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In my fucking dreams. Sophie doesn’t love me. She barely tolerates me. At least she seems to be willing enough to let me touch her and lick her.
If I learned nothing else from today’s close call with my wife, it’s that it will take more than a few orgasms to make her happy, to keep her. She needs to trust me, and she needs me to love her. That’s what she deserves. I just wish I knew how to do both of those things.
When Sophie comes out of her bathroom, her eyes go right to me still lying in the wet spot in her bed, lazily stroking my cock, thinking stupid family shit. She wets her lips like she wants me in her mouth. But I don’t even want a blowjob from her. No, I just want her to come home with me.
I’ll do anything to make that happen.
“You should get dressed before my father comes in to drag you out of here,” she tells me.
“Are you coming with me?” I ask. Before she can tell me no, I add, “Just until we know for sure.”
“It doesn’t matter…”
“It matters to me, Sophie. This is my responsibility too. We’re in this together whether you like it or not, whatever you decide.”
I don’t know why I can’t just walk away now, knowing she’ll probably be coming right back here to Dante in no time. I guess I keep hoping I’ll be able to…make her want more. More from me than sex. Which is fucking ridiculous since that’s all I have to offer Sophie. She doesn’t need money or anything else. I can give her orgasms, sure, but that will never be enough to keep her.
“Fine,” she agrees. I let out the breath I was holding, but my relief is short-lived. “Only until we know for sure. I don’t…I can’t trust you.”
She’ll be mine, but only for a few days because she doesn’t trust me not to fuck around behind her back. Even being in the room with a whore crosses a line for her. And I get it. I wouldn’t want her watching some other man go down on a woman.
A few more days with her are better than none.
How long could I keep her chained to my bed before Dante came looking for her? Probably only a few days. I’ll take whatever breadcrumbs she’ll give me while trying to figure how to prove to her, to myself, that I can be a better man for her.
So, like the pussy-whipped bitch I am, I let go of my dick to stand up and put the other half of my clothes back on. While I dress, I still can’t get over how Sophie had me on my hands and knees, only naked from the waist-down. I can’t wait to return the favor.
When I’m put back together as much as possible, and her shoes are thankfully on her feet, I reach for the doorknob with one hand and hers with the other. “Ready?”
She looks down at my offered palm a moment before reluctantly taking it. The fact that she’ll willingly touch any part of me after everything is still a surprise.
“Wait. Do you…do you think they heard us?” Sophie asks softly, her flushed cheeks darkening.
“Hell, yes. You screamed like a banshee when you were coming on my tongue.”
“Shit.” Pressing her forehead against my shoulder, she says, “Maybe we can sneak out without running into anyone.”
“Doubtful,” I reply.
Dante isn’t standing in the hallway, but he doesn’t look happy leaning against the kitchen counter on the third floor, sipping a glass of what looks like whiskey. Vanessa appears to be trying to calm him down with her palms braced on his chest. Unfortunately, the only way down the stairs is through the kitchen.
Fuck.
As soon as he looks over and sees me, I stop walking, ready to face the music. Sophie remains ducking behind me with her fingers gripping the back of my suit jacket.
“While I’m glad that it sounded like you two have made up, I don’t ever want to hear you doing that shit in my house again,” Dante grumbles.
Sophie nearly tugs me off balance with her grip on my jacket like she’s decided to retreat back to her room and take me with her. “Whoa,” I mutter, having to throw my hand to the wall to catch myself.
“Sorry, Daddy,” she whispers.
“It’s okay, princess,” I reply at the exact same time Dante says, “It wasn’t your fault, baby girl.”
Oh. Fuck.
Dante and I stare at each other as the realization dawns on both of us that we’re not entirely sure who she was talking to.
Vanessa is no help at all. She smothers her face in Dante’s chest, narrow shoulders shaking as she tries to muffle the sounds of her laughter.
