“You know what? Yeah. Shut the fuck up and cook.”
“Yes, sir.” She turns back to her work without saying another word, leaving us in silence.
And it’s un-fucking-bearable. I last maybe five minutes before I break.
“Why’d you let me do that? Why didn’t you fight me?” She doesn’t answer, and I roll my eyes. “Fucking speak.”
“Did you want me to fight you?”
“I—” Fuck. Did I? “That’s not what I asked. Answer the fucking question.”
“Because I trust you.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“You shouldn’t.” It comes out harsh. “You don’t know me, Sophie. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
She glances up at me. “Don’t I?”
“No. You think you do because I fuck you, eat your food, sleep in your bed. But that’s not—” I drag my hands over my face, frustrated. “That’s not all I am.”
“I know.” Her voice is so fucking gentle. “You’re also the man who washes the dishes after I cook. Who asks if I’ve eaten. Who makes sure I’m safe.”
“That doesn’t mean shit.”
“It means everything.” She moves toward me, and I should stop her but I don’t. She settles on my lap, straddling me, and frames my face with her hands. “You can be rough with me, Vincenzo. I like it. But don’t pretend it makes you a monster when you’re not.”
I grab her wrists, pulling her hands away from my face. “You don’t know what I am.”
“Then tell me.”
“I’m using you. Every time I fuck you, every bruise I leave is me using you for my own purposes. It has everything to do with me venting my frustration and absolutely nothing to do with you at all.”
I wait for the betrayal, the anger. But Sophie just smiles. “I know.”
“What?”
“I know you’re angry about something. I don’t know what, but I can feel it.” She touches my chest, over my heart. “Every time you fuck me rough, you’re working something out. And that’s okay.”
“How is that okay?” Who the fuck is this woman?
“Because I choose to be here. I choose to let you work through whatever you need to. And when you’re ready, if ever, you can tell me about it.” She leans in, pressing her forehead to mine. “Until then, I’m not going anywhere.”
My hands find her hips. I squeeze, holding her tight.
“Finish making my dinner,” I finally say, my voice rough.
When she serves me, the meal is incredible. Of course it is. It was just supposed to be a snack since she made me dinner at the restaurant a few hours ago, but in typical Sophie fashion, it’s an over the top spread of side salads, vegetables, and a tray of light chicken panini.
As I eat, she sits across from me with her coffee, watching.
“You need to eat too,” I finally say, pointing at her with my fork. “Can’t live on coffee alone.”
“I ate at the restaurant earlier.”
“Bullshit. I was there. You were too busy waiting on me to eat.”
She ducks her head, blushing, happy I noticed. “It’s too late. I’ll eat tomorrow.”
