“Yeah,” he replied, the word rough but tender.
Her breath hitched when his thumb brushed bare skin beneath the hem of her shirt.
“Make love to me,” she whispered—soft, certain. Not a plea. A choice.
His fingers stilled. For a heartbeat, neither moved.
The moment her fingers brushed his, he reacted—pulling her in. Their lips met, slow at first, then deepening with a hunger that stripped away the last of their restraint. When he laid her back, his eyes held hers, a silent question in the dark.
“You’re sure?”
She nodded, her answer in the way her body arched toward his.
But as his hands began to move with more purpose, a tremor of hesitation ran through her. He felt it instantly, freezing, his gaze sharpening. “Sofia. Talk to me.”
She looked away, her fingers gripping the sheets. “I haven’t… I’ve never…”
He went perfectly still. “You’re a virgin?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful.
She nodded, heat flooding her cheeks. “I should’ve told you.”
He was silent for a long moment, the weight of her confession settling between them. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart where his hand rested. Everything between them had shifted. His thumb stroked her cheek. The air changed, the frantic energy replaced by a profound, focused calm.
“Sofia,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”
“You’re not disappointed?”
“Disappointed?” A soft, disbelieving smile touched his lips. “No. It just means I do this right.”
“We can stop here,” he said, his voice low. “It doesn’t have to happen tonight.”
She shook her head, eyes locking on his. “I want this. I want you.”
What followed wasn’t urgency—it was patience. His touch was slower now, deliberate, like he wanted to learn every part of her. He took his time, his hands tracing her collarbone, waist, and the surprising strength in her thighs. When his mouth found her skin, it was to worship, not claim. He moved over her as if they had all the time in the world, his eyes never leaving hers. In the quiet between touches, he studied her reactions, learning what made her breath catch and her lips part.
When he finally entered her, it was with a care that made her chest ache. He watched her, his forehead resting against hers, waiting through her sharp inhale until her body softened and accepted his. He moved with a slow, deep reverence that unraveled her, piece by piece, each gentle thrust a silent vow. The world narrowed to the rhythm of their breath, the feeling of his skin against hers, and the quiet sounds of the night.
Afterward, she lay curled against him, her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His arms were locked around her, solid and real. No words were needed. The quiet itself had changed—no longer empty, but full, a sanctuary built from the ruins of the day.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sofia paced the small living room, rain tapping a relentless rhythm against the windows. Tonio moved into the kitchen, calm in a way that made her chest ache. She wished she could borrow even a fraction of that composure.
The burner phone on the table flashed. Her breath caught. She snatched it, stepping to the far corner.
One ring. Two.
“Sofia.” Wraith’s voice—low, edged. “You alone?”
“Yeah. What’s going on?”
“I found something. You won’t like it.”
Her grip tightened. “Tell me.”
“There are payments. Transfers from companies tied to Tonio’s family—straight to Senator Young. Six years of patterns, buried under shell companies.”
Cold swept through her, sharp and raw. “You’re sure?”
