17. Sofia
17
SOFIA
A s Dom moves above me, inside me, I can’t help but marvel at the way he makes me feel. The pleasure is intense, consuming, better than anything I’ve ever experienced before. Even better than I remember it being when we were younger, when I thought our love was the stuff of fairy tales and forever.
I lose myself in the sensations, in the heat of his skin against mine and the way he seems to know just how to touch me, just where to kiss me to drive me wild. It’s like he’s mapped out every inch of my body, like he’s made it his mission to learn all the secret places that make me gasp and moan and shatter apart in his arms.
His thrusts are steady, slow, and easy before becoming faster and harder. My nails dig into his back as he pounds against that perfect spot. I close my eyes, savoring each delicious pump.
Dom grunts as he pushes my legs into my chest, allowing deeper access to me.
I cry out as hard, quick gasps leave my throat with each and every thrust. The pad of his thumb slips between us, down to my clit, massaging it in small, rough circles.
My breathing becomes heavier as I creep closer and closer to a climax. I feel Dom’s pace quicken as he becomes rougher with each powerful stroke.
Low grunts and moans spill from both of our lips, his fingers working magic against my clit as the head of his cock does the same to my G-spot.
I climax with one final thrust, my walls tightening around him. He lets out a deep, delicious groan before finishing inside me, his body shuddering as he orgasms.
I close my eyes, riding that wave of pleasure as I lose myself to the sensations. My breasts heave as I try to steady my breathing.
But Dom seems to have other plans as he pulls me into another kiss. But as he does so, I feel him slip two fingers within me, beginning a slow, steady, rhythmic pumping.
My eyes fly open, not opposed to the idea, but stunned. He wants more ? After all the sex we had last night?
He smirks at me as he leans closer to my ear.
“Oh, I’m just getting started, Sof,” he mutters softly, kissing my ear as he begins to pick up speed.
His lips crash to mine, his tongue delving deep into my mouth as he swirls my clit with his thumb. I buck my hips and whimper, wanting more.
Dom removes his fingers from me, and I nearly mewl in protest, but it all dies away when he sticks his two fingers in his mouth and sucks on them.
Holy fuck .
He attacks me with gusto, his skilled mouth blazing an incendiary path down my breasts, and I let my eyes fall shut in abandon, let myself be consumed by the wildfire of sensations, by Dom’s dizzying touch that liquifies my higher brain function down to a single, rapturous mantra.
More. God, yes —more.
Dom pulls me so the lower half of my body is nearly dangling off the mattress. He flashes me a wicked grin before kneeling in front of me so he’s directly in front of my sex. “You tasted so good, Sof. Can I have another taste?”
“Yes, please ,” I practically cry, unable to take my eyes off him as he smirks, pressing tender kisses from my knee to my thigh before he eventually reaches that little bundle of nerves where I need him most.
I bite my lip to prevent me from crying out, lest I wake the entire household. Dom’s hot tongue drags through my folds to envelope my hypersensitive bud, and I writhe against the mattress, thrusting my hips into his willing mouth, my fingers tangled into his hair.
Dom pins my hips down with one hand as he feasts on me, using his other hand to slip two fingers into me again. My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head as I revel in the sensations. My thighs begin to shake, and I know I’m getting close. Dom seems to know it too because he presses his tongue deeper and rubs my swollen nub.
“Oh, Dom !” I gasp. “I–I’m going to come.”
He doesn’t say a word, only working my oversensitive clit even more. I explode, biting down on my hand as I come, writhing and bucking against him as I come down from my high.
Dom’s lips are shiny as he emerges from between my legs, a triumphant smirk on his face.
Oh, I’m going to eat him alive. This is just so good. He’s become a master at getting me to experience the highest of highs.
And as much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, I know that this newfound prowess, this skill and confidence in his lovemaking, can only come from one thing.
Experience.
The thought hits me like a bucket of ice water, dousing the flames of my desire and leaving me cold and hollow inside. Because I know that the only way Dom could have gained this level of expertise is by practicing on other women.
Women who aren’t me.
Suddenly, the breakfast in bed, the sweet words and tender touches, all of it feels like a lie, a manipulation, a ploy to get me back into his bed and under his spell.
And I hate myself for falling for it, for letting him seduce me so easily with a few well-placed kisses and a spread of my favorite foods. For forgetting, even for a moment, all the ways he’s hurt me in the past, all the times he’s proven that his love is nothing more than a fleeting, fickle thing.
I feel my stomach turn sour, bile rising in my throat as I imagine him doing this with other girls. Waking them up with breakfast in bed, feeding them strawberries and whipped cream, making love to them with the same passionate intensity that he showed me this morning.
I think about all the girls he must have been with in the years we were apart, all the lovers he’s taken to his bed and made scream his name. I think of the way he’s touching me now, the confident slide of his hands over my skin and the practiced rhythm of his fingers in me, his tongue on me, and I know that he must have perfected these moves on someone else.
Someone who isn’t me.
It’s a bitter pill to swallow, a harsh reminder that no matter how much I may want to believe otherwise, Dom will never truly be mine. His heart will always be divided, his affections always split between me and whoever else catches his eye.
As much as it kills me to admit it, I know that I can’t live like that. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering if I’m enough for him, if I’m the one he really wants or just the one he’s settled for.
I can’t let myself fall back into the trap of loving him, of believing in the pretty lies he tells me when I know that they'll only lead to heartbreak in the end.
So I do the only thing I can do. As Dom tries to straddle me, I pull away, shoving him off me and leaving him stunned on the rumpled sheets. I grab my robe, wrapping it tightly around myself like armor, like a shield against the hurt and betrayal that threaten to overwhelm me.
Dom’s brow furrows in confusion and concern. “Sofia? What's wrong? Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head, biting my lip to keep the sobs from escaping. “No, I just… I can't do this. I'm sorry, I thought I could, but… I can’t.”
He runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Talk to me, Sofia. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”
But I can’t. I can’t put into words the pain and insecurity that are eating me alive, the fear that I’ll never be enough for him, that I’ll always be just one in a long line of girls he’s used and discarded.
So I just stand there, silent and shaking, as the tears begin to stream down my face in hot, humiliating rivulets. I hate myself for crying in front of him, for showing him how much he still affects me, how deeply his actions have scarred me.
Dom looks stricken, his eyes wide and panicked as he reaches for me. “Sofia, baby, please don’t cry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for whatever I did to upset you.”
But his words only make me cry harder, my shoulders shaking with the force of my sobs. Because he doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand that it’s not just about this moment.
It’s about everything that’s come before, all the ways he’s shattered my trust and broken my heart. It’s about the fact that no matter how much I want to believe in his love, in his promises of forever…
I can’t. I can’t let myself fall for him again, can’t risk the devastation that I know will come if I allow myself to hope for a future that was never really mine to claim.
And so I cry, letting all the years of pain and anger and betrayal pour out of me in a torrent of tears. I cry for the girl I used to be, the one who believed in fairy tales and happily ever after.
I cry for the woman I am now, the one who knows better than to trust in the illusion of love, in the false promise of a man who will never truly be mine.
And I cry for the future I know I can never have, the life I once dreamed of building with the boy who stole my heart and then tossed it aside like it was nothing.