Page 68 of In Control

He rubs at his chin, his fingertips sinking into his thick beard. I notice for the first time, an ink protruding from under the cuff of his sleeve and I wonder where it leads.

“Who is it, Soph?”

That name sounds nice in his mouth. Soft and warm and strong.

“It’s fucked up.”

“Didn’t I just confess to you that our pack is too?”

I down the last of the wine and slide the glass onto the coffee table.

He squeezes my hand. “Have you told anyone else? Your mum–”

“Doesn’t know. She’s not a bad person, Roman. But she’s fragile.” Haven’t I learned the hard way that the only person you can trust is yourself? First my dad. Then … I snatch my hand away and walk towards the large window overlooking the city. I stare down at the weaving traffic lights and cross my arms over my body. “Nobody would ever believe me. If I ever told anyone, he’d twist it somehow, make it my fault.”

I hear the sofa groan, followed by the floorboards creaking. Then I feel his warm body behind me. He rests his hand on my shoulder, carefully like he doesn’t want to frighten me.

“Tell me and I’ll sort this for you, Sophia.”

I cover his hand with mine and he weaves our fingers together. Is it possible to trust someone ever again? If I could, it would be someone like Roman. There’s a calmness and a power that exudes from him as if there isn’t a problem in the world he couldn’t fix. Could he really fix mine?

No, Sophia, he couldn’t. He said so himself, he can’t even fix his own pack’s issues.

His fingertips sweep against the skin of my shoulder, tangling in my hair, and his other hand comes to rest on my hip. I catch the blue of his eyes in the dark reflection of the glass.

Slowly, I spin around, my heart pounding in my chest. I’m tight against the glass, the pane cool against my back. He pulls my head back, bending down to claim my mouth.

He kisses like an old movie star. With force and passion, strength and care. He kisses me in a way that makes my knees weak and my head giddy, hooking his arm around my middle and dragging me against his hard body.

Then he’s kissing my jaw and my ear, my neck and my shoulder.

“I thought you were only coming for a drink.”

“Sophia,” he murmurs, “you want me to stop?”

I want to tell him the truth. I want to step back three minutes and have the courage to tell him everything. Would he still want to help me? Would he still have swept me up in his arms like this?

But it’s too late now. The words won’t come and I can’t stop him.

“How can there be any cracks between you?” I whisper. But I don’t think he hears. How can there be? They’re perfect. All damn perfect. Even Professor Cole.

I take a handful of his hair, tugging until he lifts his mouth back to mine.

Finding the hem of my skirt, he lifts it, stroking the insides of my thigh with his knuckles. Up and down, up and down, as he kisses me, not venturing any higher as if he’s satisfied with this.

“Why are you spending time with us, Sophia?” he asks, nibbling my ear.

“For this,” I say, grinding against him.

“We’re too old for you.”

“You’re not.”

“How old are you?”

“26.”

“Fuck. I shouldn’t be doing this.”

---