10
1396 Words
Sophia
I wake up to warm,heavy silk draped over my bare skin, smelling faintly of Lorenzo’s cologne black pepper, cedar, something expensive and sinful. For a moment, I don’t open my eyes. I just lie still, letting the memory of last night wash through me in slow, slow waves that make my breath catch.
His hands pinning my wrists above my head.
His mouth dragging along my throat.
His voice low, rough,asking me if I understood exactly what I was getting myself into and me saying yes.
When I finally open my eyes, I’m met with a ceiling so high it could easily double as an art gallery. The room is massive thick gray window blinds covering the room,while the morning sun is fighting through.I swallow, pushing myself up slowly, my muscles reminding me of every way he touched me. Every place he held me like he was memorizing me.
My cheeks burn.
Before I can even think of getting out of bed, the bedroom door opens and he walks in.
No shirt.
Grey sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips.A black mug of coffee in one hand, phone in the other, his hair damp like he just stepped out of the shower.
He looks at me once and the damn mug almost slips from his hand.
“You’re awake,” he says, but his voice has that raw morning edge that shouldn’t be legal.
I tug the blanket up on instinct. “Yeah.”
He sets his mug down, puts his phone away, and stands near the foot of the bed with that quiet, predatory stare he uses when he’s thinking too much.
“You stayed,” he says.
“I did really.”
“You slept,” he repeats slowly. “In my arms, if you remember correctly.”
Oh, I remember. I remember every goddamn second.
Heat rushes to my face, but Lorenzo smiles just a little like he enjoys seeing color bloom on my skin and his smile is so damn cute it melts my heart.
He steps toward me, slow, controlled, every inch the mafia CEO who doesn’t need to raise his voice to dominate a room or a bed.
He stops at the side of the mattress. “How do you feel?”
“Sore,” I mutter before thinking.
His eyebrows lift. His mouth curves.
“Good,” he says quietly. “Very good.”
I throw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”
He catches it with one hand.
“I wasn’t talking about that,” he lies smoothly.
Before I can argue, he sits beside me and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear gentle this time. Nothing like last night, when he pulled my hair, kissed me breathless, dragged me closer while whispering things that made my knees buckle.
“You didn’t regret it,” he says not a question. A statement. A claim.
“No,I meant what I said last night,” I tell him quietly. “I’m not walking away.”
He just watches me, face unreadable, eyes dark in a way that never fails to make my stomach twist.
He grabs my jaw gently, his thumb brushing my bottom lip.
“Sophia,” he murmurs, “you’re going to ruin me.”
My heart stumbles.
Before I can respond, his phone buzzes from the dresser.
He looks… annoyed. But he stands and grabs it anyway.
The moment he reads the message, something in his posture shifts tense, guarded.
“What is it?” I ask softly.
His eyes flick to me. Something protective flashes there. “Nothing you should worry about.”
Which means it is absolutely something I should worry about.
“Lorenzo.”
His jaw flexes. “Sophia, trust me.”
There it is. The tone. The command wrapped in velvet. The same voice he used last night when he asked me to look at him while he—
Yeah. That voice.
It weakens my irritation immediately, which is annoying.
He pockets his phone. “Come eat. I made breakfast.”
“You cooked?”
“Yeah I did and I bet you will love it I’m the best chef ever.”
“Liar,I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I can convince you”
Heat crept up my face
“I don’t need convincing Lorenzo.”
He steps closer, fingers brushing my waist, eyes fixed on my mouth like he’s deciding whether he wants to kiss me or ruin me before breakfast.
“Don’t let the food get cold,” he says quietly.
“Get dressed. Come out when you’re ready.”
And just like that, he leaves the room.
LORENZO
She has no idea what she’s doing to me.
I stand in the kitchen, setting the plates even though my thoughts are nowhere near the food. The moment I saw her sitting in my bed hair messy, skin warm from the sheets, eyes still sleepy I felt something unfamiliar.
Possessive.
Dangerous.
And absolutely irreversible.
My phone buzzes again.
A message from Matteo.
He’s in the country.
Be careful.
Perfect timing.
Just when I finally have something someone I want, the past decides to crawl out of its grave.
But Sophia doesn’t need to know any of that and I’m glad her father didn’t let her know much about this world.
Not now.
Not when she finally let me pull her into my world last night.
I hear her footsteps before she enters. My entire body reacts before my eyes even see her.
She’s wearing one of my shirts.
One of my shirts.
And nothing else.
My grip on the counter tightens.
“Is this okay?” she asks casually, like she doesn’t look like a fantasy with legs.
“No,” I answer honestly. “But I’ll survive.”
She smirks and sits at the counter, grabbing her fork to eat.I walk behind her, hands sliding around her waist, pulling her back against my chest.
“Last night,” I whisper against her neck, “you weren’t calling me dramatic.”
She inhales sharply
Good.
I’m not the only one losing control.
“You’re insufferable,” she murmurs.
“And you’re in my house, eating my food, wearing my shirt.”
“Are you complaining?”
I turn her in my arms so she’s facing me.
“No,” I say, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “I’m stating a fact.”
Her eyes soften. “So what does that fact mean to you?”
Everything.
But I’m not ready to say that.
Instead, I answer the only way I know how.
I lean down and kiss her.
Slow.
Deep.
Possessive.
Her hands curl in my hair and I feel something inside me open. Something dangerous. Something permanent.
I lift her onto the counter without breaking the kiss, my fingers sliding along her thighs, pulling her closer, letting her feel exactly how much I want her.
She gasps into my mouth.
“Lorenzo…”
“Tell me to stop,” I whisper against her lips.
She doesn’t.
She pulls me closer.
Her legs wrap around my waist.
And my last thread of control snaps.
I kiss her harder, my hands anchoring her against me, her breath mixing with mine as the kitchen blurs behind us.
But just when I’m about to lift her off the counter and take her back to my bedroom.
Another buzz.
Her phone this time.
She freezes.
“What?” I whisper, still kissing down her neck.
“I… have to check. It might be work.”
I pull back, annoyed at the universe.
“You know I’m the boss”
She grabs her phone and her whole face changes instantly.
“What is it?” I demand.
She turns the screen toward me.
An i********: notification.
A DM.
From a private account.
No profile picture.
Just one message:
“You looked beautiful at the gala that night.
He’s not who you think he is.”
My blood runs cold.
Sophia’s eyes meet mine confused, scared.
“Lorenzo… what does this mean?”
I don’t move.
I don’t breathe.
Because I know exactly who sent the message.
And I know what she wants.
“Pack a bag,” I say quietly.
“What? Why?”
“Nothing really,” I answer, taking her hand firmly,
“someone just declared war.”
- Writer
