12. Chapter Twelve #2
Her laugh is dry. “We both know that wouldn’t have happened. I was supposed to stay the entire night—” She lowers her head and rubs her arm. “But I flaked out with an excuse that you probably didn’t buy.”
Her sheepish admission makes me smile, just before my phone rings.
“I have to take this,” I say, but I linger a bit before leaving, reluctant to let her out of my sight.
“The accident,” Raffaele says when I answer the phone, “it’s still inconclusive, but the cops are saying it might not have been an accident.”
I look over my shoulder as my fingers curl into metal and glass. “You’re saying she was targeted?”
He sighs. “I don’t know. They’re not telling me anything, so it’s still a speculative opinion. I’ll stay here a little longer and tell you what I found.” He holds for a moment. “She’s okay, right? I’d hate to think that someone had it out for her.”
And I know I shouldn’t care—because my intentions weren’t good either—but I can’t help agreeing with Raffaele.
Sophie’s mine. If anyone were to take her off the board, it’d be me.
A couple of hours later, well past midnight, the car pulls up in front of my house. I exit quickly, rounding the other side to help Sophie.
She stops when the door closes and stares at my house with a sigh. “You didn’t have to bring me here. It’s just a couple of injuries.”
And a vendetta from a stranger.
I keep my comments to myself. “The housekeeper has the week off, but there’s a spare room on the first floor that you can sleep in.”
Inside, the house is dim, just the glow from recessed lights along the hallway casting a soft path forward. I leave the front door ajar for her, waiting silently until she finally moves.
Her steps are slower now, with the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t just come from injury but from holding it all in. I’ve seen it before. More times than I’d like.
I lead her down the hall, past the living room and the study, then push open the door to the guest room.
“The bathroom’s through there.” I nod toward the sliding door on the left. “There are clean towels and a robe. Sheets are fresh.”
Sophie lingers in the doorway, and the distance between us feels smaller with every breath I take. I drink her in without meaning to—from her hurried attempt to make her hair look presentable, to the bruise on her collarbone that makes her look small.
Vulnerable.
Which means I should turn and go. She’s safe now. That should be enough.
But then she speaks, quietly. “Will you stay?”
I blink. She’s staring at the floor, not at me. “Just for a minute. I don’t want to be alone.”
The silence almost swallows the words, and it takes everything in me not to respond too quickly, going against the tiny voice in my head that tells me I’m not agreeing out of pity.
Or care, either.
I nod once and step inside. “Okay.”
She exhales and walks over to the bed, but doesn’t sit. Instead, she picks up the blanket and gathers it in her hands. I don’t notice mine is stretched out until I see her looking at it, her eyes wide and searching.
I pull back as I clear my throat. “How long do you want me to stay?”
Her lips part, but no words come out. “Sophie?” I press.
She shakes her head once, jaw clenched. “I’m fine.” The words crack, just barely, but there’s enough in them to see how much she’s holding back and the strain it has.
I don’t call her on the lie. I just take one step closer. Then another.
When she finally sinks onto the edge of the bed, her shoulders tremble the tiniest bit—so slight it might’ve gone unnoticed. I sit beside her, close enough to feel her warmth, but not touching.
And I stay.
“Have you ever come close to dying?” she whispers.
“Yes.” I nod. Many times. It was the sacrifice I made to take over Moretti Group instead of handing it all to my uncle.
Sophie sighs. “Of course. That’s why you’re the way you are.”
My brows are arched when I turn to her, and her eyes are still searching when they look into mine. Caramel whispers against my skin, nudging the walls between logic and emotions. Or trying to unite both, I’m unsure.
“The way I am?” I ask.
She nods again. “Yeah. You’re…” She bites her lip and looks for the right word. “Hard. Rigid. Nothing moves you. Almost nothing,” she corrects. “And if it does, you don’t let it show.”
Is that how she sees me? With the burning ache that forces me to scrutinize every move I’ve made since she walked into my life?
If she could see that my life has turned on its head—and I’ve been forced out of my usual routine since she walked into my office—Sophie would say otherwise.
“Oh well,” she sighs. “I should toughen up. I’m sure you don’t need a lawyer who falls apart easily in your life.”
She turns, but I reach out, without thinking, cupping her chin with some force. Not rough enough to sting her bruise, but enough that she doesn’t look away again.
Her lips part to let out the breath that hitches.
“You underestimate yourself, Sophie Greco.” My voice is low. “I would’ve thought you’d know better, given the impression you were willing to make when you walked into my office that day.”
“I had to get the job,” she whispers.
“And you almost died tonight,” I say.
Her eyes flick to mine, and a small smile curves her mouth. “I almost did, didn’t I?”
I’m unsure what changes between us—whether I’d reached my limit of holding back or seeing the spark return to her eyes—but I lean in, and my lips brush against hers.
There’s no hesitation between us, not like the other night.
It’s instant.
Sophie’s fingers fist in the fabric of my shirt, clinging to me like she’s done pretending she doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want me. My arms wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against me as the tension between us finally, violently, gives way.
I exhale into the kiss like I’ve been holding that breath for weeks, and she whimpers into it—soft and desperate and completely unraveling.
Her mouth parts beneath mine, and I deepen the kiss without thinking, my hand sliding up her spine, cradling the back of her neck. She tastes like need, like adrenaline and warmth and everything I should crave this much, while knowing it’ll wreck me.
She gasps when my other hand digs into her hip, and I feel it—the way her body arches instinctively and her hips thrust forward, asking for more.
She’s fire under my hands and softness in my arms, trembling and reckless as our mouths collide again, hotter this time, hungrier.
The kiss turns messy. Urgent. With my tongue thrusting into her mouth and my hands reaching for the back of her dress.
It falls from her shoulders, and I dip my head to her chest with a deep growl while she clings to me tightly.
My mind frays with every breathless moan that escapes her lips. Every shift of her hips that presses her even closer, spreading the ache through my body until I’m at the mercy of wanting her.
I break the kiss, only long enough to press my forehead against hers, breath coming hard. “Tell me to stop.”
She shakes her head instantly. “Don’t.”
I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to. And with Sophie, the line between wanting and being consumed blurs every time.
The mattress dips beneath us as I lower her onto the bed, her body pliant and waiting, eyes dark with heat. She opens her arms without hesitation, like she’s been aching for this—for me —and I come over her slowly, carefully, savoring every second.
My hands brace the weight of me above her as I press a kiss to her collarbone, then lower, trailing along her skin with open-mouthed kisses that leave her breathless.
She arches beneath me, a soft gasp catching in her throat as her back lifts off the sheets. Her skin is warm and trembling, and I take my time, mapping the curve of her waist, the hollow of her stomach, every fragile inch still tender from the crash.
Her hips tilt as I slip my fingers under the last shred of clothing she has on, pulling it down her thighs gently—the whisper of lace on her soft skin mingling with her breathy whimpers.
Her knees curve and her feet settle on the sheets, thighs parting as I press a kiss on the inside of them. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, grabbing my hair as I trail higher, letting my breath warm over her core.
And then my tongue.
“Dom,” she cries, squirming as I dip my tongue lower, licking firmly. My name on her lips is a plea and a warning, begging me not to stop. Her knees buckle and close around my head as I slip a finger into her wet heat—a threatened groan pouring from my chest when she clenches tight.
My finger curls as my mouth closes around her clit, sucking softly. I feel every muscle in her body tighten, and the intelligible words that spill out as she teeters on the edge of control.
But it’s not just her.
It’s me. It’s the change that happens when Sophie takes over my head… when she blends with my thoughts in a takeover I’m helpless against.
I groan when another finger thrusts in easily, wet and slick from her.
My tongue moves in tight, relentless circles, and I reach up with my free hand, gripping her thigh to keep her exactly where I want her.
She trembles—hips jerking, thighs squeezing as her fingers claw into my shoulder for something to hold on to.
“Dom—oh God—” she gasps as her legs try to close again. She’s falling apart.
Right here, right now, and I want her to know I did this to her. I want her to know who owns her. Because that’s what she does to me.
The need to see her come apart at my hands. At my doing.
I suck harder, curling my fingers just right, stroking against the spot that makes her cry out—and that’s when she breaks.
Her moan shatters as her body locks up and then falls apart, pulsing and convulsing around my fingers while my mouth doesn’t stop, doesn’t ease up, not until she’s begging me to.
“Stop,” she whimpers, pushing at my shoulder with shaky hands. “I—I can’t… Dom, please—”
I lift my head slowly, my lips slick with her release, and look up at her. She’s panting, chest heaving, eyes glazed with the aftershock of her orgasm. Her hair is wild around her face, her lips parted.
“You can,” I murmur against the inside of her thigh. “You will.”
Because I’m not done with her. I’m not even close.
And I know she wants it from the look she gives me when I lift my head. Just like I do.
My hands frame her face, caressing the warmth that turns her cheeks a brighter shade and her slightly swollen lips. Her breath catches… a soft, feminine sound that vibrates against my chest as I deepen the kiss into a slow, languid pace.
“You’re supposed to be angry at me,” she murmurs against my mouth.
“Why?” I ask, my tongue bent on mapping her taste into memory as I kiss the corner of her lips, jaw, and hollow beneath her ear. “Because you lied? Because you’ve been feeding me half-truths and making me question every instinct I have?”
She flinches a little, but I don’t pull away. It’s no longer about the lies or the cautioning voice whispering in my mind.
It’s Sophie, and how soft her skin feels. It’s how much I want to bury my head between her thighs again and make her come for me, while she’s unable to speak.
I move my mouth down her throat, brushing over the rapid pulse there. “I should be angry,” I say into her skin. “You’re right. You did lie to me.”
“Then why aren’t you?” Her voice is a whisper.
My hands tighten enough to make her feel how close I am to breaking my rules. I lift my head so she sees, for once, a glimpse of the truth. “I’ll be damned if I know.”
She tries to speak again, but a finger against her mouth shushes her. “Be quiet. I want to see how long you can stay silent.”
When she moans as my tongue swirls over her nipples and she shudders, a wicked smirk curls my mouth. “Not long, apparently.”
Her back arches off the bed as my teeth graze her skin, and I slide my hands beneath her, dragging them lower until I’m cupping the curve of her ass, lifting her to me. She gasps, her hands falling to the sheets like they’ve forgotten how to hold anything at all.
“I—” she exhales, shaky and breathless.
“Here,” I murmur against her open mouth, kissing her deeply, running my tongue over hers. “Let me help you.”
I rise just enough to shove my pants down, freeing the thick ache I’ve been holding back. My cock presses hot and heavy against her thigh, and she instinctively shifts, her legs parting just enough to welcome me. Her breath hitches at the contact with no barrier, no hesitation.
“Sophie,” I whisper, dragging the head of my cock through the heat between her legs. “Tell me you want this.”
She nods, with dazed eyes. “I do. I want—Dom, I want you.”
I thrust, letting her take me in one breath. She lets it out as I pause and I brace on my elbows, savoring the way her body draws me in, tight and pulsing around me.
Sophie moans deep in her throat as I pull out, her fingers clawing at my back as I sink in.
One mistake, and this could turn into a disaster… but the alarm doesn’t ring like a warning. Instead, it teases. A permanent reminder that she’s mine.
Rolling over with a hand firmly around her waist, I guide Sophie on top of me. Her arms shake as she plants them on my chest, her hair tumbling over her shoulders.
She looks wrecked, but when she moves, pushing her hips in a slow, desperate rhythm, her expression is a heady mix of greed and surrender.
I groan, tightening my grip on her waist as she rolls her hips again, grinding down on me with a breathy moan. Her head falls back, throat exposed, eyes fluttering shut.
The sight is nearly enough to ruin me. Or maybe I’m ruined already.
“Sophie…” Her name leaves my mouth as I clamp my fingers on her arm to slow her down, but she doesn’t listen. It urges her on, leaving me to catch up.
Her movements falter as her fingers drag over my chest, leaving red, scorching marks. The tremble in her thighs gives her away seconds before she comes, falling on my chest with a cry that echoes in my ears.
I sit up and my arms lock around her as I take over the final strokes, holding her flush to me, losing myself in the way she clenches and gasps against my mouth, with just seconds to listen to the small voice saving me at the last moment.
She slumps against me, trembling and breathless, and I hold her, finding an anchor in her softness and the erratic thud of her heart against mine.