7. Rocco
ROCCO
O ur dessert arrives—a rich chocolate mousse with a red fruit coulis that has a tartness to counteract the sweetness of the chocolate. I watch Sophia’s mouth with fascination as she places the spoon between her lips and gives a moan of satisfaction that goes directly to my cock.
I have to ask the question. It’s been eating me up all evening. I don’t want to make things awkward or tense between us, but I have to know.
“Sophia, after you moved with your parents, how come you never contacted me again?” I can feel the way my expression changes, pinching with the emotional pain of all those years ago. She’d been my best friend and my girlfriend, and she’d just upped and vanished.
She glances down at her almost empty plate, and I immediately wish I hadn’t said anything. “I did try to call you at first, but your dad kept answering. I guess he never gave you any of the messages?”
This is news to me. I had no idea Sophia had called me.
“No.” I shake my head. That son of a bitch.
“He didn’t tell me. But you could have kept trying.
Even if weeks, or hell, months had gone past, I still would have wanted to hear from you.
Not hearing from you, it was like someone had come along and ripped out a piece of my soul and then just expected me to carry on like normal.
It wasn’t pretty, Sophia. I got into some bad shit after you’d gone. I was so angry.”
To my shock, tears fill her sky-blue eyes.
Immediately, I shoot my hand across the table, gripping her long, slender fingers in my fist. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She shakes her head and brushes away a stray tear from her cheek. “No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I stopped calling you because I got ill and I didn’t want you to know. I figured you were young and free, and the last thing you needed was some sick, long-distance girlfriend dragging you down.”
Her words shock me, and I sit back in my seat. “Ill? What do you mean you were ill?”
“It’s fine,” she says. “I had some problems with my kidneys and I was in hospital for a while. That’s why I never got back in touch.”
“Jesus, Sophia. You should have told me. I’d have come up to see you.”
She gives me a strange, tight smile. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. I knew you well enough to know you’d drop everything and probably hitchhike up to see me.”
“That’s exactly what I would have done,” I growl, suddenly angry that she’d taken that decision away from me.
“But I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want you to give up your whole life for me.
You had so much going for you, even though you couldn’t see it.
You were young and gorgeous and healthy, and incredibly talented, even though you wouldn’t have admitted it.
I wanted you to go on and live your life, and you have , Rocco.
You did exactly what I thought you would, and you left that little town and went to university and you’ve created a career and a life for yourself. ”
I know my expression has darkened but I can’t help myself. I don’t know if I want to jump over the table and pull her against me and hold her tight and never let go, or if I want to knock the table over and storm out of the room.
“You could have been in it,” I mutter instead. “That should have been my choice. I could have had all those things with you, as well.”
But she shakes her head. “No, you couldn’t have. You’d have felt obligated to be with me through all the tests and the operations, and you’d never have had time for university, or fun, or partying.”
I lift my gaze back to hers. “Is that why you’re not drinking?”
She nods. “Yes. I can have the occasional glass, but much more wouldn’t be good for me.”
I almost don’t want to ask. “But you’re all right now?”
She smiles and glances down at the table, fiddling with her dessert spoon. “Yes, I’m all right. I have to abide by some lifestyle choices to manage things, but I’m okay.”
I reach across the table and take her hand again. I need to touch her.
“Hey, Sophia.” She lifts her eyes to mine. “It’s okay. The past is in the past. We’re both ten years older now. We’re not stupid kids anymore. We can let things go and start again.”
“You want to start again?”
I can’t read the tone in her voice. “The minute I saw you standing in the studio, it was like I’d been transported back ten years. All of the feelings I had for you were always there. They never went anywhere.”
The tears are back in her eyes. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I squeeze her fingers. “We’ve got a second chance. How many people get that?”
Margarite comes to clear the final plates away, then brings us out coffee and homemade mint chocolates.
Then she brings out her husband, Philip, who had done all the cooking, and the small room of people cheers, while he does an elaborate bow and then goes around and shakes everyone’s hands while we compliment the food.
I insist on paying and leaving a substantial tip for the couple, and, as we stand from the table, I reach out and slip my fingers through Sophia’s.
It feels so good to be holding her hand again, and she makes no move to pull away.
The rest of the world vanishes, and, as all of the other diners collect their belongings and file their way out, and as Margarite and Philip clear the tables around us, I can see only Sophia.
I reach up with my other hand and twisted a lock of her red hair around my finger, marvelling at how she’s real and not a figment of my imagination.
And she gazes up at me with those wide, blue eyes, and her perfect lips parted, and I know I have no choice other than to kiss her, right here in the middle of someone else’s front room.
I slip my arm around her waist, pulling her into me, and I duck my head to hers.
Our lips meet, and it’s a tentative kiss at first, soft and gentle, as though we’re both remembering if we know how to do this right.
But then she exhales a sigh, her breath tasting faintly of coffee and chocolate and mint, and that tiny action goes straight to my cock.
I hold her tight, crushing her up against me.
Our mouths open, and our kisses deepen, tongues edging out to touch and then taste and explore.
Her hands creep up my back, her fingers fisting my shirt.
I sense the passion in her, the years we lost having gathered momentum.
Someone clears their throat nearby, and we break apart.
“Time to go, folks,” Margarite chirps.
We’re the last ones left. We grin at each other, a little embarrassed but also stupidly happy.
“Thanks, Margarite,” Sophia says, her cheeks flushed pink.
“You’re welcome.” She gives her a wink. “Always enjoy seeing a couple so in love.”
Sophia’s blush deepens, and she catches my eye and then glances away again. Neither of us correct the older woman or tell her we’ve only just been reunited after ten years apart.
Suddenly, those ten years don’t matter anymore.
We leave the pop-up restaurant, still hand in hand, and stop outside on the street.
“Don’t go home yet,” I tell her. “I don’t want this to end.”
“Do you live far from here?”
I shake my head. “No, fifteen minutes, that’s all.”
A small smile touches her lips. “Much closer than travelling all the way back to my parents’ house.”
I understand exactly what she’s saying, and my heart lifts. “Yes, it is. Come on.”
I hold her hand tightly as we hurry down the street. I hope none of my flatmates will be home and throw up a silent prayer of thanks that I made the effort to tidy up. I’m not a perfect man, I know that, but I will try to be a better one if it means Sophia will be in my life.
By the time we reach my building, we’re both flushed and out of breath. I let her into my flat and listen for any signs that we have company. “Good, sounds like everyone is?—”
She doesn’t even let me finish my sentence.
Her arms wrap around my neck, and her elegant, slender body presses against mine, her mouth claiming mine for her own.
I’m not going to complain. I groan as our tongues meet, and I slide my hands down her body, taking in every curve as though she’s a sculpture I’m trying to memorise.
I go to tug off her top, but she pulls away slightly. “Wait, I have some scarring on my arm, from where I’ve had treatment. They’re not pretty?—”
I tug her back in. “I don’t care about that, Sophia. You’re perfect.”
She shakes her head. “Please, don’t think that. I’m not. I’m so far from perfect, it’s not funny.”
“Stop. You’re perfect to me.”
Tears fill her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I don’t normally cry so much on a date.”
“Well, you can’t cry while I’m kissing you.”
I lean in and place another kiss to her lips.
“No,” she says against my mouth. “I can’t.”
“Or if I kissed you here.” I duck my head and kiss her neck.
She lets out a sigh. “No, not there either.”
Then I reach the bottom of her long-sleeved top and pull it up over her head, revealing her pale skin. A tubular stretchy bandage covers the lower half of her right arm, to hide her scarring, I assume.
“Or here.” I touch my lips to her shoulder while I move my hand up to cup her breast over the top of her bra. Even through the lacy material, I feel her nipple crinkle beneath my touch. I slip the bra strap down and lower my mouth to her breast.
“Or here,” I say, right before I kiss her nipple.
She gasps, her hand reaching for the top of my head, pressing me in.
I take that as encouragement and open my mouth, circling the peak with my tongue and then drawing the tightened bud deeper into my mouth.
Her tits are small, but the nipples large, and the tip elongates to allow me to suckle it to the roof of my mouth.
My cock grows long and hard in my jeans, and I want nothing more than to strip us both of our clothes so I can lose myself inside her.
“Oh, God,” she breathes above me, and I use my hand to massage and pinch her other breast, pulling and tweaking the nipple so it’s as long and hard as the one in my mouth.
I remove my mouth from her tits and kiss her again, and then scoop her up, so her legs hook around my hips and I’m carrying her.
She’s so light, so fragile and delicate, though I see the fierce desire in her eyes, and my knowledge of her from our childhood means I’m aware she isn’t fragile in the slightest.
Leaving the living room, I carry her into the bedroom and kick the door shut behind us.
I put her down, her feet hitting the floor, and then I get to work on her jeans, popping open the button and slipping them from her slender hips.
She toes off her small ballet-style shoes and throws them to one side.
I catch sight of the tattoo I’d done, still wrapped up, and emotions tighten my chest. It feels so right to see something I’ve done permanently marked on her skin.
I can’t express how grateful I am that it was me working instead of Kane.
“Turn around,” I growl. I want to immerse myself in her, to have her fill my every sense, to lose all concept of anything else existing in this world except Sophia Alexander.
I don’t wait for an answer. I twist her around in my arms and bend her slightly so her palms hit the bed. Then I drop to my knees behind her, so my face is in line with her pussy.
“What are you—”she starts, twisting to look over her shoulder at me.
Then her eyes widen as I hook my fingers into the elastic either side of her hips and pull her underwear down her thighs. I edge her feet apart, press my palm against her lower back to bend her over farther still, and then bury my face between her thighs.
I find the seam of her pussy with my tongue and lick her open. She’s smooth, and even though she said there haven’t been many boyfriends since we’ve been apart, she’s clearly taken care of things down here. Has she done it for me? I like to think so.
I push my tongue in deeper, her body going taut beneath my administrations.
The sweet, musky taste of her coats my tongue, and my cock grows harder still.
I think I might lose it if she keeps making those sweet, sexy little moaning sounds.
I grip her bottom with both hands, a cheek in each palm.
I don’t care what she says about her not being perfect, she’s perfect to me, and by the way she’s pushing back on my mouth and the noises she’s making, I figure she’s forgotten all about being self-conscious.