Chapter 38
Sophia
The new office didn’t look anything like the room Gabriel’s father once ruled from.
Dark walnut had been replaced by midnight-black paneling, matte instead of glossy, so it swallowed light instead of reflecting it.
A low, modern chandelier hovered over a slate desk, The family crest hung on the wall.
Shelves behind glass displayed a single Italian dagger, a vintage bottle of Brunello, and one framed photograph: a portrait of Gabriel with Logan, their heads bent over a chessboard.
Everything else was minimalist decoration.
I paused in the doorway, fingers grazing the new threshold.
Gabriel stood at the wide window that overlooked the grounds, the late afternoon sun blazing behind him, casting warm golden light across the floor.
His suit jacket was off, white shirt sleeves rolled once at the forearm, cufflinks discarded.
The Dons heavy ring—black gold, engraved with the family crest—rested on his right hand. His ring.
“Close the door.” He said.
I closed it, the latch clicking into a hush so complete it felt padded.
My heels crossed the marble in deliberate, muted taps.
Halfway to him I slowed, eyes tracing the cut of his shoulders beneath linen, the single dark lock of hair that had fallen loose against his temple.
He’d been working—scattered papers lay across the desk, pages edged in red pen.
Fresh power looked good on him; it fit like the jacket draped across his chair.
His eyes met mine, softened by something private I doubted anyone else ever saw.
“You’re late,” he said, not accusing, just stating a fact.
“Sorry.” My voice sounded smaller in the room’s hush. I smoothed a non-existent crease in my dress.
His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something dark behind them.
“I’m going to have to punish you.” He said.
“Punish me?” I asked, barely more than a breath.
He leaned back against the sill, arms folding without hurry. The ring flashed again as his thumb stroked the opposite wrist, a quiet warning.
“Come here.”
My heels clicked once, twice, then stopped when his gaze sharpened—cool command wrapped in lazy amusement.
“Closer,” he said.
I obeyed until I could feel the warmth of his body. His chest rose, slow and controlled.
“Good,” he murmured, the single word sliding like heat under my skin.
“I warned you, yet you are late again,” His voice dropped lower. “Why?”
To be punished.
“Maybe I want to see if you’ll keep your word.”
The corner of his mouth lifted—half smile, half threat.
“Oh, I keep my word.”
He reached out, the knuckle of his ring grazing my jaw—unhurried, inevitable.
He gripped my face—not painfully, but firm.
“You lied, with this mouth, said you would be on time.”
“Apologize.”
His thumb lingered, tracing a slow line along my cheek. The band was cool against my skin; the weight of it carried all the new authority he possessed.
I moved my hand up, parting the loose collar of his shirt to trace the skin beneath. He let me. Watched me. That same control—but letting it crack, just slightly.
I leaned up and kissed the spot below his jaw.
I kissed him again. Higher this time. Just at the corner of his mouth.
He guided me toward the desk until the edge met the backs of my thighs.
He stilled. His gaze searched mine, sharp but quiet, as I slid my hand up his chest, brushing the collar of his shirt aside. My fingers rested lightly over the steady thrum of his pulse.
Then he pushed me to my knees—not forceful, just intention made physical.
Gabriel stepped back with controlled grace and lowered himself into the leather chair behind the desk. Legs spread slightly. One elbow draped over the armrest. The other hand flexed once, then stilled on his thigh. Watching. Waiting.
I lifted both hands to tie back my hair.
His jaw tightened. Still, I didn’t look away.
The cold hard floor bit through the fabric of my dress. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blink. I just knelt—sinking into the space between us like it was where I belonged.
His eyes darkened.
My hands moved to his belt, fingers sure but unhurried. There was reverence in my pace. Not hesitation.
He leaned back slightly, lips parting as if to speak—but nothing came out. Just breath. Just heat.
His hand reached out, thumb brushing my cheekbone. I kissed the inside of his wrist.
“I won’t be late again, I’m sorry,” I said softly.
“Not good enough.”
And then I looked up at him, steady and certain.
And everything in him stilled—tight, tethered, waiting.
I undid his belt with deliberate ease, metal catching briefly in the quiet. The zipper followed, low and slow, teeth parting under my fingers. He didn’t move.
He was already hard.
I freed him with care, with intention. His cock thick and flushed and heavy in my hand. He twitched slightly when I closed my fingers around him, the muscle in his thigh tensing under my touch. His hips didn’t move, but his jaw clenched tight.
I let my thumb circle the head, catching the first bead of arousal, spreading it down his length. He hissed a breath through his teeth.
I leaned in and licked him once—flat, slow, from base to tip. The taste of him lit something deep in me. My hand stayed firm as I took him in, lips wrapping around the head with steady pressure.
He groaned low in his chest.
I sank deeper, letting my jaw relax, breathing through my nose as he slid further into my mouth. He filled me—thick, throbbing and hot—and I held him there, tongue pressed along the underside, feeling his pulse.
His fingers curled tight in my hair, but he still didn’t move.
I did.
I pulled back until only the tip remained, then took him in again—deeper this time, angling just right. He grunted, hips lifting slightly.
I set a rhythm. Slow. Intentional. My hand stroked what my mouth couldn’t reach, twisting gently as I moved. I let him feel every inch of pressure, every flick of my tongue, every quiet hum that vibrated through my throat.
He cursed under his breath, something broken and reverent. One hand clenched the arm of the chair. The other guided my pace now—barely, but it was there.
I looked up at him without stopping. My lips stretched around him, eyes steady, unblinking.
He groaned, gripped my hair, pulled my head back, but I wasn’t done apologizing yet, I fought against his strength, mouth open, desperate for more.
His grip loosened, and my hair slipped through his fingers.
I hollowed my cheeks. Slid deeper. Let spit wet my chin. Let my arms fall to my side, sucking him fast and deep, all the way to the base of his cock, hands free.
I took a deep breath as I pulled back with a wet sound. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, still kneeling.
His cock bobbed in front of me, hard and slick and aching.
His grip snapped tighter. I felt the tremor in his fingers, a warning more than a command—he was right at the line, fighting every instinct to push my head down until every inch of him was down my throat again.
I took him again, slowed my pace, pulling back until I could swirl my tongue around the head, tasting him, teasing the sensitive underside. A shudder ran through his thighs. He exhaled one fractured breath that sounded like a plea.
I tightened my fist at the base and worked him with long, deliberate strokes while my mouth worked the tip—alternating suction with soft laps that made his hips jerk against the chair. His other hand abandoned the armrest and slid into my hair, not guiding but anchoring, needing the contact.
“Fuck—Sophia,” he rasped. His voice had rough edges now, the kind that only came out when he was seconds from losing control.
I pressed my tongue flat and took him deep again, letting the tip glide down my throat, swallowing around him until I felt him throb hard. I pulled back until just his head was in my mouth and hummed a giggle, vibration buzzing through every inch of him.
He choked on a groan, head tipping back against the leather. The chair creaked under his grip as he tried—and failed—to stay still. His hips lifted, just a fraction, showing me how close he was.
I rewarded him, fingers massaging the base in slow circles, mouth tightening around the head on every upstroke, tongue flicking the spot that made his breath catch.
“Slow… down.”
But I only eased back a beat, lips sliding off with a soft pop before taking him deep again—luxuriously slow, like sinking into heat.
His curses turned guttural. I swallowed him again and again, my cheeks hollowing, saliva slicking his cock so each glide was wetter, dirtier, faster.
When I felt the heavy pulse near the base and the tell-tale tightening beneath my palm, I eased back to the tip and feathered kisses down the shaft—light, almost innocent. The contrast made him groan like the air itself had teeth.
His breathing stuttered; he was seconds away. One more lick, one more tight seal of my lips, and he’d tip over.
I tasted that tension on my tongue, felt it in the quiver of his muscles.
“Stop,” he grit out—voice raw, authority booming. “Stop—now.”
I pulled back instantly, obeying, breath warm against his slick skin. A thick drop gathered at the tip; I licked it away, slow and deliberate, before letting go of him entirely.
His cock stood hard and quivering, wet from my mouth, veins pronounced, eager for more. He stared down at me, chest heaving.
“Get. Up,” he said, voice a rough command.
I rose. My knees tingled from the marble, my pulse beating everywhere at once.
He caught my wrist, spinning me so my back pressed to the desk. Papers rustled beneath me.
He dragged the hem of my dress upward, fingers skimming my thighs, hooking under my thong and sliding them down.
“Turn around. Bend,” he ordered, voice low but sharp.
I turned, palms flat on the desk, the wood cool beneath my skin. He dragged the dress up over my hips, exposing me to him as sunlight bloomed through the window.