4. Chapter Four #3
She exhales heavily as she arches into me, her hips rocking—slow at first, a teasing rhythm that sends a deep ache spiraling through me.
But then she picks up the tempo, grinding against me with purpose, with hunger, and I swear it hits something primal.
My jaw clenches, and my thoughts scatter like dust.
And then her hand slips between us.
She palms me through my pants, her touch bold and maddening, stroking slow, deliberate patterns over the thick length of my arousal. I hiss through my teeth, hips bucking involuntarily into her palm.
Touching her already felt like drowning, being pulled under something too powerful to fight. But this—her hands on me—undoes me completely.
My head dips, forehead pressing to shoulders as I struggle for breath, my fingers digging into her hips. “You’re killing me,” I groan, my voice wrecked and raw. “ Hell , Sophie. What are you?”
Cupping her chin roughly and tilting her head to the side, I press my lips to hers again. The kiss is deeper this time and messier, with the sound of her body slapping against mine and her moans bouncing off the walls.
She turns, facing me with a gleam in her eyes. Her fingers get through my zipper, and with only a tiny barrier between us, each stroke from her fist firmer than the last, I’m certain I won’t last much longer.
I need to feel her—really feel her.
The words that tear from my throat when she pushes the last piece of fabric away, her fist pushing from the tip of my dick to the base, are incoherent and meaningless.
They push through as I cup her face and brush my lips to hers, nipping her bottom lip. My palms cradle her breasts, teasing them while she pushes me to the point where pleasure becomes pain.
I break the kiss just long enough to pull her toward the couch, my grip firm and unrelenting. I drop onto it with a grunt and drag her with me, watching her as she moves—wild hair, swollen lips, skin flushed from the heat building between us.
She climbs onto my lap, and my breath punches out of me in one sharp, guttural exhale the moment she straddles me. Skin to skin, heat to heat.
In the middle of being wrecked, I find one logical thought: it explains everything—her recklessness in confronting me and her ability to go undercover.
My hands settle on her thigh as I look up at her—chest rising and falling, eyes dark and locked on mine, mouth parted like she’s halfway between a gasp and a moan.
And then she sinks down.
Fuck.
She takes me inch by inch, with aching patience as her body adjusts—tight, wet, pulsing around me. My head drops back, jaw clenched, a raw curse dragging from my throat.
She rolls her hips once, testing the rhythm, and I nearly lose it right there.
Her palms brace on my chest, but her eyes never leave mine. It’s not just lust—it’s a challenge. A dare. Watch me ruin you.
“Look at you,” I grin as my gaze darkens. “You think you can take me?”
I’ve claimed control all my life, but for the first time, I’m willing to share. “So fucking tight,” I breathe, barely able to form the words. My hands slide up her back, down again to grip her ass, guiding her as she starts to ride me.
Each slow grind is torture—sweet, devastating torture—and the sounds she makes… hell , they’ll haunt me. Her gasps, her soft cries, the hitch of her breath every time I thrust up into her.
My name spills from her lips, wrecked and desperate, and I catch her face in my hands, kissing her open-mouthed, all teeth and tongue and heat and carelessness.
She slows down after a while, but I’m nowhere close to settling. I punch up hard, tilting my hips and bouncing her on my thighs. Her head bounces back, her hair flying with every thrust.
Tiny cries, dragged until they fade, come from her, and my gut coils so hard I can barely breathe. Or hear. Or think.
“ Dom.” My name comes out like a plea this time. It sounds like surrender, and it pleases me.
“You’re perfect when you try to fight,” I murmur. “But even better when you give in. Just like that,” I urge when I feel her clench around me. “Just like that. Tutta mia.”
We dissolve into incoherence, riding the wave that drags and tosses until both of us are completely spent and breathing heavily.
Tutta mia.
Maybe not in the way I’d have wanted, but there’s no doubt that Sophie Greco is mine.
***
The next morning, I linger by the door, gazing at her sleeping form, half-tucked under the covers. She looks peaceful… with her eyelashes fluttering softly and her chest rising undisturbed.
I shouldn’t have done it.
There’s no excuse to explain away what happened last night, except that I was in over my head. I should’ve left it when she started taking off her clothes, instead of falling for the bait.
Instead of kissing her like I couldn’t breathe without it. My fingers curl and flex against my pants, still carrying the memory of being wrapped around her body, tracing every inch of her skin and slipping between her thighs.
Sophie stirs with a quiet sigh, and I’m reminded of a sound just as soft, but much louder, as she sank her hands through my hair and dragged them across my back.
It was a mistake, yet I can’t bring myself to regret it. Not when she’s lying there, naked and beautiful, looking like a sin I’d commit again.
The flight back is shrouded in silence. One of those heavy, cloying kinds that sinks into your chest and stays there.
When the car pulls up in front of my house, Raffaele is already waiting, leaning against the wall like he owns the place, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“An impromptu trip with the lawyer?” he says as I open the door.
I walk past him without answering. He doesn’t take the hint and falls in step beside me with those long, lazy strides and taps my shoulder.
“You know,” he drawls as we walk through the foyer, “you’re totally allowed to be attracted to someone. It’s not a crime, boss.”
I stood long enough to shoot him a warning look. “What?” he adds, undeterred. “I’ve known you since college, Dom, and I don’t think I can confidently say you’ve dated a woman because you were physically attracted to her.”
He follows me into the kitchen, handing me a glass when I take out a bottle of whiskey from the bar. I shake my head as I accept it and pour myself a couple fingers.
“And you’re drinking before noon,” Raff adds. “That’s two firsts, and it’s been what… less than seventy-two hours since she joined the company?”
I take a sip and set the glass down on a coaster before turning to him. “Do you have a reason for being here? I don’t remember sending you my flight itinerary or telling you I was going on a trip.”
“I asked your secretary. The one who bakes those cookies every Monday.”
A brow arches. He waves his hand. “Never mind. I tend to forget that you’re not well-liked.” My eyes narrow, but I ignore him, taking another sip. “I came by because I needed to run something by you.”
“Actually,” he lifts a finger, “I wanted to run it through Sophie, but since you’ve decided that she’s working from your end, I thought I’d ask you. Where is she?” Raff looks around.
In my bedroom.
Naked.
With her hair spread over the pillow and her throat with faint marks from where my teeth nipped sometime during fucking her… and fucking her some more.
“I’ll listen,” I say.
Raff clicks his tongue in mock reluctance. “Well, I was only being polite when I said I thought of asking you. I didn’t want to call her up after spending a day with you, because I know how exhausting you can be sometimes.”
He shrugs, unapologetic. “Not in a bad way,” he tacks on quickly.
I don’t answer. My mind’s already somewhere else.
Prude.
Frightened.
That’s what she called me.
Seconds before I watched her fall apart, her palms braced against the wall, her breath catching in gasps as her knees buckled under the weight of what I was doing to her.
My jaw clenches, and a muscle ticks near my temple. I feel the sudden and unwelcome rush of heat surging beneath my skin. My fingers curl into fists at my sides, knuckles whitening.
Christ.
Even the memory is enough to hijack my body. I take a slow breath, trying to cool the fire pooling low in my gut. Raffaele doesn’t notice—or maybe he does, but he’s smart enough to keep quiet for once.
“Do whatever you want,” I say gruffly. “She’s an employee at Moretti, not my personal asset.”
I bring the whiskey to my lips for the third time, this time draining half the glass in one long, burning swig—because if I don’t shut him up with words, maybe alcohol will do the trick.
Raff doesn’t say a word, but I feel his gaze tracking me as I walk out of the kitchen.
The moment I’m alone, I exhale hard, dragging my thumb and middle finger down my face. My skin feels too tight, my shoulders coiled like I’ve been bracing for a hit I never saw coming.
Is it that obvious?
That I went in cocky and came out scorched. That I touched her like I knew what I was doing—only to realize, somewhere in between her breathless whimpers and the way she said my name, that she had all the power.
I lean against the hallway wall and stare blankly at the floor.
Mistakes happen. And some mistakes have soft lips and defiant eyes that make you forget who the hell you are.
Whatever last night was—heat, impulse, weakness—it ends there. I let my guard down, and I’m not stupid enough to make that mistake twice.
Not with anyone.
And definitely not with Sophie Greco.