You win !
Chapter 59
Sophia
"Clara, I'm back!" I call out, closing the front door behind me.
To my absolute surprise, a mouth-watering aroma immediately fills the hallway. A second later, my aunt steps out of the kitchen, a bright, welcoming smile stretching across her face.
"Are you cooking?" I ask, stepping inside. "It smells del..."
I stop dead in my tracks. The words die in my throat."What the..."
"We have a visitor," Clara beams, casually leaning against the counter.
This must be a joke. Where are the hidden cameras?
Standing right behind the stove, wearing a wide, dark grin on his annoyingly handsome face, is Lorenzo.
He has a wooden cooking spoon in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other.
He looks entirely too comfortable, completely unbothered by the fact that he was driving like a madman to find me just an hour ago.
"What the hell is this supposed to mean?" I hiss under my breath. I grab his forearm, dragging him a foot to the side so my aunt won't overhear. His muscles are tense under his shirt, radiating a stubborn heat.
"Relax, Sophia," Lorenzo says. He deliberately raises his voice so it carries across the room. "Your aunt invited me for tea, remember? And then I simply offered to cook dinner."
"A man who knows how to cook, honestly, what more could a woman want?" my aunt swoons. It's glaringly obvious she's already had one glass of red wine too many.
"Mhh, a literal dream man," I squeeze out through tightly clenched teeth. I shoot him a lethal glare, spinning on my heel to storm out of the kitchen and retreat into my bedroom.
The moment the door clicks shut, I lean my head against the wood, letting out a frustrated groan. I throw a few sharp, angry punches at the empty air, trying desperately to force the panic out of my chest.
Inhale, Sophia. Deep breath. This is your house. Your four walls.
"He is unbelievable. Absolutely incredible," I mutter, shaking my head at the absolute audacity of him. I am completely speechless.
"Sophia! Dinner is ready!" my aunt screams from the kitchen.
I cross my arms and sit hard on the edge of my bed. I refuse to go out there. I am not playing along with whatever twisted game he is trying to pull. No way. Not with me.
"It's your favorite pasta!" Clara calls out again.
As if on cue to betray me, my stomach lets out a loud, pathetic rumble. The scent drifting under my bedroom door is unacceptably, unapologetically good. Defeated by my own hunger, I drag myself out of bed.
Ten minutes later, I am sitting at the dining table, glaring at Lorenzo from across the surface. I watch him play the role of the charming, perfectly polite gentleman, wrapping my aunt around his finger with zero effort.
"How many girlfriends have you already cooked this for?" I snap, refusing to touch my fork.
My aunt shoots me a sharp, warning look, but Lorenzo just looks intensely amused by my hostility.
"None," he says smoothly, taking a deliberate bite of his food. "Usually, our private chef does all the cooking. There's no point in doing it yourself."
"Then why do you suddenly have the urge to cook "
"Sophia, that's enough," my aunt warns, rolling her eyes at my attitude.
Forced into submission by the delicious scent, I finally cave and take a bite.
Wow.
This is, without a doubt, the best pasta I have ever tasted in my life.
"Do you like it?" Lorenzo asks. His dark eyes gleam, fixed entirely on my expression as if he can read my exact thoughts.
"It's okay," I lie coldly, continuing to eat.
To my absolute misery, Lorenzo and my aunt get along famously. They exchange light jokes and talk about random things, while I sit there with my arms crossed, staring at him, counting down the seconds he chokes on a noodle and falls off his chair.
But just as I think I might survive the night, he abruptly shifts the focus back to me.
"How was your date, by the way?" he asks. His tone turns deadpan, laced with a dark, dangerous undertone.
I instantly choke on my water instead , coughing frantically.
"A date?" my aunt asks, completely surprised.
I want to punch him right in his annoying jaw. "It wasn't a date," I wheeze out, wiping my mouth. "Maria was there, too."
"Is that why you didn't check my messages?" he presses further, his gaze drilling into mine. The teasing charm is completely gone from his eyes.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. I slide out of my chair, turning to my aunt. "Clara... excuse us for just a brief moment."
Without waiting for her permission, I march straight into my bedroom. Lorenzo follows a few seconds later.
"Are you completely out of your mind?!" I hiss the moment the door slams shut behind him. "How dare you just break into my house like this?"
"Your aunt let me in," he points out calmly. His eyes slowly wander across my bedroom, taking in the unmade bed, the books on my desk, the very essence of my space, before landing back on me.
The playful arrogance vanishes from his features, replaced by a sudden, intense seriousness. He steps forward, closing the distance between us until the heat radiating from him completely crowds my senses.
"Besides, I wouldn't have had to come here if you had just read my stupid messages," he says, his jaw tight. "I meant what I wrote, Sophia."
"No, you didn't."
"Do you honestly think I would go through all the trouble of cooking dinner if I didn't?" he asks, his deep voice thick with an emotion I've never heard from him before.
"Then way is it that you want from me ?"
Something shifts in his expression, a raw, terrifying vulnerability breaking through his icy mask.
When he steps a little bit closer. "I don't know why, but... "
He stops, searching for the exact words I have been secretly, desperately yearning to hear.
"I didn't want to come here," Lorenzo rasps, a raw, bitter edge to his voice.
He pauses, looking down at me like I'm a puzzle he can't solve, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle tenses in his cheek.
"But I couldn't sit in that warehouse for another second. You're the only person who doesn't fake it around me. You hate me honestly, Sophia, and somehow... that's the best thing I've ever had. I'm done fighting it. You win. I'm completely hooked on you."
My heart skips a violent beat against my ribs, trapping the breath in my throat.
"Really?" I whisper. I keep my distance, pressing my back against the bedroom door, still terrified to believe him. Terrified to let my guard down.
"Do you think I'd be standing in your kitchen cooking dinner if I wasn't?"
He steps in, completely closing the remaining distance until he is towering over me, crowding my vision and cutting off my air. He digs two fingers under my chin, his grip firm but careful, tilting my face up so I am forced to look into the stormy, chaotic depths of his eyes.
"You're my fuckig downfall , Sophia," he whispers fiercely, his voice shaking with a dangerous mixture of anger and desperation.
"I don't give up control. Not for anyone. And I fucking hate it. I hate how much you hate me, and I hate even more that I can't stop seeing your damn eyes every time I close mine. I hat the fact that you're completely in my head."
I try to look away, but his grip tightens just enough to keep me fixed to him.
His heat radiates through my clothes, making my knees turn to absolute jelly.
"When I saw that picture on your story earlier... God, Sophia. My blood turned to actual fire. I wanted to find Jimmy and tear him apart. I don't get jealous. Do you understand me? I don't let anyone get under my skin like this. Ever.But you?"
A raw, terrifying vulnerability breaks through his icy mask, and his thumb brushes softly against my lower lip.
"Yesterday, when you left ... I've never felt so useless in my entire life. You're completely breaking me."
"Say it again," I whisper.
I watch his eyes drop to my lips, his head lowering by agonizing increments.
"You.Fucking. Win, Sophia Claire Miller," he bites out, hovering mere millimeters in front of my mouth.
A sharp shiver chases down my spine when he drops my middle name.
Is this really happening?
Is Lorenzo Calloway, the unfeeling, dangerous king of this city, actually confessing that he fell for me?
" his name is James," I tease against his lips, deliberately poking the bear.
Lorenzo lets out a low, dangerous growl, his grip tightening instantly on my waist. "Don't provoke me, stalker."
Before he can finish the warning, I grab his shirt and pull him down to me.
This time, I am the one breaking the distance.
I'm the one in control.
My entire body explodes with pure electricity the second my lips crash into his.
Lorenzo's anger transforms into raw passion.
He effortlessly lifts me up, slamming my hips back onto the edge of my wooden dresser.
In the rush of the movement, our tangled legs send a stack of my sketches and books clattering loudly to the floor.
"Oh, shit. Sorry," he mutters, breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second to glance down at the mess.
I shake my head frantically, wrapping my arms around his neck to drag him right back down to my mouth. "Doesn't matter," I breathe against his lips.
A gasped moan escapes me as his lips leave mine, his tongue tracing a burning path down the sensitive skin of my neck.
"You taste so fucking good, stalker," he whispers hoarsely against my skin, his hands gripping my thighs, and I completely melt into his touch.
"Oh... my God... Lorenzo," I whimper. When I feel his fingers slip beneath my skirt.
"That's exactly what I thought," he growls playfully against the kiss, feeling the desperate way my body moves against his hand.
"Fucking soaked for me"
I breathe, arching closer, biting down a moan as he finally presses beneath my soken underwear, his thumb circling slow and maddening against my clit. My head falls back against my neck, a shiver rolling through me at the rough drag of his touch.
"Tell me again," he whispers against my ear, making me arch even closer, but his fingers only tease, playful and merciless. "What's his name again?"
I open my eyes, completely overwhelmed, and shake my head, unable to say anything at all.
"That's right," he murmurs, smiling satisfied and kisses me one last time before he abruptly breaks away. He pulls back, leaving me burning, breathless, and completely unraveled.
"What are you doing?" I demand, my breathing ragged, my hands still clutching his shoulders for balance.
He gently pushes a stray strand of blonde hair away from my face.
The fierce possessiveness in his eyes softens into something devastatingly tender.
He presses one last, agonizingly soft kiss to my forehead before he flashes a wicked smile, grips my waist, and lifts me carefully off the dresser, setting my feet back on the floor.
"This is so unfair," I complain, my lower lip trembling from the sudden loss of his heat.
"Believe me, stalker, ever since the yard party, I've imagined nothing but feeling your body against mine. Making you scream my name. And my name only ."
My face burns a bright, furious crimson at his bold words. A wild image instantly flashes through my head.
"Then what's stopping you this time ?" I ask before my brain can filter the thought.
"My manners," he whispers, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips.
Reality crashes back into my mind. My aunt is still sitting right outside in the kitchen, waiting for us to return.
"Right," I breathe, quickly smoothing down the hem of my dress. I make a move toward the small bathroom to freshen up, but he instantly catches my wrist, pulling me back against his chest.
"What? I need to clean myself..." I start, but the moment I see the dark, heavy look in his eyes, the words die in my throat. I know exactly what he's thinking.
"No, Sophia," he murmurs, his voice low and thick with a promise that turns my knees to jelly. "Let me do that later."
Oh my God.
I am completely lost. I must be losing my mind.
Am I dreaming?
And if I am is this a beautiful dream, or a terrifying one? With trembling legs and my heart hammering against my ribs, I let him guide me back into the kitchen.Ignorig the wetness beneath my skirt.
He walks out as if nothing happened, his cold, unreadable mask fully back in place as he helps my aunt clear the dinner plates.
"You are such a gentleman, Lorenzo. Your mother must be incredibly proud," my aunt says gratefully, looking at him with absolute fondness. But then she glances at the clock on the wall and gasps. "Oh, it's already so late! Sophia, honey, I think I should head to bed."
"What?" I snap out of my daze, nodding quickly. "Yes, yes. Goodnight. We'll finish cleaning up here, and then he will leave," I say, earning a questioning look from Lorenzo out of the corner of my eye.
To my surprise, my aunt turns back to him. "It's already so late after the storm outside. If you want, Lorenzo, you are welcome to stay. You can sleep on the sofa."
She offers him a kind nod and disappears into her bedroom, leaving the two of us completely alone in the quiet kitchen.
The silence stretches between us, heavy and thick.
"Do you want me to stay?" he asks softly. He folds the dish towel, stepping around the counter until he is standing right in front of me.
Do I want him to stay?
To my surprise, yes. I want it more than anything. But at the exact same time, a cold wave of fear hits me.
What if I regret this decision?
What if it just makes everything worse?
As if he can read the frantic thoughts tearing through my mind, he reaches out, placing a gentle, reassuring hand on my forearm. "Sophia... I promise you. I'll change"
"Okay," I say softly, cutting him off before his words can make me too emotional.
He smiles, leans down, and presses his lips to mine once more.
Just shut your thoughts out Shopi just for tonight.