view.
“No, I should take a shower,” I croak.
Removing my phone and wallet from my pockets, I place them on the bedside next to my water glass before unclipping the fastening on my trousers and sliding down the zipper.
Her back is facing me, she’s brushing her hair in the mirror. Another movement in the glass catches my eye. I glance up to see what it is and realize the movement is my reflection.
My gaze collides with hers in the mirror.
She’s watching me.
As I slide my trousers down, all the blood in my body seems to charge to my groin. I toss them onto the bed beside me and remove my socks.
I peer at her bottom, determined not to let her know I’m aware she’s watching me. Yet, I know she still is, because she hasn’t moved aside from the rhythmical arm brushing through her long hair—it’s getting far more attention tonight than it usually does.
As I undo my shirt buttons and then unclip the cufflinks, that she gave to me as a wedding gift, I step toward her, my chest exposed and my hard as fuck boner poking through the soft cotton of my boxer shorts.
I approach her without touching, yet I’m close enough to feel her body twitch. She’s getting turned on again.
Leaning around her and flicking open the box she gave me last year for storing my cufflinks, I drop them inside. We’re standing close enough that a few of the flyaway strands of her hair tickle my chest.
“I won’t be long,” I murmur, my voice deep with desire.
It pleases me to see the goosebumps that scatter over her skin when I speak but I fight my desperate urge to smirk. After the events of the evening, I’m thrilled that I can still give her this reaction.
Moving away, I stride back toward the bed, grab my discarded clothing and toss them into the hamper before adding my shirt. Hoping she’s still watching, I slide my underwear down before turning to face her, stark bollock naked.
I repeatedly tell myself not to look up, but within seconds, I cave.
When I do, I’m rewarded with the vision of Sophie. Her body pivoted toward me with one hand supporting her on the dresser and the other still clinging to her hairbrush. Her attention is firmly fixed on my aching dick.
Hesitating for a moment, I force myself to enter the bathroom certain it’d be wrong for me to instigate intimacy with her tonight, no matter how desperate I am to.
Once in the shower, I can’t resist pulling on my dick. My need to release is unbearable; I’ll never sleep without jerking off.
I close my eyes. My hand stretched out to brace my weight against the wall. This won’t take long.
Her tits bouncing as she walked toward me spring into my mind.
But then the image changes, her tits jumping with each thrust as Carlo pounded into her tonight.
Fuck. That turned me on.
I could imagine being him.
Experiencing her pussy pulsating on my dick.
Sucking me deeper inside her.
A noise forces my eyes open.
Sophie’s standing in the shower. Her pale pink nightdress soaked, sticking to her like a second skin. With every dip and curve of her body exposed, the definition of her hard nipples is clear.
I want to reach for her. Surely that’s why she’s here. She wants it too.
I don’t move.
“You’re wet,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Drenched,” she whispers.
There’s a pause, and we stare at each other.
I can’t do it. I can’t expect her to do it. Not tonight.
Sophie steps toward me, and her action makes denying my urges impossible. I yank her against me. Her delicate fingers slide up the hair on the back of my head as our mouths meet.
A tingle travels down my spine; I’m so close to my climax. The experience of her offering herself to me like this is more than enough to give me the relief I crave. But I clench my body, stopping myself.
Our kiss is passionate. Unrestrained. Brimming with love.
She’s trying to get closer, lifting her leg, but the wet fabric around her is restricting her movements. A frustrated noise escapes her throat.
I ease her back slightly, parting our lips. Grabbing the front of her dress, I yank the two sides apart, ripping it down the center in a desperate bid to get to my woman.
Sophie gasps but as soon as she’s naked, I pick her up, wrapping her legs around me and slamming her back against the wall.
I impale her on my desperate dick, pushing into her slick walls.
“Mine,” I growl, before retaking her mouth with my own, biting and licking her hard. Needing her to impart my longing for her. The power of my desire. The craving of my lust but most of all, the depth of my love.
As I repeatedly force myself inside her, she grabs hold of me seeming unwilling to let me go.
And thank fuck for that because without her, I’m nothing.