Chapter 224
Sophia's POV
I looped my arms around Lucas's neck, pulling him close until our breaths mingled. My lips found his—soft, deliberate—and I poured every ounce of false sweetness into that kiss.
"What angle?" I whispered against his mouth, letting my fingers trail down his chest. "There's no trick here, Lucas. I just want to please you."
His eyes searched mine, skeptical but hungry. I could see the war in him—suspicion battling desire.
I reached for my phone on the side table, scrolling to the playlist I'd queued earlier. R&B. Deep bass. The kind of music that made bodies move without permission.
I hit play, and the opening notes filled the room—slow, seductive, dripping with sensuality.
The rhythm pulsed through me as I stepped back, giving him space to watch. I rolled my hips, letting the music guide me, my hands sliding up my thighs, over my waist, cupping my own breasts through the thin fabric of my dress.
I turned, giving him my back, and looked over my shoulder. Caught his gaze. Held it.
His jaw tightened. "You're really bringing it tonight."
I smiled—slow, promising—and swayed closer. My hands lifted above my head, fingers threading through my hair as I moved in front of him.
The dress clung to every curve, riding up as I dipped low, then rose again.
"Come here," I said, voice husky.
He stood, and I reached for his hand, pulling him into the rhythm with me. His palms found my waist, gripping tight as we moved together. The heat of his body pressed against mine, his breath hot against my neck.
"You've got my attention," he murmured, voice rough.
I turned in his arms, pressing my back to his chest, grinding against him in time with the beat. His hands slid up my sides, over my ribs, and I felt the zipper at my back give way. The dress loosened, the straps slipping off my shoulders.
He peeled it down slowly—torturously—letting the fabric whisper over my skin until it pooled at my feet. I stepped out of it, standing there in nothing but black lace and the hidden maxi pad I prayed he wouldn't notice.
His eyes darkened, raking over me like I was something he owned. "Fuck, Sophia."
He pulled me back against him, one arm banding across my ribs while his other hand slid up, fingers splaying possessively over my stomach. I could feel how hard he was, pressing into the small of my back.
We moved together, his hips grinding against mine, his mouth finding my shoulder, my neck. His hand rose higher, cupping my breast through the lace, thumb brushing over my nipple until it peaked.
"Lift your arms," he commanded.
I obeyed, raising them above my head. He caught both wrists in one hand, pinning them there while his other hand yanked down my bra, freeing my breasts. The cool air hit my skin, and then his mouth was on me—hot, wet, demanding.
I gasped as he sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak. My body betrayed me, arching into him even as my mind screamed to pull away.
He lavished attention on one breast, then the other, his tongue circling, his teeth nipping just hard enough to make me shudder.
His free hand roamed lower, skimming over my waist, gripping my ass, pulling me tighter against him. His mouth followed the path of his hand—kissing, biting, licking down my ribs, over my stomach, the curve of my hip.
When his fingers hooked into the waistband of my underwear, I stiffened.
"Wait—" I pulled back slightly, forcing a coy smile. "I'm... I'm on my period."
His expression shifted. A flash of irritation crossed his face, his jaw tightening. "Then why the hell are you dressed like this?" His voice was sharp. "If you're bleeding, you should be resting. Not teasing me like some—"
"I can still make you feel good," I interrupted, dropping to my knees before he could finish that sentence.
His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed with interest. "Yeah?"
I reached for his belt, fingers trembling as I undid the buckle. The leather slid free with a soft hiss. I unzipped his pants, my heart pounding so hard I thought he might hear it.
Before I pulled him free, I dug my nails into my own thigh—hard. The sharp pain cleared the fog, forced me to focus.
You can do this. For Mom. For Dad.
I freed him from his boxers. He was already fully hard, thick and heavy in my hand. I swallowed the rising nausea and leaned forward.
The first touch of my tongue made him hiss. His hand fisted in my hair—not guiding, controlling.
"That's it," he muttered. "Fuck, Sophia."
I took him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, trying to find some rhythm that would get this over with quickly. My jaw ached. My eyes watered as he hit the back of my throat, making me gag, but I forced myself to keep going.
His hips started moving, thrusting into my mouth with increasing urgency. I gripped his thighs to steady myself, nails digging into hard muscle as he used me.
My face burned. I could feel the heat in my cheeks, the tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. He was thick, pulsing against my tongue, and I hated every second of it. Hated the taste. Hated the groans of pleasure he made like I was some kind of gift.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I forced my eyes up. Met his gaze. Saw the dark satisfaction there—the power trip.
His breathing changed, became ragged. His grip in my hair tightened almost painfully.
That's when I made my move.
"Lucas—" I pulled back slightly, gasping for air. "Can I... can I ask you something?"
He blinked, disoriented, his hips still moving slightly. "What?"
"My mom." The words tumbled out in a rush. "Her asthma—it's gotten so much worse. Can I please take her to see a real doctor? A specialist? And... and the flowers in the garden there—they're making it worse. She can't breathe around them."
His hand loosened in my hair. He stared down at me for a long moment, and I saw something flicker in his eyes. Calculation. Maybe a hint of guilt.
"Please," I whispered, letting my voice break. "I'll do anything. Just let me help her."
He was silent for what felt like an eternity. Then his hand cupped my jaw, thumb brushing my swollen lips.
"You're really something, you know that?" His voice was softer now. Almost... amused? "All this—" he gestured vaguely at my kneeling form, "—just to ask me that?"
I didn't answer. Didn't trust my voice.
He sighed, then nodded slowly. "Fine. You can take her to a hospital. I'll arrange it. And I'll have the flowers removed."
Relief crashed through me so violently I nearly collapsed. "Thank you. Thank you, Lucas—"
"But you owe me," he cut in, voice hardening again. "Understand?"
I nodded frantically. "Yes. Yes, I understand."
He pulled me to my feet, then lifted me effortlessly, carrying me to the bed. He laid me down with surprising gentleness, then stretched out beside me, one arm draped possessively over my waist.
His hand settled on my stomach, warm and heavy. He rubbed slow circles there, and I felt my throat tighten.
"Fia," he murmured against my ear.
The nickname shattered something inside me. Fia. He used to call me that at the beginning. Back when I thought he was capable of love. Back when I'd curl up with cramps and he'd do exactly this—rub my stomach, whisper soft things, make me feel safe.
Things change. People change. Everything changes. I thought as I felt tears prick my eyes.
I stared at the ceiling, feeling the phantom weight of his palm, and my own hand crept down to cover my stomach.
I'm sorry, I thought to the tiny cluster of cells growing inside me. I'm sorry I can't keep you. I'm sorry I can't let you be born into this nightmare.