Chapter Twelve — Jamie
I was dead to the world until I felt the bed shift.
I woke up to heavy breathing.
At first, I thought Vinny was just tossing and turning. Stress, maybe. He hadn’t really slept since he took me.
I eased up slow, eyes adjusting to the dark. I realized he was still asleep. His breath came in ragged bursts, sweat slicked his skin even in the cold room. A muscle in his jaw twitched like a live wire.
“Sophia...”
Her name came out of his mouth all soft and broken. It pulled at something deep in me when I didn’t want it to.
"Vinny," I whispered, reaching over, shaking his arm a little. "Yo, Vinny... wake up."
His eyes flew open. Filled with wildness. He looked straight through me like I wasn’t even there. Like he was somewhere else.
Then suddenly I was flipped. His weight pinned me to the mattress.
He grabbed my face. Kissed me hard. Like he couldn’t breathe without it.
His hands were all over me. My heart was pounding like crazy.
"Vinny—" I tried, but it was useless. He wasn’t hearing me.
“Please, Sophia, I need you.”
Then his thumb brushed my cheek—so damn gentle I folded. He was a man drowning, and I was the only warm skin and heartbeat left in his fucked-up world.
I let him do what he wanted. Let his tongue trace the seam of my lips.
I detached myself from the situation even though my pussy was soaked, aching, betraying me.
He used his knee to push my legs apart.
I froze for half a second, then took control of the moment before this situation could twist into something I couldn’t come back from.
The fabric of his boxers had been replaced by hot skin. How the fuck had he taken them off without me noticing?
He nipped my chin with his teeth. I whimpered.
His thick dick slicked itself between my wet folds. My juices were oozing from me, coating his shaft as he rutted against my slick pussy like a man possessed. I was dripping for him, shame and heat twisting together in my gut.
Instead of letting him push into me, I wrapped my hand around his dick. It felt thick and hot and heavy, already slick with precum leaking from the head. I stroked him slow, teasing the swollen tip with my thumb, squeezing just right. He let out a broken moan for her.
His mouth smashed against mine, pushing his tongue deep, fucking my mouth like he was trying to claim every inch of me.
I sucked his tongue and kissed him back like it was my responsibility to make him feel good enough to forget his grief.
His hips jerked hard. His whole body tightened up like a wire about to snap.
"Fuck, I love you... Sophia," he groaned, burying his face against my neck as he came hard in my hand, thick ropes of hot cum spilling over my fingers, my stomach, marking me with his grief and obsession.
A second later, he slumped. And he was out. Just like that. Like nothing ever happened.
I stared at him for a second, still catching my breath. My hand sticky with his cum, my lips swollen, my chest tight with something I didn’t want to name.
I shoved him over.
I slipped out of bed quietly. In the bathroom, I scrubbed my hands raw in the sink, but the smell of him—his sweat, his cum, his pain—stuck to my skin like a brand.
Giving up, I went back into the bedroom, grabbed one of his shirts from the closet.
Suddenly being nude around him didn’t feel right. It felt too vulnerable. Too exposed.
I made my way to the living room without glancing at him. The couch springs groaned under me. I curled up on the sofa with the throw blanket pulled damn near over my head.
Somewhere in the dark, a clock ticked.
I didn’t cry, though for a fucked up reason, the tears were burning right behind my eyes. I didn’t sleep, either. I just laid there in the cold, staring into the shadows, wondering how in the hell I got here and what it would feel like to have a man love you that deep—even in his sleep.