Chapter 61

Chapter 61
Sophia’s POV
My heart was racing as I knelt beside him, the Persian rug soft beneath my knees. The intricate patterns beneath my palms seemed to blur as every nerve in my body focused on the man before me.
The silence in the study was deafening, broken only by the soft ticking of the antique clock on his desk and the barely audible sound of our breathing.
Oh my God.
The realization hit me like a physical shock, stealing the air from my lungs. He was magnificent. Powerful. Completely, overwhelmingly masculine in a way that made my mouth go dry and my hands shake with something that definitely wasn't fear. The evidence of his arousal was impossible to ignore, impossible to dismiss as anything other than what it was—proof that every assumption about Vito Romano had been devastatingly wrong.
He's so... God, he's so big.
The thought crashed through my mind like a tidal wave, sending molten heat racing through my veins. This had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with a hunger I'd never experienced before. Not with Michael, who had always been gentle and predictable. Not with anyone in my limited experience. This was something primal, something that made me feel like I was discovering desire for the first time.
My hands trembled against the fabric of his cock, and I could feel the heat of him.
"You're trembling," Vito observed, his voice gentle despite the tension I could feel coiled in his body like a loaded spring. Every muscle seemed poised for action, restrained only by his iron will. "Are you afraid?"
Afraid? I almost laughed at the irony. Terrified would be more accurate, but not for the reasons he might think. I was terrified of how much I wanted this. Terrified of how right it felt to be here with him like this, on my knees before him like some sort of offering. Terrified of the way my body seemed to recognize his touch as if we'd been made for each other, as if every moment leading up to this had been inevitable.
The Persian rug beneath my knees felt like silk, but all I could focus on his cock, the way his breathing had grown slightly uneven, the way his free hand gripped the arm of his chair with white-knuckled intensity.
"No," I whispered, surprised by the steadiness in my voice when everything inside me felt like chaos. "Not afraid."
His hand found my hair, fingers threading through the silky strands with a gentleness that somehow made him seem even more dangerous. The touch was possessive yet tender, commanding yet reverent. It sent shivers down my spine and made me lean instinctively into his palm.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he murmured, his thumb stroking along my scalp in a way that made my eyes flutter closed.
That I've been living a lie in more ways than one. That every assumption about you has been wrong. That I'm starting to understand why Isabella ran—because this level of intensity would terrify someone who'd never learned to face difficult truths.
But I couldn't say any of that. The words would reveal too much, expose the precarious house of cards I'd built around my identity. Instead, I looked up at him, meeting those impenetrable dark glasses that somehow made him seem even more mysterious.
"I'm thinking that everyone has been wrong about you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
A smile ghosted across his lips—the first genuine one I'd seen in weeks. It transformed his entire face, making him look younger, less guarded. More human. "Have they?"
"Your grandfather. The doctors. Everyone who assumes..." I gestured vaguely, then felt heat flood my cheeks at my own boldness. How could I be having this conversation while kneeling between his legs, while the evidence of his desire was mere inches from my face?
"Everyone who assumes I'm broken," he finished softly, and there was something almost vulnerable in his tone.
"You're not broken," I said, the words rushing out more fervent than I'd intended. "You're—"
Perfect. Powerful. More man than I knew how to handle.
But before I could finish the thought, his thumb traced my lower lip with deliberate slowness, stopping my words and stealing my breath. The simple touch sent electricity shooting through my entire body, making me gasp and part my lips instinctively.
"Careful, little one," he murmured, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made my stomach flip. "You're looking at me like you want to devour me."
The heat in his voice made every nerve ending in my body come alive. Was I? Was I that transparent? Could he see the hunger in my eyes, the way my body was responding to his proximity?
Yes. Yes, I was.
And for the first time since this whole charade began, I didn't want to hide it.
I could barely breathe, let alone respond coherently. The air between us felt charged, electric, like the moment before lightning strikes.
His free hand moved to his lap with deliberate slowness, a gesture that made my cheeks burn with awareness and my heart stutter in my chest. "Then maybe," he said, his voice pure silk and sin, "you'd like to come up here and try sitting on something a little more... substantial than that floor."
Oh God. The boldness of his suggestion hit me like a physical shock, sending heat racing through my veins and pooling low in my belly.
"Vito..." I whispered, his name barely audible past the thundering of my heart.
"What's wrong, little one?" he asked, that dangerous smile widening as he watched my reaction. "You look like you want to take me up on my offer."
I wasn't sure where the courage was coming from. Maybe it was weeks of pent-up tension. Maybe it was the realization that this marriage didn't have to be the prison I'd thought it was. Or maybe it was simply that being this close to him had awakened something in me I'd never known existed—something wild and hungry and completely unlike the careful, controlled woman I'd always been.
The thought was intoxicating.
"Show me," I whispered, leaning closer until I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, until I could see my own reflection in his dark glasses. "Show me what I'm doing to you."
For a moment, the air between us crackled with electricity. His hand in my hair tightened, and I thought he might pull me closer, might close the distance between us entirely and give us both what we so desperately wanted.
But then, in the heavy silence of the study, another sound intruded.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sharp rapping on the study door cut through the intimate atmosphere like a blade. I jerked back instinctively.
I started to rise from my position beside his chair, suddenly acutely aware of how this must look, how compromising this position was. But Vito's hand shot out, catching my wrist gently but firmly.
"Stay," he murmured, so quietly that only I could hear.