Chapter 23
SOFIA
sobra decirte – Valeria Castro
Unsurprisingly, Ilias qualified for the final heat.
Unsurprisingly because he had been devouring every wave, and every adversary he came up against. It looked like he could take on anything. Now, facing Tiago, one of the best Brazilians in the tournament, ranked second only to Steven, Ilias was more focused than ever.
Which, to her utter disbelief, was turning her on instantly.
From the section reserved for families in the Athlete Zone, the cameras zoomed in on him.
He was standing tall, staring out at the ocean like it was speaking to him directly.
His jaw was tight, hazel eyes locked in, and just when Alejandra bumped into her mid-cheer, Sofia realized she’d been full-on fantasizing about him going down on her with that exact look on his face.
Minchia.
Just a couple of nights earlier, he had told her he was going to wait.
And he’d meant it. Not once, in all the nights they’d shared a bed, had he touched her beyond a forehead kiss or a casual caress.
Which was... admirable, sure, but maddening.
Because her thoughts, right now, were anything but PG.
He was doing exactly what he had promised her, and yet she could admit to herself, her entire being wanted more. It wasn’t just biology anymore. It wasn’t just the response to a very good-looking guy. Ilias was more than that, and now that she knew it, she was afraid and excited at the same time.
When he paddled out toward the line-up, she prayed to Salacia he’d win, because she had a surprise in mind. And her heart thundered just thinking about it. She didn’t know if she was going to follow through with it, but the win was necessary.
“You nervous?” Carlos asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Sofia shook her head. “He’s going to be fine. Probably win.”
Who was going to tell Carlos, who was basically like an older brother to her, that she wasn’t worried about that? She just nodded, no need to share her inner PornHub highlight reel.
After the first wave, Ilias nailed an aerial and a slick 360. The score came in: a perfect 10.
“He’s back, baby!” Alejandra screamed. She’d already taken the title for the women’s heat earlier. “Maybe we’ll lift trophies together!”
Alejandra was a bundle of nerves and bright energy, which, annoyingly, masked the pain she was still nursing over that idiot Edward, now cozied up with some baby-faced girl in the corner of the Athlete Zone.
Fucking prick.
Sofia could punch him. The contract with TerraVive was the only thing saving his stupid British face from a sharp right. Had she ever actually hit someone? No, but she’d taken a few kickboxing classes back in Milan, back when it had been “cool,” and she was pretty sure she’d learned something.
Tiago scored a 9.0, keeping the game tight. The crowd roared. The heat was on, and Sofia could hardly sit still.
Pride bloomed in her chest seeing Ilias putting on a show.
Ten minutes left. Neither had taken a second wave.
Then Tiago messed up the priority call and scored a 7.
0. Ilias made his move. And he owned that wave like it had been made for him.
Like he was whispering to the ocean and the ocean obeyed.
He shot through the barrel like it was nothing and popped out with his fists raised, that cocky, reckless grin lighting up his whole face.
Another 10.
Amira nearly cried as the horn sounded.
Ilias had just won the fucking Snapper Rocks event.
She couldn’t believe it, even though he had told her a hundred times he would. Saying it is one thing. Doing it? That was Ilias.
He paddled back toward shore, the sound of the crowd rising around him, but his eyes were only searching for one person. And when he found her, standing just beyond the barricade, his grin turned blinding. He pointed straight at her.
“It’s thanks to you!” he shouted, dropping his board and running.
By the time he reached her, he was dripping.
She barely had a second to react before his arms were around her, lifting her clean off the ground.
She laughed, her body curving instinctively into his.
He spun her once, twice, until the whole world blurred and all that existed was the heat of his chest and the joy radiating between them.
When he finally set her down, she kept her hands on his face, palms warm against his skin. His stubble grazed her fingers; his smile was wild, reckless, alive.
“You made it,” she whispered, her voice trembling somewhere between pride and disbelief.
“I did.” His breath brushed her lips.
Her heart stuttered. Maybe it was the rush of victory, maybe it was the way his eyes were still locked on hers like she was the only thing grounding him, but she leaned closer, her words barely a breath.
“I think you deserve a treat,” she murmured, soft and daring. “Something to make this look a little more believable.”
And then, before she could talk herself out of it, she kissed him.
The noise around them vanished. His arms cinched around her waist, pulling her closer, and for a heartbeat the whole world seemed to tilt.
His lips moved against hers, firm, sure, reverent, and something inside her cracked open.
The taste of salt, the heat of his skin, the rush of his breath, it was dizzying, real, alive.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, he smiled, slow and disbelieving.
“What a treat,” he whispered, still breathless. “I knew you’d be amazing.”
And before she could find a single word, the crowd surged forward, sweeping him up and away, chanting his name.
She stood there, heart pounding, lips tingling, still feeling the echo of him everywhere he’d touched. He kept looking back for her as he was lifted above the crowd, his smile turning softer each time their eyes met.
That’s when she knew. She was in trouble.
Because now that she’d really kissed Ilias Ríos El Idrissi, she wasn’t sure she could ever pretend again. He was everything she wasn’t supposed to want, heat and chaos and heart, and yet, he made her feel more alive than she’d felt in years. And that terrified her more than anything.