chapter 2
1038 Words
Sophia’s POV
The bathroom door slammed behind me with a loud c***k. My heels hit the floor like gunfire, sharp, fast, angry.
Click. Click. Click.
My chest burned. My throat was tight. I kept wiping at my cheeks, but the tears weren’t stopping. They just blurred everything.
The lights smeared across the club like a watercolor painting left out in the rain.
The laughter, the music, the birthday cake—it all felt like a lie.
A f*****g joke.
I don’t know what hurt me most—seeing my man and my sister together, or the fact that neither of them, especially Ryan, chased after me.
How could they do this to me? Why?
My heart clenched tightly in my chest, and more tears spilled from my eyes.
I stumbled into the bar and gripped the edge like it was the only thing holding me up.
The bartender said something, but I didn’t hear him. I just pointed to whatever bottle was closest.
Something strong.
The first shot burned like acid going down. I winced, blinked hard, and reached for another.
My hands were shaking.
“Pace yourself,” a voice said beside me. Calm, low, and deep.
I turned slowly.
He was there, sitting just close enough to feel, but not too close to touch.
He wore a crisp black shirt, open collar, sleeves rolled, and a silver ring glittering on his thumb. His jaw looked sharp, and his eyes were a stormy kind of blue.
Cold, but not cruel.
I stared, and he stared back at me boldly.
He raised his glass and drank slowly, the line of his throat moving.
I reached over, stole the shot from in front of him, and tipped it back.
“Bold,” he murmured.
“It’s my birthday,” I said.
“Looks like a bad one.”
I laughed, sharp and bitter, and it didn’t sound like me.
“You could say that.”
I turned my back to the bar and leaned against it, eyes scanning the crowd like I was searching for something, though I had no idea what.
Maybe a version of myself that hadn’t just watched her boyfriend make promises to her stepsister in a damn cubicle.
My head swam as the lights danced too fast.
I took a step forward, my heel caught, and I stumbled.
His arm shot out and caught me by the waist, firm, warm fingers anchoring me before I could fall.
His scent hit me like a grenade.
Clean, masculine, and spicy like a forest after rain.
I breathed in sharply and looked up to see him staring at me with a dark smirk plastered on his face.
His hand didn’t move. Neither did I.
Something shifted.
The space between us got smaller without us moving at all. I could feel the tension in the air between our mouths, the pull, the quiet dare of it.
And then, my lips mistakenly brushed his, just barely, but it sent a shiver through my spine and I shuddered slightly.
I froze.
He didn’t.
He leaned in and kissed me like we’d done it a hundred times before, like he already knew I wouldn’t resist him.
It wasn’t slow.
It wasn’t careful.
It was heat and teeth and breath, his mouth opening mine like a door he knew how to unlock.
My hands found his shirt, clutched it like I was drowning.
The kiss deepened and my body melted into his like it was supposed to be there. The noise of the club faded until all I could hear was my heartbeat in my ears and the low sound he made when I bit his bottom lip.
“I dare you,” I whispered, breathless, lips still brushing his, “to spend the night with me.”
He pulled back a little, eyes searching mine.
“You sure you’re ready for that?” he asked, voice rough.
“I’m not sure of anything.”
He smiled then, slow and dangerous, then gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Come on, then,” he said. “I lodged in the hotel down the street, if you don’t mind.”
I gave him a small smile. “f**k what I mind.”
He stared at me for a moment, as if rethinking his decision, but with a big sigh he slowly took my hand and led me out of the bar and outside until we reached the hotel.
I didn’t know how we got in. I just knew I found myself in a quiet room.
He closed the door behind us.
I stood in the middle of the room, my dress catching the low lamplight as my knees wobbled beneath me.
I didn’t know if it was the liquor or the fact that this man, this stranger, had somehow seen me more clearly than the people who claimed to love me.
He walked toward me, slow, unrushed, like he had all the time in the world.
His fingers brushed my waist. My breath hitched.
He turned me around gently, slowly unzipping my dress.
Every sound felt louder in the quiet. The slide of the zipper, the rustle of fabric falling to the floor, the way my breath trembled as it left me.
He kissed the back of my neck.
I closed my eyes, savoring the moment.
My body leaned into his on instinct, heat building where his skin touched mine. He moved in front of me again, then carefully lifted me in his arms like I weighed nothing.
He laid me on the bed like something fragile, hovered above me, but didn’t touch yet. His eyes roamed slowly, carefully, like he wanted to memorize me.
“You’re beautiful when you’re drunk,” he whispered.
“I’m broken,” I said back.
His mouth brushed mine.
“Even better.”
When he kissed me this time, it was slower. Deeper. Like he was unraveling me piece by piece.
My hands roamed into his hair as his fingers trailed fire down my thighs.
Nothing was rushed. It felt soothing. It felt like release.
And for the first time in a long while, I let another man, aside from Ryan, feel and worship me.
- Writer
