Chapter 33 Sophie
Sophie
My knee slips suddenly, sweat dripping down on the wood coffee table. I shift my hands under me, leaving wet streaks.
How long has it been?
The oven clock ticks. My arms tremble. Have been trembling for—I don’t know. Forever. My muscles scream. My shoulders feel like they’re pulling apart, separating from the sockets, but I just keep breathing.
He said to wait. So I’m waiting. I’m his good girl.
Thoughts slide through my mind like oil: what if something happened? What if he forgot? Or what if this was a test I’ve already failed by staying too long, being too much, too eager, too—
A sob catches in my throat and I swallow it down. No. No, I can do this. I can show him what it means to have someone who doesn’t quit, who doesn’t give up, who will wait as long as he needs her to wait.
My answer to you is always yes.
I mean every word, even as my body rebels, even as my vision tunnels and the edges go soft and gray.
The table tilts beneath me. No, that’s me swaying, my body finally giving up the fight to stay upright. I lock my elbows, or I think I do, but I can’t feel them well enough to know if it worked.
When the door finally crashes open, I try to move but nothing happens. Strong hands find me and a voice, his voice, rough with fear, says my name over and over. When he lifts me, my limbs hang heavy and useless. I want to apologize, to explain, to tell him I tried. I tried so hard.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I can’t see his reaction. I can’t see anything but a blurry haze.
Everything goes soft. Warm water, gentle hands, his voice a low rumble I feel more than hear. He’s washing me, taking care of me. The water stings where my knees have rubbed raw, and my body erupts into an explosion of pins and needles as he massages my limbs.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, or think I say. Maybe the words are only in my head.
He’s quiet, his hands so gentle but his expression so hard. He must be disappointed. I failed the test. Stayed too long, didn’t stay long enough. Did something wrong.
Soft sheets. A pillow. His weight settling beside me, not touching, just there.
The sudden lack of contact makes me feel completely alone again, like when I was on the table.
The tears come silent and hot, sliding down my temples into my hair. He left me alone in bed because I failed and he doesn’t want to touch me now and I’m so sorry, so very sorry—
The mattress shifts. His heavy arm drapes across my waist, pulling me back against solid warmth. His chest against my spine. His breath in my hair.
I’m not alone. I’m safe.
I try to turn, to tell him I’ll do better next time, but my body still won’t listen. My brain is a fog. Sleep pulls at me.
Somewhere in the darkness, I feel him moving then pressure, fullness, the sweet familiar stretch of him sliding inside. Not my ass this time, but my pussy, soft and careful, like he thinks I might break.
I can’t move to meet him, can’t arch my back or do any of the things that usually make him groan, but he doesn’t seem to need me to.
He fucks me slowly, like he’s trying to soothe me. Each thrust feels like a question: Are you here? Are you with me? Are you okay?
And even though I can’t speak, can’t move, my body answers for me, opening to him, taking him deeper.
Yes. Yes. Always yes.
He comes inside me with a shudder and a sound that might be my name. The warmth that floods through me is almost enough to bring me back from wherever I’ve drifted away to.
Almost. The darkness is so soft, and I’m so tired, and he’s still here, still inside me, still wrapped around me like armor. I let myself fall.