Chapter 28 Sophia
Sophia
Istood in front of Gabriel's door, our door. I paused, composing myself before pushing it open.
He was there, standing by the fireplace.
The flames danced across his skin, highlighting every ridge and cut of his sculpted chest. Droplets of water clung to his shoulders, catching the light as they trailed down over muscle.
His dark hair was damp, curling slightly where it brushed his neck.
A towel hung low on his hips, the soft white fabric barely holding to his sharp, V-shaped waist. In that light, he looked carved from marble—powerful, untouchable.
His head tilted slightly, his jaw outlined in shadow as he stared into the flames. One hand rested on the mantel, fingers curling around the edge, the other loose at his side.
I stood there, frozen in place. The room smelled faintly of him, soap and cedar and smoke.
Then his head turned. His eyes met mine, piercing, blue, and quiet as a storm.
"I tried talking to Caroline, she—"
A subtle wave of his hand silenced me.
My lashes fluttered. He moved toward me, stitches and bruises stretched across his chest and arms. I hadn’t realized how badly he’d been hurt. But he didn’t flinch. His pain, if it existed, didn’t show.
Now he was right in front of me.
His eyes burned into mine, and my spine straightened under their weight. His fingers traced along my hip, raising goosebumps in their wake.
"I missed you," he said, almost a whisper.
He pulled me in, one hand sliding down my back, the other threading through my hair and pulling firm, right at the roots. His mouth crashed into mine, urgent and hungry. I gripped his shoulders, feeling tight muscles beneath his damp skin, grounded by his strength.
Each one of my thoughts dissolved. His injuries. Caroline. Ivan.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, gaze dark and sure. Then he lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist.
His grip adjusted, one arm under my thighs, the other anchoring my back.
My heart pounded with the strength of him, the ease with which he carried me.
As he moved through the room, I traced the curve of his neck with my mouth, tasting smoke from the fire and his warmth.
His shoulder flexed beneath my fingers. I could feel his heart beating faster, every inch of him alive and holding me like I was something fragile and weak.
He carried me to the bed and laid me down with a reverence that made the hunger in his eyes burn hotter.
Another kiss, rougher now, his mouth tracing a path down my neck, teeth grazing skin. He caught the hem of my shirt and lifted, the fabric whispering up my sides before he tossed it aside. He unhooked the clasp at my back, bra straps sliding down my arms in a soft fall.
My breasts settled into their natural shape, unbound, full, flushed from the chill in the air. My nipples tightened, exposed and waiting for his warm hands. His hands followed, slow and certain, leaving a trail of heat as they moved over skin newly exposed to him.
He paused to look. Not just glance. Look. His eyes mapped every curve like he needed to remember this, remember me, like he couldn't get enough.
One thumb brushed over my nipple, drawing a gasp from deep in my chest. Then again, slower, as his other hand cradled the weight of my breast, lifting it slightly before tracing the underside.
He leaned in, hot breath and then heat, his tongue circling, teeth grazing, then sucking just enough to make my fingers curl into the sheets.
I nudged at his towel with the edge of my foot. It loosened, slipping lower with each breath until it dropped.
His cock stood hard and heavy between us, throbbing with each heartbeat. His biceps flared as he pushed himself up, slow and certain. He pulled off the rest of my clothes, then spread my legs, staring down with a hunger he would satisfy.
I felt his tip touch, then enter me.
He growled low, straight from his chest.
My back arched as he filled me, and he caught my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head as his hips drove harder into mine.
Skin on skin. Breath against breath. Nothing between us.
His eyes never left mine. His grip tightened. I tightened around him. He kissed my jaw, then my mouth again when I moaned.
No words.
He found a rhythm, deeper, faster, rougher. Every thrust tore a sound from my throat I couldn’t hold back.
He paused, one hand on my hip, the other behind my shoulder. Before I could even blink, in a swift motion, I was on top, straddling him. His hands gripped my waist, guiding me with a dark grin, watching me through half-lidded eyes.
I moved faster.
"Your stitches," I breathed, slowing. His bandage had gone red.
Before I could pull off all the way, he shot upright, his hand wrapped around my throat. Not cruel. Not tight. Just a reminder.
"I didn’t tell you to stop," he said, low and dangerous.
I held his gaze. Sank back onto him. My vision blurred as the pleasure surged.
He laid back down, releasing my neck, his hand trailing down my chest before dropping to his side.
I ground harder. Faster. Perfectly. Firelight wrapping around us. My nails dug into his chest, hot beneath my fingers. He lifted his hips to meet me, face drawn with restraint, muscles flexing with every matching thrust.
I steadied myself with one hand behind me, the other pressed against his solid abs to balance each grind. The angle shifted just enough to build new waves of pleasure, deep and sharp.
He let me ride it out, his steadying hand clenching my thigh.
"Turn around. Keep going." He growled.
My legs trembled as I turned away from him, lowering onto his cock again with a breathless moan.
He gripped my hips, then slid lower, grabbing my ass and guiding me down all the way.
I let out a squeal that became a moan. I braced myself, breath fast as I rose, then sank back, the stretch claiming me again.
Moving slow and steady, My thighs burned, knees planted, hips rolling in tight, deliberate circles.
He breathed hard beneath me, the sound low and strained.
His hands stayed firm on my hips, letting me take control, but I could feel the tension building in him, restraint barely holding.
I moved faster, dragging myself over him again and again, pleasure deepening with every stroke.
Heat coiled low in my stomach as I rode him, legs shaking, sweat slipping down between my breasts.
He growled something low, let me keep going, let me come apart on top of him, moaning with each surge of pressure, every deep grind that sent sparks behind my eyes.
His grip tightened, holding me still. His hips lifted beneath me once, then again, short, controlled thrusts that made me gasp.
Then guided me forward without pulling out.
I caught myself on my hands, knees pressing into the mattress. His chest brushed my back for a breath.
Then his hands found my hips again.
"Good girl."
I could feel him throbbing inside me. His voice owned me.
One hand teased between my legs. The other yanked my hair, pulling my head back as he pounded into me.
Our shadows crashed against the wall, seeming violent but flooding me with a loving warmth.
Then it hit—a slow rise that crashed into white heat.
My body shook. My voice broke.
He flipped me onto my back, laid on top of me.
His breath hot against my skin, his weight holding me in place.
He moved harder, slow, brutal precision. His lips brushed below my ear.
"You’re mine," he growled, the sound vibrating through me.
There was no space left. No air. Just the weight of him. The rhythm. The heat. Each thrust drove me higher.
I arched into him, surrendering everything.
My body gave it all. Every thrust, every cry, every desperate movement.
And when I finally shattered—when the last thread snapped—I moaned his name with a broken cry.
His rhythm faltered. He groaned, low and long, burying himself deep as he came. The warmth of it was overwhelming, flooding through me as he held tight, locked in.
His breath shuddered across my neck.
Only then did he slow. His grip eased, his forehead resting against mine.
"Never fucking leave me again."
The fire still burned. Two shadows remained, still, as one.