27. Sofia #2
His fingers slide through me, then press against my clit.
I gasp. He watches my face while he circles it, slow at first, then firmer when my hips lift.
He learns too quickly. Every breath I take gives me away.
Every twitch, every small sound, every time my thighs try to close around his hand, he adjusts until I’m gripping the sheets and trying not to beg.
“Damir.”
“I know.”
He lowers his mouth to my breast again while his fingers work between my legs, and the combination is too much. His teeth graze my nipple, not hard, just enough, and my body tightens sharply.
I come on his hand. The orgasm hits hard, forcing a cry out of me before I can stop it. My back arches. My thighs shake. He doesn’t stop until I push at his wrist, overwhelmed, and then he lifts his hand and kisses me with my own taste still on his fingers.
I reach for his trousers. “Take them off.”
His control slips. Finally.
The look on his face changes, and the next few seconds are all movement. His trousers come off. My underwear is gone. He spreads my thighs and settles between them, his cock hard against me, thick and hot, making my breath catch before he’s even inside.
He looks at my face. “Are you sore?”
“A little.”
“Then I should go slow.”
“No.”
“Sofia.”
“I said I don’t want careful.”
His jaw works. I touch his face, and that stops him more effectively than anything else I could have done.
“I want you,” I say again, quieter now. “Not because I’m scared. Not because I’m grateful. Not because I don’t know what else to do. I want you because I want you.”
His expression goes still in a way that is not cold. It’s something else. Something I’m not ready to name yet. Then he kisses me, and this time when he pushes inside me, he does it slowly enough not to hurt me badly and hard enough to make me clutch at his shoulders.
I cry out into his mouth.
He stops halfway. “Pain?”
“No,” I breathe. “Don’t stop.”
He pushes deeper. My body stretches around him, still not used to him, still sensitive from before, but the pressure turns good quickly.
Full. Intense. Almost too much, but I want too much tonight.
I want to be taken apart by someone who came for me.
I want his body over mine and his cock inside me and his hands on my skin until the last three days are not the only thing I can feel.
Damir starts moving.
The first thrust is controlled. The second is less so.
By the third, I dig my nails into his back and meet him, and whatever restraint he was holding breaks in a way that makes heat flood my stomach.
He grips my hip, drives into me harder, and I take it because I want him like this.
Not polished. Not measured. Not the king at the head of the table.
Just Damir, breathing hard above me, losing control because of me.
His mouth moves to my throat, and I freeze.
He feels it immediately, and his whole body locks. I don’t know what he sees on my face, but his expression darkens with understanding and rage.
“Not there,” he says, voice rough.
I swallow. Then I pull his mouth down to mine. “Here.”
He kisses me hard, and when he starts moving again, he keeps his face above mine. No hands near my throat. No mouth there. Nothing that takes me back to the club. He understands without making me explain.
That’s when something inside me shifts. He’s inside me, his hand under my back, his mouth against mine, his body giving me exactly what I asked for while refusing to take what would hurt me, and I feel it so suddenly that it scares me more than the man at the club did.
Love.
Not the soft kind from songs. Not the pretty kind.
This is terrifying. It opens in me like a door I didn’t lock properly, and on the other side is Damir’s face when he saw me in that club, Damir’s hand shaking once in the car before he hid it, Damir saying he was asking instead of ordering, Damir stopping the second my body remembered fear.
I love him.
The thought is so clear I almost make a sound from the shock of it.
He feels the change. His thrusts slow, and his eyes search mine. “What?”
I shake my head.
“Sofia.”
“No talking,” I whisper.
His gaze sharpens, but he lets it go. For now.
He hooks one of my legs higher around his waist and drives deeper, and the new angle makes me gasp so loudly that his control frays again.
The bed hits the wall once, then again. His hand closes around the headboard above me.
I grip his shoulders, my body moving with his, taking every thrust, every rough breath, every low sound he tries to keep back and fails.
I’m close again. He knows.
His hand comes between us, thumb finding my clit, and I almost sob from how quickly it pulls me under.
“That’s it,” he says, voice rough. “Come for me.”
I do. Harder than before.
The orgasm tears through me, making my body clamp around his cock, and Damir curses against my mouth. His hips drive into me once, twice, then he goes rigid, buried deep, his breath breaking as he comes inside me.
For a while, neither of us moves. He lowers himself carefully, not crushing me, but close enough that I feel every heavy breath against my skin. My hands stay on his back. My legs stay around him.
He turns his head and kisses my shoulder. I close my eyes.
“Sofia,” he says after a long moment.
I know that tone. He wants the truth. But not about anything that happened outside this room. Something else. Something he felt when I felt it.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling because looking at him is too dangerous.
“What?” I ask.
He lifts himself enough to see my face. “Something changed.”
My laugh comes out too quiet and too unsteady. “You are very annoying.”
“Yes.”
“And arrogant.”
“Yes.”
“And old.”
His mouth tightens. “Careful.”
“And impossible.”
“Yes.”
I turn my head then. He’s looking at me like he has no interest in any lie I might tell, which is unfair because lying has been my only stable skill for years.
I touch his face before I can stop myself. His expression stills.
The words are right there.
I love you.
I don’t say them. I can’t.
Not yet.
But he sees too much anyway. His hand covers mine against his cheek, and for once, he doesn’t push either. He doesn’t demand. He doesn’t force the name of it out of me just because he knows it’s there.
He only turns his mouth into my palm.
“I’m taking you to the doctor in the morning,” he says.
I stare at him. Then I laugh, actually laugh, because of course that’s what he says after sex that just rearranged something vital inside my chest.
“You are unbelievable.”
“You will go.”
“I might bite the doctor.”
“I will warn him.”
“I might bite you.”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “That would not be new.”
My body responds even though I’m exhausted. I kiss my husband again, and this time I let the truth stay inside me without running from it.
For the first time, loving him does not feel like a surrender.
It feels like the most dangerous decision I have made for myself.