Chapter 9 The Penthouse: Piercings & Wine

Sophia's POV

My heart thuds, a contrast to his calmness, which fills the elevator like gravity.

His large hand holds mine with gentle possessiveness.

I stare at my reflection against the panel-blonde hair secured in a neat bun. Teal dress, perfect.

He meets my gaze on the panel, looking at me like I'm already his. It feels undebatable.

My breath flutters.

The first and last time I was here was by chance. This time, it's by choice.

Anything that happens to me is all on me.

Ding.

The 29th floor.

And the elevator doors open.

I clench my free fist as I follow beside him.

The drive here was quiet. Nothing new; his silence does all the speaking.

We're waiting until marriage. He told me that himself, yet it feels like I'm walking into dangerous storms I don't understand.

"Eleven, eleven, two..." he mutters as his fingerprint gets scanned.

I look at him.

"That's my passcode."

His passcode?

"It's the same for the private elevator."

I give him a nod, committing it to memory.

The door clicks open.

A quiet tremor rolls through my chest as we move inside.

When the door locks behind me, my pulse begins a sprint.

I know to stop at the console table.

He drops his phone on it and crouches, taking out a small pair of pink fur slides. "These are yours."

"M-mine?" The word stutters out of me.

He holds my leg, and I almost gasp.

"Your shoes,"

Slowly, I raise a leg, watching how he unwraps the chandelier from my shin.

"Are you nervous?"

I press my lips together instead of speaking.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna eat you... at least, not tonight."

My pulse slams hard, sending an ache through me.

I grip the console, releasing a deep breath. When he asks, I give him my other leg so he can unwrap my shoe.

Once my feet are inside the soft slides, he rises. They're my perfect size.

He holds my gaze now, stepping out of his dazzling black shoes into his slippers.

Just then, his phone buzzes.

My eyes flick to it on instinct.

Dimitri: {Alex, you left? Lucio said he saw you leaving with Sophia. Why?}

Alexander sighs softly, takes his phone, and types back without hesitation: {Relax. I'm just dropping her off at home. I'll see the guys later.}

Immediately, he pockets his phone and meets my eyes again, as if the world outside this penthouse is irrelevant.

But I'm still processing what he said about 'eating'.

"Give me a minute, Soph. I'll be right back."

I respond with a nod.

He turns around, heading for his bedroom. I still remember because it's the only room on that wing.

Warmth unfurls in my chest as I watch him move with effortless elegance.

When he's out of sight, my mind races.

I consider taking my phone out, but the thought of seeing messages from my mom or even Dimitri worries me more than what might happen to me tonight.

I focus on my slippers instead, wishing I could take pictures of them. It's a first-time experience for me. A nice one.

And soon, he returns. Changed into a gray ribbed long-sleeve top.

He gets closer, and my mouth opens, my eyes fixed on his chest instantly-the piercings.

It's not a faint outline this time. The barbells are right there, with dangles-sharp. Obvious. I picture him without the shirt, and my breath stumbles, brain emptying. I shouldn't be staring... but I. Can't. Stop.

He smirks subtly before reaching for my hand. "Come. Let me show you around."

He locks our fingers, and my brain spirals. I drag in his scent like I need it to survive what happens next, following his lead.

"The living room," he says, gesturing. "You've seen most of it already."

We move into a sprawling kitchen, sleek and modern, demarcated by transparent glass, but he doesn't linger.

"This hallway leads to the dining room, pantry, and the back entrance," he explains simply.

Then his fingers brush the small of my back to guide me forward. Heat sizzles through me.

Upstairs, he pushes a door open.

"This is the library."

I stare at a vast space of books, awed into silence. Floor-to-ceiling shelves. Warm lighting. Beautiful.

"You love books," he says softly, staring at me like he knows me.

We continue.

"This is the media room. For movie nights... still setting it up, though. Maybe we can finish it together."

We?

My chest gives a tiny, traitorous flutter.

Another door: "The gym."

There's an empty room we don't visit, then we return downstairs.

"My home office is down that hallway. Just books and a desk." He says, seeming to wrap up the house tour.

Back in the living room, he pulls me a little closer.

"You've seen some of the bedrooms. Mine, too..." his voice drops slightly. "What do you think?" He questions, standing tall before me.

My eyes glide over his chest before settling on his face.

"Good enough for you?"

"W-what?"

"This is where we'll live once we're married, Soph,"

I freeze.

Again, indisputable. I just stare into dark eyes, breathing softly.

He comes closer and brushes hair away from my face.

I shut my eyes, feeling and realizing how much of an effect he has on me. Being with him renders me speechless, thoughtless, wanting.

"Would you wait on the sofa for me?" His voice dips as his touch lingers on my face.

"Okay," I squeak.

He lets me go slowly and turns, headed for the kitchen.

Now alone, I walk to the large sofa, fingers curling on my purse when I sit. My chest won't stop growing tight as I wonder what comes next.

In a few minutes, he's back, a large bowl in one hand and a bottle of wine with two glasses in the other.

I instantly smell popcorn.

He drops the bowl on the sofa before sitting at the other end.

My eyes fall to it. The sweet smell wafts into my nostrils, making my throat dry. He's probably the one causing it.

Seated in the middle, I watch him place the wine and glasses on the coffee table.

After uncorking, he fills both glasses.

"Yours," he says, giving me a glass.

I hold the stem, feeling my stomach flip.

He lifts his glass to mine, clanking them.

Seconds pass as we stare at each other until he takes a sip of his wine.

I take more than a sip, hoping my nerves would calm.

Then he drops his glass and meets my gaze. There's a soft smile on his face that naturally sends a warmth to mine.

"Come sit on my lap, Sophia." He suddenly utters, voice low and relaxed.

My breath stops.

He stares, waiting like it's the most normal thing.

My brain goes into an instant overdrive.

But slowly, I rise. My purse slips off my shoulder onto the seat.

Wine in hand, I obey, going over to him.

His dark eyes don't stray once, glued to me, raising when I get to him.

Standing before his knees, I lower myself onto his lap. Too carefully.

And the worst happens.

His thighs part because I sit with half-butt. I nearly slip, but his hands close around my waist instantly, steadying.

"Easy," he murmurs, holding firmly, taking my wine glass from me. "I've got you."

The warmth of his hands, the solidness of his chest against my back-it short-circuits every thought in my head.

He drops my glass first, then adjusts me until I'm settled properly on his thigh, my legs draped and dangling beside his.

When I stare at him, embarrassment washes over me, prickling my skin.

"First time can be messy..." he says, slipping his right arm around my waist. "Comfortable?"

I swallow hard and give him a nod.

"Popcorn?" He offers, raising the bowl.

I slowly dip my hand inside, taking a few. He does the same, before dropping the bowl.

We chew in silence, eyes locked.

His dark gaze punches heat through me.

"Tell me something you enjoy," he says, voice quiet but intent.

I glance at the popcorn briefly, until my gaze accidentally drifts to... his chest.

"Football," I answer.

His shirt clings too well. Metal pressed against large pecs. Skin. The outlines-clear as day.

My brain fogs.

"American football or-?"

I lift my eyes quickly, seeing the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

"European," I mumble, fighting the urge to look again. "Europeans never say s-soccer. I got to enjoy it in London..."

"So, you call it Football... wasn't expecting that. What's your team?"

I exhale, curling my toes in my slides.

"On some days, it's Chelsea. Manchester United on other..." My eyes track back to his piercings.

"Sophia," he murmurs.

I look at him. My lips part. My breath trembles softly.

"If you keep looking at my chest like that," he says, voice lowering dangerously. "I'm going to think you want to touch them."

My entire body lights on fire.

"I-I wasn't-"

His gaze darkens, stealing my voice, breath, and daring me to deny it. I'm unable to.

Strong arms pull me close, suddenly yet slowly.

My breath hitches.

He stretches a hand and pulls a small box from beneath the coffee table.

It opens, and my eyes fall to an array of precious, chocolate cigars.

He picks one and,

"You want to feel them, don't you?" He states, his palm sliding a little higher on my waist.

I can't breathe.

He leans closer to my ear.

"They're sensitive. But I'll let you touch them," he says quietly. "Only if you let me touch you, too."