Chapter 5 Still Under His Spell

Sophia's POV

"C-can I have my shirt laundered?" I blabber, seated on the sofa, still thinking of the tattoo.

He slowly lowers himself before my knees, dropping the first-aid kit on the floor. "Why? Is it expensive?"

"Um..." My breath slows in realization of what he's about to do.

His eyes are on the ground as he takes things out of the box.

I can't seem to find the words.

He lifts his head now, eyes on my legs.

I stare at the little, red cuts on my thighs, wondering if they'll sting or if I'll feel something else.

"I told Garvey to get you new clothes. Don't worry, it won't be cheap."

That's not it. I need a bra. But how can I tell him?

He slowly presses an antibiotic ointment on his finger and brings it to my leg.

I wince, folding my fists on the sofa.

He's gentle, taking his time on each bruise, rubbing softly.

"They won't leave scars."

I stare at his head, his sharp nose, his small lips, his lashes, his large, veiny hand.

"Lemme see the other one."

My skin starts to tingle, heat rising. I hesitate, yet I pull my thighs apart by only a few inches, showing him just the beginning of the long wound.

"You're lucky it's not deep."

He picks up the ointment again.

A voice whispers in my head to stop him. To do it myself instead. But I shut it down quickly, focusing on the music that's playing.

He presses out ointment onto two fingers.

The second they touch my skin, the heat sparks, becoming fierce.

It stings so much, but I feel other sensations.

I tighten my fists and shut my eyes.

Fingers slide down my right thigh, over the cut. When he lifts my leg, a tiny sound comes out of me. One he doesn't acknowledge.

I find myself reclining into the sofa, allowing my head to swim, allowing the heat to gather low.

My body reacts before my mind can agree. Exactly how it happened on New Year's Eve.

We were seated at the same table in that hall, in the Belcroft estate, joyous and celebrating a tycoon turning 61-Dimitri's father.

I'd been stealing glances at him the whole night, but he started reciprocating. I had so much champagne and freedom. It was the first time my parents let me stay out late.

Only a seat separated us, but it was empty. Alexander crossed it and brushed my thigh to get my attention. I looked at him, and he was already looking, undoing me with sparkling eyes.

It was a moment that altered everything I knew about love and desire. For the first time in my life, I imagined following a man home. Whatever the consequence, I was ready to suffer it.

"This cut needs a bandage..."

My eyes open to see him still meticulously attending to my wound, unaware that he's driving me nuts already.

He takes out adhesive bandages. I watch him stick one first. The second one, he waits. Waiting for me to lift my leg.

Slowly, I lift my thigh to give him room. And something else happens.

He sticks it on, then slowly caresses it with a thumb.

My pulse skitters. I sit up.

I stare, wondering if he's just trying to make it stick, and I'm the one imagining things. But he does it again-slower, with more pressure.

A sigh floats out of my mouth.

"That makes you feel good..." he murmurs with a knowing tone.

When he lifts his eyes to mine, it's a moment I realize he knows what he's doing to me.

I freeze.

He starts to rise.

"Lean against the sofa, Beautiful... I'll make you feel even better,"

He leans down, takes my chin, and lifts it.

My insides tingle as I stare into charming eyes.

The heat from his breath hits my face, and a yearn awakens in me. Fear, too.

My fingers dig into the sofa, my chest drums in alarm. I should stop this. Dad would kill me if he knew this is what my running away led me to, yet I slowly sit back, choosing to feel better.

I shut my eyes, anticipating.

The world tilts the second his lips touch mine.

He's slow, tentative. Teasing. Melding our lips together in tune with the beat.

My nails press deeper into the sofa.

Quickly, he seals my lips, shifting his hand behind my head. Pressing.

And my insides tumble down.

Soft lips coax mine open. I taste him immediately. He lets me. He claims, unrestrained yet skilled.

He shifts a hand to my right bosom.

I gasp, but he swallows it.

"You came out here without a bra?" His voice is low, dry, his teeth scraping my lip.

I let out a soft sound, reaching for him because I'm losing my mind. I grab his collar with both hands.

When I pull him close, he trails his kisses to my jaw, still working his hand.

I sigh, arching naturally, curling my fingers tight around the fabric of his shirt.

His right hand leaves the back of my head and grips my left thigh. In a flash, I'm pulled up. He's on the sofa. And I'm in his lap.

Stunned, I stare at him. I stare into those eyes that started this inexplicable madness I feel.

The music adds to my trembling heart and body.

But he's also breathing hard in my face. His brows crinkle like he's trying to decipher something in my head.

I gawk at his lips; they're all I want in this moment.

He hesitates, like he's not sure of himself. But slowly, he brings his head close, taking my lips again.

A sudden blaze ignites in my chest. It consumes me when his tongue brushes mine.

His hands roam, one pulling me close, the other finding the softness of my chest.

"A-alex-xander..." I spiral on a wave of pleasure, eliciting soft, breathless sounds.

I touch him.

"Arms around my neck." He urges.

My hands lift fast, curving behind his neck. At the same time, strong arms pull me even closer.

I feel something against me. No. Two things. One is hard, pushing heat straight to my face. The other is... sharp?

But his teeth drag my top lip, and his tongue slithers back into my mouth, distracting me. He pulls my mouth, kissing me full and hard. No air.

Everything blurs.

I feel his hands on my thighs, caressing, inching closer. And they slip under my shorts.

My senses fly awake only for a moment. I grab his wrists, stopping him before I lose total control.

He breaks our kiss.

I lock gaze with him, seeing how dark and hungry his eyes have turned. We're both panting.

I shake my head with a weakness, letting him know tonight is not that night.

He withdraws his hands fast and pulls me close for an embrace.

But as my arms go around his neck, he grips my waist, lifting me suddenly.

My heart kicks hard when he presses his lips against the soft swell of my chest.

I coil in pleasure, releasing a deep breath. My head drops.

"You're a fantastic kisser, Soph."

The compliment sends a curl up my stomach. But it's the kisses he keeps pressing that steal my brain cells. They're soft, intentional-like he's memorizing the shape of me.

"A-Alexander..." My voice is barely mine, thin and trembling.

His grip at my waist tightens, and he gently sits me back in his lap.

"Let's take our time getting used to each other..." he whispers against my ear, voice deep and uneven.

My eyes stay closed, my chest pounding. Strength eludes me.

"You good?" He questions, stroking my back with gentleness.

My head is blank.

I drag in his scent, letting it permeate my mind as I catch my breath.

Minutes pass.

By the time my senses settle, the music is still playing, I'm still in Alexander Thorne's arms, on his lap, in his penthouse.

The realization that I've just kissed the man who's been visiting my dreams for months starts to sink in.

I've never been kissed so recklessly. So beautifully.

Guilt trickles into my chest, squeezing-the awareness that if my mom and dad were to find out what I've just done, my punishment would be worse than getting grounded for weeks.

Alexander is too quiet. His breath moves softly against my hair.

I fold my lips and shift in his embrace.

And there it is again-sharp. Firm.

His chest jerks. A controlled, involuntary twitch.

I slowly peel myself off him.

"What is it?" He asks, calm as ever.

My vocabulary evaporates.

"Do you find them uncomfortable?"

Them?

I lift my head, searching his eyes.

"What's that?" I manage a mutter.

"What's what?" A teasing smile curves on his lips, left brow lifted.

"On your..."

The words die in my throat.

He raises his brow higher, waiting, knowing.

Then, "What do they feel like?" His hands slide to the small of my back in slow warmth.

My cheeks flame.

And he lets out a soft chuckle.

"You know what they are, Soph. That's why you're turning all red."

I drop my gaze because he's staring too intensely. But then I see it.

The faint raised outlines under his shirt. Impossible to unsee.

"They're my nipple rings."

My breath fractures. My eyes lock on his chest, refusing to move.

Silence. Thick and embarrassing.

Suddenly, the bell chimes.

But I'm paralyzed in place, glued to him, eyes fastened where metal should not be. Outlines I didn't notice earlier. Outlines I couldn't possibly have noticed, because he's a man I've only ever seen in suits.

"That must be Garvey with your clothes and dinner," he murmurs.

His nipples are pierced?! Pierced!

And my boobs kept brushing against... them?!

My imagination goes feral immediately. My heart trembles.

He inhales once. Then,

"Your father is calling, Sophia."

But all I hear is:

Nipple rings. Danger. And who the heck is this hot freak I've just let kiss me?!