Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
SOFIYA
Even as he pushes open the bathroom door, I know this is insane.
My friends know I went to talk to the sexy stranger—I told them that was my plan. I’m sure they think we’re making out in some dark corner, but they have no idea I am in this out-of-the-way bathroom, about to have sex with a man I don’t know. A man with rough edges and a dark intensity that should feel scary but doesn’t. Instead of panic, I feel a heady rush as the lock clicks into place.
Just for tonight, I want to lose myself in the arms of this stranger who sets my blood on fire. I craved freedom, and now I have it for a short while. This is as free as it gets. Maybe Daria and Alex are right—last names are overrated.
The bathroom is private. Fancy-looking, with marble countertops and a sleek gold backsplash. The low lighting casts enough of a glow for me to meet his eyes in the mirror above the sink. His stare is intense, but that’s his entire vibe.
My heart pounds, anticipation curling tight inside me as he spins me around so I am facing him and my ass is pressed against the counter. His hands glide down my body, skimming the curves of my breasts, pausing as they reach the hem of my dress.
“You sure you know what you’re getting into?” he growls against my neck.
“I’m sure,” I insist. He’s giving me an out, a chance to run, but I won’t.
There’s something about the way he moves, smooth and predatory. Like a man who always gets what he wants. That kind of swagger reminds me of Roman, of the Syndicate men, but he’s not from that world, as far as I can tell. No tattoos, just a sharp jawline, and that calm, lethal confidence.
“I won’t ask again,” he says, threading his fingers through my hair and pulling my head back. I’ve never been handled like this, and I fucking love it. When he grabbed my neck earlier, not knowing it was me, it was shocking—but it awakened something inside me.
Our lips hover inches apart, but he doesn’t close the distance. Instead, he lets his breath brush against my mouth and meets my gaze like he’s savoring every moment of our exchange.
“Fuck,” he growls before claiming my lips. His kiss starts soft but quickly turns hungry. Possessive. Almost angry.
His tongue teases mine, tasting me with a confidence that makes my head spin. It feels like he’s claiming my mouth, and I grab the back of his head, pulling him closer. He makes a rough sound, his hand on my ass tugging me close, every inch of my body flush against him.
He tastes smoky, with a hint of heat, and I let myself drown in it. I don’t know him, and I never will, but right now, I’m counting on him to fulfill every unspoken promise between us.
His palms glide down my thighs, fingers digging into my flesh as he lifts me onto the sink’s edge. His hard length presses against me as he hikes my dress around my hips. A whimper escapes my lips when he slips my panties aside and traces a knuckle over my soaked entrance.
“Oh, baby, you’re so fucking wet. Is this all for me?”
His lips move down my neck, and I arch into him, my core pulsing with need. “Yes,” I breathe, unable to deny how badly I need him.
“Do you want me to fuck you?”
“Obviously,” I choke out. What’s with all the talking?
“Then say it,” he demands.
This is so far outside my comfort zone, and even after the shot, I’m far from drunk. Barely tipsy. But damn it, I’ve never felt this drawn to someone. Never felt tempted to do something this wild, and I’m not backing down.
His gaze searches mine, unflinching as wetness pools with each slow stroke of his knuckles between my legs.
“Yes, I want you to fuck me… please.”
He groans. “Hold that thought. There’s something I need to do first.”
Before I have a chance to question what the hell he means, he releases my legs. I expect him to reach for a condom, but instead, he takes off his glasses and sinks to his knees, looking up at me with hooded eyes.
Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for my panties, peeling them down in one fluid motion before tossing them aside and hooking my leg over his shoulder. His tongue drags along my slit, and pleasure slams into me, stealing my breath.
Oh. My. God.
I shudder as his tongue sweeps through my folds again, then settles on my clit, swirling it in hot, deliberate circles. The part of his face I can see is consumed with desire, his stare locked onto mine with a need that sets my skin ablaze.
He slides a finger inside me, then a second, curling them perfectly in time with the flick of his tongue on my clit. The orgasm builds fast, tightening low in my belly. My mouth falls open, my breaths ragged as my head falls back, legs trembling under the onslaught.
Only one man, the rigger I dated, ever went down on me, and it was nothing like this. This is pure heat and electric need.
“Soak me,” he growls. “Come all over my face like a good girl. I want every drop.”
That’s all it takes for me to come undone. A cry slips from my lips as my entire body shakes with release. He doesn’t stop, coaxing each tremor out of me until I’m completely spent, my fingers still tangled in his hair.
He barely gives me time to float back to earth before he rises, unbuckles his jeans, and pushes them, along with his briefs, to the floor. Then he tears open a condom and rolls it over his impressive length.
Oh, Jesus. How the hell is that going to fit? But he doesn’t give me a second to dwell on that question before his hand grips my thigh, and he positions his dick at my soaked entrance.
With one firm thrust, he pushes all the way in, filling me completely.
This should be way more uncomfortable, considering how rarely I have sex, but it’s not. It feels perfect—especially after that earth-shattering orgasm minutes ago.
He holds still, his breaths coming in quick, shallow pants, watching my expressions to see when I’ve adjusted to his size. I’m so wet and relaxed, the stretch is more pleasure than pain.
“I can take you,” I whisper, breathless.
That’s all the encouragement he needs. He buries his face in my neck and rocks into me with a hard, steady rhythm.
I tilt my hips to meet each of his thrusts. He lets out a low growl, pushing deeper, his mouth capturing mine. He teases me, his tongue mimicking the movements of his cock. When his hand dips down, finding my clit and stroking it with expert precision, my eyes fall shut, and I give in to the sensation.
The club noise falls away, my focus narrowing on how good this feels. Each stroke is deeper than the last, and his fingers continue to work my clit in circles.
“That’s right. Are you going to give me what I want?”
All I can do is nod. My legs tremble as the tension builds, pushing me to the edge. I gasp and throw my head back, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
“Come for me—I want to feel you milk me dry.” His voice is rough. He pinches my clit, his cock driving deep, again and again, until I shatter. He doesn’t stop until I feel like I’m going to melt.
Then he grabs my hips and drives inside, holding himself deep—so deep I feel like I might split apart. His groans fill the space, the tremors of his release coursing through me.
I’ve never felt anything that intense before, and it leaves me shaken, like I’ve crossed into a whole new world. But slowly, reality settles back in.
He lowers my shaking legs, his fingers brushing up my thighs, leaving a warm trail before he pulls away. His large hand lifts to cup my face, and he studies me as if he’s committing every detail to memory. This close, I spot a faint scar near his temple I hadn’t noticed before and a dimple in his chin.
With a quiet sigh, he pulls out, ties up the condom, and tosses it away before fastening his pants. I pick up my discarded panties and slide them back on, smoothing out my dress. I run my fingers through my hair in the mirror, noticing the light sheen of sweat that makes my skin glow.
He steps up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. For a moment, I think of asking his name, just out of curiosity, but I resist to prove to myself that I can.
“Thanks. That was exactly what I needed.” I smile, but he doesn’t respond, his expression unreadable. “My friends are waiting for me downstairs, so…” I turn my head to look directly at him, a clear signal that this is goodbye.
He clears his throat, his lips pressed into a firm line. “I have something to tell you, and you’re not going to like it.”
My stomach drops. Is he going to tell me he’s married? Daria warned me about this before. Men who confess they’re cheaters only after the deed is done. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—I checked—but I know that doesn’t always mean anything.
I’m well aware not all marriages are built on love, but being with a married man feels gross. No matter how casual, I don’t want to be part of something that could hurt someone else, especially another woman.
“You’re married,” I say, my voice laced with disgust.
“I am,” he confirms, but he doesn’t seem all that torn up about it. Does he really think confessing will absolve him? Sorry, but it won’t.
“Congratulations. You’re a terrible husband.” This was supposed to be a fun, wild night, something I’d remember forever, and he ruined it.
He regards me with cool detachment, unaffected by my accusation. Running a hand along his stubbled jaw, he smirks. “I don’t think she’s under any illusion that I’m a good man. Tonight won’t change that.”
I break away from him, bending to grab my clutch from the floor so I can get the fuck out of there. “I’d say it was nice meeting you, but it wasn’t.” I straighten and turn toward the door. “I hope you have a nice li?—”
The words catch in my throat. He’s standing in front of me, blocking the exit with his large frame.
A chill runs down my spine, and my hands grow clammy. This is bad. If I bang on this door, yell, and scream, will anyone hear me over the thumping bass of the club?
“Do you recognize me yet?” His voice is quiet but loaded, sending my pulse skittering.
Recognize him? Something pulls at the edges of my memory, just out of reach.
I step forward cautiously. My breath catches as I stare into his eyes—blue, piercing, unforgettable. My gaze drops lower, scanning his mouth and jawline, trying to figure out what it is that’s so familiar about him. Then I see it—the faint outline of ink on his neck.
I lick my thumb and swipe it over his skin. He doesn’t stop me as I rub, the makeup smearing away to reveal a tattoo. Bold ink emerges—a star encircled by thorny vines, a mark impossible to forget.
Everything in me goes cold as I uncover more of the tattoos he’s kept hidden. Piece by piece, the puzzle clicks together. The thick, dark hair, neatly styled now, once shaved to the scalp. He no longer has an eyebrow ring or the same raw edge, but the man underneath is unmistakable. My knees nearly give out.
He tilts his head, daring me to say his name out loud. “Do you recognize me now, wife?”