I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, my hands still tangled in her hair. "Last fucking chance to run."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Lorenzo
She doesn't run.
Instead, she reaches for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one smooth motion. The afternoon light streaming through the window catches on her skin, turning it golden. My mouth goes dry.
"I'm not running," she says, tossing the shirt aside. "Not from you."
Every muscle in my body coils tight. I'm already hard, have been since I walked into this room and saw defiance blazing in those honey-brown eyes.
Now, watching her stand there in just jeans and a black bra, her chin tilted up in challenge, I'm fighting every instinct screaming at me to take her against the wall.
"Sophia." Her name comes out rough, barely human.
"What?" She reaches for the button of her jeans. "You said this was my last chance. I'm showing you my choice."
The denim slides down her legs, and I stop breathing. Black lace. Of course it's black lace. She kicks the jeans aside and stands there, waiting.
"Come here," I order.
She shakes her head. "You come here."
The last thread of my control doesn't just snap. It incinerates. I cross the space between us in two strides, my hands tangling in her hair before she can speak. When I kiss her this time, it's different. This isn't about possession or proving a point. This is about need so desperate it hurts.
My hands slide from her hair down her back, fingertips tracing her spine until she arches against me. The soft sound she makes goes straight to my cock.
"Oh God," she gasps when I move to her throat, biting down where her pulse hammers against my tongue.
"What did I tell you about saying other men's names?" I growl against her skin.
Her laugh is breathless. "You're impossible."
"And you're mine." I grip her hips, lifting her. Her legs wrap around my waist immediately, and I turn us, pressing her back against the wall. "Say it."
"Yours," she breathes, then bites my earlobe. "But you're mine too."
My hands slide up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through the lace. She rocks against me, and I see stars.
"Bed," I manage, though moving means not touching her for seconds I can't spare.
"Wall works," she counters, fingers working at my belt.
"No." I carry her to the bed, setting her on the edge. "I'm doing this right."
"Since when do you do anything right?" But her eyes are soft, understanding what I mean.
I kneel between her legs, hands sliding up her thighs. "Since you."
The words hang between us, too honest, too raw. Before she can respond, I lean forward, pressing my mouth to the inside of her thigh. She jumps, hands flying to my hair.
Her breath catches. Slowly, she lies back, trust in every line of her body.
I take my time, kissing up one thigh, then the other, until she's squirming. When I finally press my mouth to her through the lace, she cries out, back arching off the bed.
"Please," she gasps.
