Faster and faster, and her shoulders heave.
"I'm—I'm s-s-sorry," she says through hiccuping sobs. "I d-don't know why I'm—c-crying. I'm so happy, and I…"
I wrap both arms around her and kiss her crown. "Let it out. It's alright. Just let it all out, Soph. Happy, sad, overwhelmed, confused—just feel it."
"I'm so s-s-s-sick of c-c-crying!"
"You've got a lot of overdue crying to get through, I think."
She nods, shaking and shuddering against me.
She cries for a long time—not wracked, violent sobs this time, but soft, quiet tears and delicate shudders.
How long? An hour? More? I don't know, don’t care.
I have my Sophia in my arms. She loves me. We've found our intimacy. Our physical expression of our love.
All is right in the world.
At least, this little bubble of it.
9
VOCÊ SENTE…
INEZ
Waking up is a gradual affair. This is unusual for me—I always wake up suddenly, fully awake at precisely 5 am. You can set a clock by that, usually.
This time, all is confusing and disorienting. I don’t remember falling asleep. I don't remember where I am. I'm hot. I'm not in my bed at the club.
Where am I?
I open my eyes—hotel room. Hotel?
My eyes are gritty with sleep. The blinds are open, revealing the glow of Las Vegas at night. Horns honk. Lights flash and strobe and coruscate on the ceiling.
The bed beneath me moves.
It's not a bed—it's a male body. I'm not just laying in bed with him, I'm fullyon topof him, draped on him like I'm his blanket. My head is on his chest, my hands tucked over his big, hard shoulders. His hands are splayed possessively on my ass. I feel his cock wedged against my hip. My breasts are flattened against his chest.
Panic rifles through me—I'm hazy with sleep, disoriented, confused. I don't know where I am or who this is beneath me.I can't breathe, and I’m frozen in terror. A keening whine seeps out of my tight, hot throat.
"Mmmmm?" The man beneath me stirs, grunts a wordless query. "Soph?"
His voice is instantly soothing, but I'm caught in the grip of a panic attack. Tears squeeze out of my eyes, and I want nothing more than to crawl away, to get away, to hide in the corner.
I can't. I'm frozen.
The man senses it. "Hey, hey, hey—" his voice is soft and soothing and deep and reassuring and calm. “You're okay, Soph. You're safe."
Safe.Safe?
I'm not safe. I'm never safe. He's out there and Lorenzo—
"L-Lor—" I can't manage the rest past the teeth-clenched panic.
"It's me, sweetheart." His hands skate upward and roam my back in calming circles. "It's me. You're with me. We’re at the Bellagio, in the penthouse."
