Chapter 3
SOPHIA
At Scott’s place, I rifle through the duffel bag of clothes I’d brought over, huffing out a breath.
“I have nothing to wear.”
“You brought the whole closet,” Scott says with a laugh. “I’m sure we can find something.”
He draws out a red dress, one I’ve never worn. I’ve always thought my butt was too big for it.
“My ass can be seen from NASA in that thing,” I complain.
“That’s the point, sweetheart,” Scott croons. “Big butts are in.”
I’m already in my underwear, a white bra and thong, so I wiggle into the dress, pulling it down over my ass and looking in the mirror.
“It doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”
“Good.” Scott grins. “God knows you need to get laid.”
I pout. “It hasn’t been that long.”
“It’s been months, Soph.”
I blink. Has it really been that long?
The last time, his name was Greg or Craig or something, he was a firefighter I picked up at a cop bar.
We’d had breakfast together then never spoken again.
That was kind of the way it went.
I didn’t do relationships, so one night stands were the only way I got any relief.
“Well, this is certainly one way to get attention,” I drawl as I wiggle my ass to make sure the dress won’t ride up while I dance.
Scott, dressed in a black silk shirt and tailored gray slacks, gives me a big smile.
“Derek is coming.”
I groan. “Not Derek. The Derek? The one with the…” I pause to demonstrate that Derek is gifted, moving my hands out to show a ridiculously long length.
“One and the same,” Scott says smugly.
I shake my head. “You’re more likely to get laid than I am.”
He sighs. “Yeah, sure, but I don’t just want to get laid. I’m not like you, Sophia.”
I frown. “Not like me?”
“Not in a bad way,” he says quickly, eyes widening as he takes my hands in his own. “It’s just that…you do it for release. I want more. I want love and happiness.”
I squeeze his hands before dropping them, sliding my feet into a pair of black stilettos.
I wobble at first, but quickly muscle memory kicks in. I love heels and I’d worn them a lot in college.
Scott leads the way to our car, and the rideshare service takes us to a local club.
It’s early, so everyone hasn’t trailed in yet and Scott and I grab a seat at the bar.
“It’s dead,” Scott whines.
“Only because it’s early,” I reassure him, ordering us a round of tequila shots and a margarita each.
We take the shots with a grimace, and I suck down my margarita, needing a buzz for courage. The alcohol warms my throat, but I don’t get the blur around my thoughts I’m wanting.
I’m on the precipice of ordering another drink when I catch sight of the silver fox I’d locked eyes with back at the precinct.
Fuck, his eyes are green. Sea-green, like the ocean, like seaweed, like something that could wrap around me and hold me close and never let me go.
I blink, shaking my head.
Why am I suddenly thinking in metaphors?
He’s hot, that’s for sure.
The profile of his Roman nose, his sharp jaw, the dimples in his cheeks when he gives the bartender the barest of smiles.
A guy like that would never look twice at me, anyway.
I’m attractive but I’m no supermodel.
Guys like that have blonde twigs by their sides.
I turn to speak to Scott but realize he’s otherwise occupied, leaned over close and talking to a dark-haired man who I assume is Derek, his flame of the week.
I pout and swivel around on my chair only to find myself eye to eye with the belt buckle of said silver fox.
I swallow hard, trying not to find the line of his cock in his perfectly tailored black slacks.
My eyes trail up instead, up to his white, button-down shirt, with a few buttons undone, as if he’s been drinking for a while already.
His green eyes are clear, though as he looks down at me, smirking slightly.
“Hello,” he says, the honeyed skin of his collarbone catching my eye before I look up at him again.
“Hello.” My voice is smaller than I’d intended. I can’t seem to look away from that piercing gaze.
“Could I buy you a drink?”
I’m holding half a margarita in one hand, and his dark chuckle as I chug it is more intoxicating than the tequila.
“Yes,” I breathe after I finish my drink, and he hails the bartender. There’s tattoos on his right arm, maybe even a sleeve, but I can’t tell through the fabric. It’s too dim in here.
God, I hope I get to see those tattoos.
I hope he cages me in with his arms and—
My dirty thoughts are cut off when he slides me a margarita, something brown in his glass.
“Cheers,” he says smoothly and clinks his glass with mine.
I sip my drink and watch him take down half of his.
“I don’t do this much,” I admit, putting down my glass.
He smiles, and the dimples in his cheeks flash, making him look younger.
It nearly takes my breath away.
“Do what much?”
I shrug. “Drink. Dance. Hook up.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Who said anything about hooking up?”
I flush all over, cursing my mother’s Irish heritage. “Um, well, I guess I just…assumed.”
A dark chuckle comes from him, making me stare up at him.
“You’re cute,” he says with a warm smile.
“Cute?” I frown. I don’t think anyone’s ever called me cute. Not since I turned twelve, anyway. Sexy, sure. Hot? A couple times. But never cute.
“Mmhm, like a pixie.” He moves closer, pulling down one of my curls so that it springs up. His fingers trail along my jawline and it makes me shiver.
“So you’re saying you didn’t come over to hook up?”
His eyes shoot to mine, his expression flat, unreadable.
“I didn’t say that, did I?”
I swallow hard. “What’s your name?”
“Luca.”
I tilt my head. Something about it feels familiar.
“Sophia,” I respond, and he smiles again, only one-sided this time, one dimple popping out.
“Sophia. Little pixie,” he murmurs, taking my hand. He brings it to his mouth and just slightly brushes his lips across my knuckles.
A thrill shoots through me, and I lean in, close enough to smell whiskey on his breath.
He’s still holding my hand and he tugs me up. I totter on my heels then get it together, following his long strides to a car that looks like it’s worth more than my kidneys. Both of them.
The door opens when he presses a button on a key fob, and he helps me slide into the passenger side. I don’t expect him to lean in, but he does, putting on my seatbelt. I can smell whiskey and sandalwood and I want to grab him, kiss him.
But I don’t. I wait, quietly putting my clutch and my hands in my lap as he shuts the door and gets in on the driver’s side.
“Good girl,” he mumbles under his breath, but I catch it and another thrill shoots up my spine.
Usually, in the bedroom, I’m in control. I like to take action, but most men just take it. I’d like a man to fight back, maybe…take control from me.
It’s a fantasy I’ve had for a long time.
He reaches over, placing his hand high up on my thigh and the breath leaves my lungs. I spread my thighs instinctively.
He raises an eyebrow, his fingers creeping between my legs. I don’t stop him, just biting my lip, looking at him as I spread my legs further.
He hooks his fingers into the crotch of my thong, sliding it aside before drawing his fingers slowly up my wet slit.
I moan in a low voice.
“Right here, pixie? Where anyone could see us?”
“Anywhere,” I manage. At that moment, I mean it. It’s been so long, and Luca’s thick fingers prodding my entrance makes me hotter than I’ve been in years.
Luca lets out a ragged breath and presses two fingers up to the knuckle inside me. I gasp out a moan, but then he removes his fingers, popping them into his mouth.
He sucks off my juices like they’re something delicious, grinning when I stare at him.
“My place or yours?”
Here, I want to say. Here and now, where anyone can see us.
But instead, I tamp down my desire.
“Mine.”
I have more control if he’s at my place. And he seems like a man who wants to be in control. And my body loves that, but my brain—it says it’s a bad idea.
And maybe it is, but I’m doing it anyway.
After all, what could one night hurt?
We arrive at my place in minutes, and he parks behind my car. I fumble with the keys, but not because I’m drunk.
I’m too damn excited and high on the need coursing through me.
His hands are on my hips as I unlock the front door, his mouth on my throat as soon as we walk into my apartment.
God, his hands.
So large.
All over me.
Squeezing the globes of my ass, trailing up my sides to cup my breasts.
“Luca,” I breathe, and he turns me around to face him, his green eyes boring into mine.
“Sophia,” he groans, kissing me hard, his teeth nearly clashing with mine, tongue exploring my mouth.
“Fuck me,” I say, and I want it to be a demand, but it comes out like a plea.
“Are you telling me what to do, little pixie?”
There’s an almost warning in his voice, and it makes me shudder.
“I’m begging,” I finally admit, unzipping my dress. He doesn’t waste time, helping me get it off my shoulders.
It pools on the ground as he strikes, biting and licking my throat as his hands make short work of my bra. He pulls it off me, cupping my breasts one by one, his mouth on my peaked nipples.
I’m soaking wet, can feel it dripping down my thighs, and I moan, placing his hand between my legs.
I know I’m hot and slick beneath his palm and there’s an element of surprise in his green eyes when he looks down at me.
“I want it. Want you,” I plead, desperate now, wanting him closer, wanting him inside me.
“Fuck,” Luca curses, his eyes darting down to my heaving breasts, my spread legs.
He moves his hand away only to grab my hips, all but throwing me on my bed.
I bounce, giggling, and he grins down at me.
My fingers have already unbuttoned half his shirt and he finishes the rest, taking it off and revealing a six-pack, hair trailing down beneath his bellybutton into his waistband.
I can see his erection, long and thick, tucked to the side. I reach up to touch him there, cup him, and his hips twitch as he thrusts into my hand slightly.
“Sophia,” he says in a breathy voice, but there’s a warning to it nonetheless.
“Yeah?” I ask, my own voice strained as I unbutton his slacks. I draw down his pants and boxers and his erection bounces free up against his stomach.
I’ve never thought of penises as particularly attractive, but this one’s pretty, curved and veiny in all the right ways.
My mouth waters as I stare at it, wrapping one hand around his base.
“Sophia, fuck,” he almost growls, taking my wrist and moving my hand off him. “Be patient, pixie.”
I whine but fall back onto the bed, panting as he steps out of the rest of his clothes.
“Usually I’d make you beg, pixie. Usually I’d eat that pretty pink pussy until you were crying for it.”
My breath catches in my throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“But now, the way you’re already desperate for cock,” he says in a mild tone, smirking. “Think I might just give it to you.”
“Please,” I plead, all dignity lost. It’s been so long and he’s so hot and it’s only for tonight.
He wraps a hand around his base and guides into me, and I swear I see stars when he bottoms out.
“Big,” I slur, grabbing onto his hips and pulling him deeper as he groans deep in his chest.
“So damn tight for me.” He grits his teeth, jaw clenched as he thrusts inside of me.
I throw back my head, losing myself in the moment.
I don’t think about my promotion. I don’t think about anything but how he feels inside me.
One night. I can give myself that, right?