“I can’t stop, Sophia.” The truth of that statement sits heavy in my chest like a rock. “I can’t stop fucking you. I can’t stop owning you.”
I start to move inside her, fucking her slowly, intently, my forehead pressed to hers. The fireworks are still going, the crowd loud on the other side of the bar. The whole world is 10 feetaway, and it don’t fucking care. “I need to come inside you. Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me.”
“I don’t want you, Vin.” But she spreads her legs wider and grips my ass, pulling me in deeper, moving against me. “I want you to leave me alone.”
“But you want to come first, don’t you,regina mia?”
“Don’t call me that.” She’s sobbing quietly against my chest, grinding her clit against me with each thrust, her hips finding my rhythm.
“Don’t call you my queen?” The words tear out of me. “Fuck, Sophia. I can’t call you anything else. You’re mine.” She feels so fucking good, so fucking perfect. It’s been so long without her, and I’m close, too close. I try so fucking hard to hold off, to stay in this, to stay with her. I don’t want this to end.
But I don’t have a choice.
“Vin!” She comes hard, my name both a scream and a sob drowned out by fireworks, her body arching against mine. Her pussy squeezes around me in rhythmic pulses, relentless and perfect.
I bury my face in her neck and explode inside her, muffling the sound against her skin as she rakes her nails up my back and into my hair.
There’s no way I’m giving this up. Not for ports. Not for an alliance. Not for anything. I’ll figure out a way to protectthe family, keep things going with the Irish, and keep Sophie. There’s no other fucking option.
When our bodies still, she slams her hands into my chest and shoves me hard. She’s not strong enough to move me, but I step back anyway.
She won’t look at me as she steps out of her ripped panties, uses them to clean up, and shoves them into the trash without comment.
I zip up, watching her the entire time.
Behind us, everyone at the party is still yelling and laughing, champagne corks popping. Another volley of fireworks split open the sky. It sounds like a celebration. It doesn’t feel like one.
She tries to slide by me, back to the party and probably to the nearest exit.
I grab her arm. “Don’t walk out on this, Sophie. We’re not done here.”
“Wearedone here.” She looks pointedly at my hand on her arm until I let go. “Your wife is out there.”
I grind my teeth. “She’s not my wife.”
“For all intents and purposes, yes, she is, Vin.” There’s a level of coldness I have never seen from her. It’s fucking chilling. “And more importantly, I’m not.”
“Soph—”
“No.” She holds up her hand. “It’s a new year, Vin. A new era for both of us. There’s no room for…” she gestures between us, “…whatever this is. You know it as well as I do. I’m asking you to stop complicating things. Please. Respect that.”
“Sophia—”
“Respect. That.”
I shake my head and look up at the sky. The fireworks are fading now, the last ones blooming and dissolving into smoke above the city. When I look back, she’s gone.
I stay where I am for a minute. The rooftop is packed, and Ashlyn and Ronan are both expecting me out there. I have zero fucking interest in playing the doting fiancé or celebrating anything.
Fuck this. I straighten my jacket, run a hand over my face, and head to the bar.
7
SOPHIE: ONE WEEK LATER
The last of the construction dust still clings to the baseboards, the fresh paint drying on the trim. Pork shoulder insoffrittohas been simmering on the stove since 7am not for the menu but because Siena, Giovanna, and Olivia brought the babies and came to help me today and I want to feed them well.
“Hand me that,” Siena says, gesturing vaguely toward a stack of linen napkins on the nearest table. She’s on her knees arranging the bottom shelf of the server station, Emilia strapped to her chest in a pale pink carrier. The baby stirs every time Siena moves, her fists opening and closing. Siena sways slightly, soothing her.
