7. Sophia
SEVEN
Sophia
The sun dips low on the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant oranges and pinks as I stand before the mirror in my new apartment. My reflection stares back at me, a stranger in borrowed clothes. I smooth down the simple blouse and jeans, wondering if I look normal enough.
Whatever that means these days.
A knock at the door sends my heart racing.
Blake.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. Tonight, he’ll see me as more than just an assignment.
I open the door, and there he stands, all six-feet-plus of chiseled perfection. His blue eyes sweep over me, lingering with an unmistakable flicker of appreciation that sends warmth rushing to my cheeks.
“Ready for dinner?” His voice is gruff, his gaze still locked on me as he takes a step closer.
“Absolutely. I’m starving.” I step out into the hallway. As we walk, I intentionally let my arm brush against him, relishing the brief contact. “What are our options?”
Blake clears his throat. “We’ve got the cafeteria, a burger joint, or a pizza place. Your choice. ”
“Pizza? I haven’t had that in… I can’t even remember.” Excitement bubbles up in my voice.
A flicker of something—pity?—crosses Blake’s face before he schools his features back to neutrality. “Pizza it is then.”
The pizza place is cozy, with checkered tablecloths and the mouthwatering aroma of melted cheese and tomato sauce. We settle into a booth, and Blake takes a seat facing the door, his back to the wall. He’s always vigilant—even when on Guardian HQ grounds.
“What do you recommend?” I lean forward, deliberately giving him a view down my blouse.
“The Margherita is good. Classic.” Blake’s eyes flick down for a millisecond before snapping back to my face. He’s interested, but something holds him back.
I need to fix that.
“Kind of boring for my first pizza in years. Can’t we spice it up a bit?” I reach across the table, letting my fingers brush his as I point to an item on the menu. “What about this one?”
“Also good.” He pulls his hand back as if burned.
“Good evening and welcome.” A waiter arrives, a charming smile playing on his lips. “Is there anything I can get for you? Maybe a special recommendation?” His gaze lingers on me, not subtle in the least.
“Just water for now, thank you.” I smile politely, sensing his flirtation.
“Are you sure? We’ve got some amazing cocktails, and I’d love to recommend one just for you.” The waiter leans in slightly, his eyes never leaving mine.
Blake’s eyes narrow, his attention shifting between me and the waiter, growing more intense with each passing moment. As the waiter continues, Blake’s agitation becomes palpable. His jaw tightens, and he leans forward slightly, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Water and a supreme pizza.” Blake’s tone is firm, pushing the waiter off with his words. The waiter’s smile falters as he steps away.
Blake’s eyes stay on me, the flicker of jealousy unmistakable as he takes a deep breath, trying to mask his frustration.
“That was a little rude.” I raise an eyebrow .
“He deserves it for looking at you like that.” Blake’s jaw remains tight, tension evident in his voice.
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” I try to keep my tone light.
“There is when you’re with me.” His voice is low and dangerous, a growl beneath the words. “I don’t want anyone else looking at you like that.” Blake leans forward, his gaze intense, burning with a possessiveness that makes my pulse race.
My heart pounds, but I force myself to hold his gaze. I let a seductive smile curl my lips. Perfect. I’m finally getting to him.
“I’m not yours. At least, not yet. You haven’t claimed me, and until you do, the waiter has every right to look.”
“My job is to keep you safe, not complicate things with—more.” His tone is clipped, irritation seeping through as he struggles to maintain his professionalism.
I let his words hang in the air, the unspoken challenge between us thick with tension. The intensity of his possessiveness, the way he struggles against it, stirs something profound within me. Heat rises in my cheeks, the thrill of his barely restrained desire making my pulse quicken.
“What’s wrong with more?” My voice comes out low, almost challenging.
Blake’s eyes flash, frustration and desire warring within them. “I’m here to protect you, not to sleep with you.” His tone is firm, but the raw edge of longing betrays him.
“I don’t see the problem.” I let my fingers brush lightly against his arm. “Why can’t we have both?”
Blake takes a deep breath, trying to regain control. “We barely know each other, and it wouldn’t be right, considering everything you’ve been through. You’re a victim, and I won’t take advantage of that.”
His words ignite a fire within me.
“A victim ?” Anger flares as I snap. “I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions about who I want to be with. Don’t you dare assume otherwise.”
An awkward silence envelops us, thick and suffocating. The air grows heavy with unspoken tension, each second dragging on like an eternity.
The waiter arrives with our pizza, his cheerful demeanor faltering as he senses the tension. He carefully places the pizza down, his smile wavering.
“Here you go. Enjoy.” He steps back quickly, giving us a wide berth.
The air remains charged, the silence stretching out as we grapple with our thoughts.
Desperate to break the tension, I smile brightly and grab a slice of pizza. The first bite is heaven—gooey cheese, tangy sauce, crisp crust. A moan escapes me before I can stop it.
“Oh my, this is amazing.”
Blake shifts in his seat, his eyes never leaving my face. “Good?”
“Better than good. It’s decadent.” I lick the sauce from my lips, savoring the burst of flavor.
His eyes follow the movement of my tongue, darkening with a smoldering intensity. I suppress a triumphant smile.
Throughout the meal, I brush my foot against his under the table. Each time, he tenses but doesn’t pull away. The brief contact sends little sparks of electricity between us.
The aroma of melted cheese and baked dough fills the air, mingling with the faint tang of tomato sauce. The bustling sounds of the pizzeria—clinking cutlery, soft chatter, the hum of conversation—create a cozy backdrop to our private tension.
“That was incredible. Thank you.” I lean back, patting my stomach.
“Glad you enjoyed it.” A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth, a brief moment of softness that makes my heart flutter.
I take a deep breath, letting the warmth and satisfaction of the meal settle over me. “So, about the tour this morning, I enjoyed seeing where you work. I’d love to see more. Maybe the tech building?”
“I’m sure I can make that happen.”
We walk back to my apartment in comfortable silence. The night air is cool against my skin, and I shiver slightly. Without a word, Blake shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. The gesture, so simple and yet so intimate, makes my heart skip a beat.
I’m not used to a man taking care of me. Not even close. Quite the opposite. I’ve been conditioned to serve, to cater to every whim. My needs were always secondary, barely acknowledged. Is it wrong to wish for a bit of comfort, for once? To spend a night of pleasure with a man I choose?
The thought of Blake caring for me, even in small ways, stirs something deep inside. I’ve always been the one to give, to sacrifice, to endure. The idea of someone tending to me, looking out for me, feels like a forbidden luxury.
Am I allowed to crave that? To yearn for the warmth of his embrace, not out of obligation, but out of genuine desire? The thought of spending a night with him, wrapped in his strong arms, free to explore the connection between us, sends a thrill through me. It’s more than physical attraction; it’s the possibility of choosing, of having a say in my pleasure.
Is it wrong to dream of a moment where I can be vulnerable and safe at the same time?
Blake represents that chance.
At my door, I turn to face him, my heart pounding. “Would you like to come in? Maybe have a drink?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Blake hesitates, his eyes flickering something I can’t quite grasp.
“Just one drink. To say thank you for today.” I step close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. My voice is low and inviting.
Irresistible.
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. For a moment, I think he’ll refuse, but then he exhales slowly.
“One drink.”
Inside, I pour each of us a glass of water—the only beverage I have. We sit on the small couch, and I deliberately position myself close to him, our thighs almost touching. The air between us feels charged, electric.
“Blake…” I turn to face him. My hand finds his knee, and he te nses under my touch. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“It’s my job, Sophia.” His eyes meet mine, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling in their tumultuous depths.
“Is that all it is?” I lean in, my lips mere inches from his. “Is that all I am? A job?”
For a heartbeat, he looks like he might close the distance between us. His gaze drops to my lips, and his breath catches audibly, but then he stands abruptly, putting space between us.
“We can’t do this.” His voice is rough, strained with effort.
“Why not? We both want to.” Hurt and rejection wash over me like a cold wave.
Blake’s hands clench into fists at his sides, his muscles taut with the struggle to rein in his desire. His eyes darken, and his jaw tightens. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to step back, creating a wider gap between us.
“You have no idea how much I want you.” His voice is low and raw, as if every word costs him monumental effort. “But we can’t.”
“I’m not some fragile thing. I know what I want.”
“You’ve been through a traumatic experience. You need time to heal. Not…” He backs away, maintaining the distance between us.
“Don’t tell me what I’m thinking or what I need. You have no idea what I need.” My anger flares, and I step closer, my hands clenched at my sides.
“It’s not about want. It’s about what’s right. You’re under my protection. It would be taking advantage.” Blake puts distance between us.
“Taking advantage?” I laugh bitterly. “I’m not some delicate flower you need to protect.”
Blake’s expression hardens, his jaw clenching. “I know you think you want this, Sophia. But this—us—it can’t happen. Not now. Not like this.”
“Why?” I blink furiously to keep my tears from falling. “So that’s it? You’re just going to push me away? Because you’re protecting me? From who? Myself? Or you?”
He hesitates, the silence between us crackling with tension. “I’m protecting you from me,” he finally admits, his voice a mere whisper.
“What do you mean, from you?”
His gaze darkens, and he takes a deep breath. “I’m not gentle, Sophia. I’m afraid I’ll be too rough with you. You’ve been through so much already; the last thing I want is to hurt you. I’m going to do the sensible thing and walk away.” He moves toward the door, his hand on the knob. “I’m sorry, but this is how it has to be.”
“You have no right to tell me what I want. Or that what I want is wrong. You know what’s funny? You may have rescued me, but I’m still not free to do as I please.” I close the distance and poke a finger at his chest. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel. You don’t get to tell me what I want.”
“You sure about that?” His voice is hard and challenging.
“Damn sure.”
“You sure you’re not using me to feel safe?”
I am using him, but not for that. I don’t have the luxury of feeling safe.
I stagger back, speechless. “Where the hell do you get away saying that?”
“Aren’t you?” Blake’s eyes are cold now. “Isn’t that what you’ve been trained to do? Use your body to get what you want?”
His words hit with the force of a punch, knocking the wind out of me.
“Is that what you think? This is different.”
“How? How is this any different?”
“Because for the first time, this is what I want.” My voice rises, trembling with outrage. Anger and hurt swirl inside me, burning hot. “For the record, I wasn’t trained, I was forced…” Fury rises within me, white-hot and cold as hell. “Repeatedly. I learned how to survive and endure what was done to me.”
It was only after that—once I was broken—that I was trained in the art of seduction, but there’s no reason to mention any of that to Blake.
I stare at him, daring him to say anything.
Blake’s eyes widen as the gravity of his mistake sinks in. His face pales, the coldness in his expression giving way to horror. He steps back, his mouth opening to speak, but no words come out.
Anger drains from his eyes, replaced by guilt and remorse. He reaches out a hand, trembling slightly, and his voice breaks as he finally speaks.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…” His voice trails off, and he stands there, helpless, realizing the full weight of his mistake.
“Get out.” I shove him, fury bubbling up. “You don’t get to tell me what I’m thinking or how I feel. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sophia, please—” He stumbles back, his face a mask of regret.
“No, don’t ‘Sophia’ me. You think I don’t know what I want? You think I don’t know how to make my own decisions? I know exactly what I’m doing. But you… You see me as some broken thing that can’t even think for herself.”
Blake’s shoulders sag, the weight of my words hitting him hard. “I don’t see you that way. I just… I can’t stay because?—”
“Because you’d be too rough. You said that already, but you never asked what I like. You could never be too rough with me, but I guess you’ll never know.” I point to the door. “I’ll find someone else.”
Blake’s expression hardens instantly, his remorse giving way to a flash of anger. His jaw tightens, and his eyes darken with a possessiveness I’ve never seen before.
“There will be no one else.”
“I think that’s up to me.”
“No other man is going to touch you, Sophia,” he growls, his words sharp and final. “No one. And that includes me.” His voice is rough, laced with frustration, as if it pains him to say it. “I won’t touch you because I refuse to exploit your vulnerability.
His anger flares again, but beneath it is a fierce protectiveness, a determination to keep me safe—even from himself.
“Exploit?” My anger flares. “It’s not about that—you just don’t want to be with someone who’s been used. As if I’m filthy, unworthy of your affection because of what was done to me. Is that what you see when you look at me? Something dirty and damaged? ”
My voice trembles with the weight of my words, the accusation cutting deep. By holding back, he’s hurting me in the worst possible way, telling me I can’t think for myself—or worse, that he sees me as something broken beyond repair.
“No. Not at all.” He holds out a hand, pleading, but I’m too far gone.
“Get out.” Tears sting my eyes.
“Sophia, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Blake’s expression softens, regret flashing across his face.
Too fucking late for that.
“Get. Out.” My voice is steel now.
When he doesn’t move, I shove him toward the door. Blake’s nearly twice my size, but he doesn’t resist. He backs up toward the door.
Opens it.
I shove one last time.
He nods once, then turns and leaves without another word. The moment the door closes behind him, I collapse onto the couch, sobs wracking my body.
I’m left alone with my frustration and hurt. How dare he assume he knows what’s best for me? But beneath the anger, a small voice whispers a painful truth: maybe he’s right.
But then my anger returns—white hot and inescapable.
How dare he?
How dare he assume he knows anything about me, about what I want?
I curl into myself, confusion and hurt swirling inside me.
If not Blake, I’ll be forced to move on to another.