18. Alex
CHAPTER 18
Alex
S ophie was as light as a feather, her weight almost nothing in my arms. Even with her thighs pressed tightly against my hips and her hands around my neck, I didn’t feel anything other than the deep-rooted need to be with her.
I flicked on the light switch and walked into her bedroom, not setting her down yet.
Sophie’s fingers moved up and knotted in my hair while our lips locked, our tongues slipping in and out and meeting in the middle.
I broke the kiss and moved my lips to them, pressing them softly against her cheeks.
I didn’t loosen my grip or move toward the bed. I only let the kiss go on, embraced the way Sophie slid her hands down my neck, encircling me in her arms. This moment was everything. My heart was racing, the sound of it echoing in my ears. I wondered if Sophie could hear it, if she could hear just how crazy she made me. If she knew just how much of an effect she had on me.
“If you don’t put me on that bed right now, Alex,” she said softly, kissing my jaw, “and take off all my clothes,”—she moved her lips up to my cheekbone and then back down to my mouth—, “then I’m going to scream.”
“We don’t want that.” I chuckled, pulling Sophie tighter to me. Then I stepped toward the bed and relaxed my grip, waiting until her feet touched the floor before I let go completely.
I smoothed my hands up her arms to her neck and cupped her chin in my right hand, angling her mouth up to mine. She twisted her hands into my shirt, her breath raspy against my mouth, caught the hem, and lifted it over my head.
Everything was happening in a haze of slowness, as if the world had stopped spinning on its axis, and time itself had decided to stretch the moment.
I lay Sophie down on the bed, my right hand tucked behind her neck and the other reaching for that yellow T-shirt. I slid it up, letting it bunch just below her ribs. Her stomach, now five months pregnant, was beautiful. I ran my palm over it, tenderly, lovingly, and then I peeled the top over her head. The bra went next. Her breasts, a little larger than the first time we had slept together, were stunning, her nipples peaked.
My hand rolled across her left breast, catching onto the nipple, and I rubbed it between my forefinger and thumb. Sophie groaned, tilting her head back into the pillows, arching her back, and pushing her hips forward.
“They look different, don’t they?” she said, holding my gaze.
“They do,” I replied, smiling.
“In a good way?”
“The best way,” I said, and pressed my mouth to hers again, kissing her hard, hoping she understood that I loved this new body of hers as much as I had loved the old one.
To show her, I ran my hands down her stomach, brushing so lightly against her warm skin that I could just feel the goose bumps breaking out on the surface. My hand slipped beneath her sweatpants, landing on her cotton panties. She moaned before I had even touched her, and when I did, when I slipped my fingers beneath the cotton and touched the silky wetness of her core, we both moaned.
“Why do you always do this,” she said, eyes closed. “Tease me like this.”
“What do you mean?” I mused, running circles around her core, heavy circles. Her body tensed up, her hands reaching for my wrists, either desperate to restrain me or guide me.
“Oh fuck, Alex,” she moaned, her body falling apart beneath my touch.
But it wasn’t just Sophie struggling to hold it together, it was me too. I couldn’t take it anymore. The ache in my groin was growing by the second.
I was up in a flash, sliding my thumbs into the waistband of Sophie's sweatpants, and pulling them down swiftly. I did the same with her panties.
She was beautiful. The way she opened up herself, legs splayed apart, reminded me of a rose blooming in spring, the petals unfurling, showing me all of herself.
“If mine goes, yours have to as well,” she whispered, looking not at my face or my bare chest, but at my hips.
"As you please," I said, but didn't do it right away. Instead, I bent down, pressed my lips to the center of her, savoring the way her body tensed up yet again, and licked my tongue along the length of her.
When she was begging for her life, I stepped back and slipped out of my jeans and briefs, which I kicked to the small pile of clothes on the floor before I moved over Sophie again. First I swept my mouth up the inside of her right thigh, then her left, then I pressed my lips to her stomach, worked my tongue up to her sternum, and settled between her breasts.
“You know you’ve set unbelievably high expectations for yourself,” she whispered just as my mouth met hers. “I don’t think I’ve been with a man that can hold himself out for this long, that makes me feel so . . . ” she cut herself off and didn’t pick up again, instead moaning when I swiped my tongue over her left nipple.
“Can I put that in my resume?” I joked.
Sophie laughed, and I loved the way she laughed into my mouth, how her shaking body wracked mine too. It was like a piece of heaven I’d managed to find here on earth. Just me and Sophie in her creaky queen-sized bed.
When the laughter died down, Sophie’s hands weaved through my hair and pulled me flush against her. Her hands skidded down my back, then to the sides of my stomach, and reached for my hips. Sophie tried to tug me up over her and I let her, even though I wasn’t ready yet to give her what she wanted. I knew that if I did, the moment would be over, and I wanted to prolong it for minutes, hours, to trace every curve of her body, kiss every inch of her skin. I wanted to get to know Sophie, her body, every freckle and mole, every perfect imperfection.
But the slowness was coming to an end and fiery desperation was replacing it.
I was incredibly hard.
A moment later, I moved my lips down to her neck and pushed myself into her, feeling the vibration of the moan escaping her throat. She was tight at first, but then her body relaxed, embracing all of me, and I thrust deeper.
My right hand found her left, pinning it to the bed as Sophie’s legs twined around my hips. “Faster,” she breathed. “Harder.”
I let go of her hand, gripped her waist instead, and flipped us both over.
Sophie was on top of me, her hips straddling mine, her lower back arched, head lolled back as if she was staring at the ceiling.
I held her hips, moved my palms up the sides of her stomach, and reached her breasts, squeezing them tenderly.
We went on like this until our breaths turned raspy as a shuddering pressure shot through us. When her shudders subsided, Sophie doubled forward, her hands flat on my stomach, her fingers splayed. She laughed, her shoulders shaking.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, still catching my breath, embracing the fuzzy post-sex haze that seemed to get me every time.
“I always thought it would be weird to have sex when pregnant. But it’s actually not.”
She rolled off me and lay beside me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it,” I said, turning onto my side. I traced a finger along her stomach. “And I’m glad you don’t find it weird.”
“Me too.”
For a long while, we were silent, listening to an owl hoot outside the window, to the faint hum of cars in the distance, and the bark of a dog.
There was something I had to confess, something I’d been meaning to tell Sophie but hadn’t gotten around to it. “I’ve rented a place in St. Helena.”
Sophie drew her gaze to mine, her eyes heavy with sleep. She pulled the sheet over us and tucked it up beneath her chin. “Really?”
I nodded. “Santa Rosa is only forty minutes away. I used to commute every day when I still lived here in St. Helena, so I thought, why not now?”
“When are you moving?”
“At the end of the week.”
Sophie yawned and caught it just a second too late. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
“I’ve never been more certain.”
She then smiled and closed her eyes. A moment later, her soft breaths fell into a gentle rhythm. I watched her for a few seconds and then let my own eyes drift shut.
“Where do you want these?” Sophie asked, lifting up a handful of orthopedic books.
“My bookcase is arriving tomorrow, so for now . . . ” I glanced about the living room of my new house, a three-bedroom Mediterranean Revival with stucco exteriors and a red-tiled roof.
Inside there were arched doorways, exposed rafters, and big casement windows. It wasn’t exactly the modern apartment I had back in Santa Rosa, but it was cozy, and I wasn’t opposed to calling it my home for the next while.
“Just put them right over there,” I said, pointing to an empty side table. Sophie hauled the books across the room and dropped them down on the table, clapping her hands together.
She was a beautiful messy vision with paint-smeared dungarees, a top that just covered her growing stomach, and her hair in a floppy bun. Everything about today—the way we had eaten takeout grilled-cheese sandwiches and sipped juice while sitting amongst half-packed boxes—felt like we were in a movie, one of those rom-com with all the mishaps. Not that we were going to fall madly in love and wrap up this story with a happy ending.
Life wasn’t that simple.
“Did you purposefully choose a house two blocks from mine or was it a coincidence?”
Sophie wiped a strand of hair out of her face and rested her hands on her hips, latching her gaze onto mine. She was smiling; she had been ever since she’d parked her car outside and walked into my house.
I laughed, setting another box I had just carried in from Sam’s truck on the dining table. “You know, if you would just say yes to me moving in with you, I wouldn’t have had to find a house so close to yours.”
Sophie pulled a face, intent on ignoring what I had said, set her sights on a box marked kitchen supplies and squatted down in front of it. Instead of picking it up—I had instructed her not to do any heavy lifting—, she reached for a pair of box cutters and opened it.
“I’m just saying,” I continued when Sophie said nothing. “It makes logical sense. When the babies are born, I’ll be spending a ton of time at your place.”
“I’ve only got two bedrooms,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder, her hands digging through the bubble wrap I’d unceremoniously stuffed into the open spaces in the box. The last time I moved, I had lost a whole dinner set, and didn’t want to make the same mistake again.
“So?” I said.
“Where will you sleep when the babies are born?” she asked, frowning slightly. “On the couch?”
“Next to you, in your bed,” I said, my face deadpan, but then Sophie fell back onto her butt and glanced up at me like I had suddenly spoken French. I couldn’t help the laugh that fell from my lips. “Why is that surprising?”
“Because we’re not together, Alex,” she said, standing up and dusting off the back of her dungarees. “That’s why.”
For the last five months, we’d spent a lot of time together, all while blatantly ignoring the elephant in the room. I had feelings for her; there was no denying them.
But at the moment, with everything going on with Vicki, with Sophie’s clear hesitation, I wasn’t going to voice them out loud. Besides, I didn’t know where exactly I stood with Sophie. One minute she looked like she could go down on one knee, and the next she looked like she wanted to jump into a getaway car and ride off, alone, into the sunset.
Still, I tested the waters. “We could be.”
She shot a glare in my direction and shook her head. “Stop playing around, Alex.” A strand of hair fell into her face. “We’ve got boxes to unpack.”
“Alright,” I relented, though not entirely.
I walked over to Sophie, squatted down until we were on the same level, and tucked the rogue strand of hair behind her ear, letting my hand linger on her cheek.
“But logically, it would make sense if we just moved in together,” I said, holding her gaze for a moment, taking in those four flecks of brown in her right iris.
Sophie seemed to be holding her breath. It became apparent when I stroked my finger along the curve of her jaw, and paused at her chin, feeling a slight tremor under her skin. She didn’t say anything, only kept her eyes locked with mine.
“We could even get a bigger house,” I continued. “One with four bedrooms if you really prefer having your own.”
Still, she said nothing.
After a few seconds, I let my hand fall away and stood up. Just as I turned to head to the open-plan kitchen, I heard a sigh slip from Sophie’s lips.
“I’m just going to get the last two boxes,” I said, pointing at the hallway, biting back a smile as a flush of red crept along her cheeks.
She lowered her head, avoiding my gaze, and rushed over to the far side of the room to straighten the curtains. I let her be and headed out to the driveway.
Just like Sophie’s house, there was a large tree shading the front garden, except it wasn’t a sycamore. I had no idea what kind it was—my knowledge of trees was limited. Grabbing another box of kitchen supplies from the back of the truck, I headed back inside.
“My brother wants to meet you by the way,” said Sophie when I walked back in. She was ambling across the living room, carrying two cushions for the couch.
“Danny?” I asked while I packed out the coffee machine and all its extras. “I’d love to meet him. When?”
“Tomorrow night. At my place,” Sophie said, heading into the hallway and coming back with another three cushions I didn’t even remember packing. She kept her eyes down as she walked.
I might have been imagining things, but it seemed to me that Sophie was still trying to avoid my gaze, as if I had some sort of hypnotizing power over her. One look and she’d be under my spell. If only it could be so easy.
“I’ve got work till six,” I said, “but I can be there after. What can I bring?”
“Just yourself,” she said, glancing down at the rug and then bending down to straighten it.
“I’ve got everything we need. Wine for you. Juice for me. And all the ingredients for chili.”
“Wait,” I said, walking back into the living room and sidestepping a box labeled Study , only to trip over a set of hangers. At least I managed to stay upright, and at least Sophie was finally looking in my direction again, even if she was biting back a laugh. “Chili is literally my favorite.”
It was true. When I was younger and my mom had to work late shifts, she had always made a big pot of chili the night before. It had been our thing.
Sophie laughed, finally locking her eyes with mine. “I know. That’s why I’m making it.” “How did you know?” I asked, perplexed, not remembering ever mentioning it to Sophie.
“You talk in your sleep,” she said, then burst into a fit of laughter.