She nods, just barely.
"Words, Sophia."
"Yes." It comes out whispered, raw.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, it's clear."
I should put distance between us before I do something we'll both regret. But she's looking up at me with those eyes, lips parted, body trembling, and every instinct I have screams to claim her. To press her harder against this wall and show her exactly what she does to me.
Instead, I lean down until my lips brush her ear.
"Good girl. Now finish getting dressed. We leave in twenty minutes, and if you're not ready, I'm carrying you to that warehouse exactly as you are."
Sophia
The door clicks shut and I collapse against the wall, legs shaking. My skin burns everywhere he almost touched me. Between my thighs, I'm soaked through, and the ache there makes me press my legs together.
What the hell was that?
I touch my jaw where his fingers held me, feeling the ghost of his grip. The wall beside my head has spider-web cracks from his fist. Lorenzo Sartori just lost control. Because of me. Because of my body in these stupid jeans.
Truth is, I wasn't planning this. When he knocked, I grabbed the first shirt I saw thinking I had time to throw on pants. But then I said "come in" and I couldn't do nothing to prevent the fact that I was half naked.
My body throbs with need I've never felt before. Not like this. Not this consuming fire that makes me want to chase him down the hall and beg him to finish what he started.
I've had boyfriends. Three of them, actually. Tommy in sophomore year who kissed like he was trying to eat my face. Marcus in junior year who got handsy at prom until I kneed him in the balls. And David last year—sweet David who wrote poetry.
David wanted more. They all did. But every time things heated up, every time hands wandered under clothes and breathing got heavy, I'd freeze. Pull back. Make excuses.
"I'm not ready," I'd say. "Let's wait."
David waited six months before giving up. Called me frigid. Said I didn't know what love was.
He was right about one thing—I didn't love him. Couldn't love any of them.
Because I've been in love with Lorenzo Sartori since maybe forever.
God, how pathetic is that? Falling for a man twice my age who saved me once as a child. Who actually treats me like I'm just a problem in his life.
Except five minutes ago, he didn't look at me like I was a problem. He looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole.
I press my palm flat against my stomach, trying to calm the butterflies rioting there. My other hand drifts lower, pressing against the ache between my legs through the denim. The pressure makes me gasp.
Twenty years old and I've never had sex. Never wanted to, not really. My friends lost their virginity in high school, came back with stories about backseats and basement couches, about three-minute fumbles and awkward mornings after. Marina called it "getting it over with."
But I didn't want to get it over with. I wanted it to matter. Wanted it to be with someone who made my whole body light up with just a look.
Someone like Lorenzo.
I need to concentrate.
In less than two hours, we face my uncle.
I might die tonight. Francesco could kill me just because I am with the Sartoris.
Well, let's find out if my life ends here.
