“I guess he loved your mom a lot, then,” I murmur.
She rarely talks about her mom walking out. It’s one of the only things about her I don’t know intimately.
“You know,” she says, “I don’t think he did.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know.” She pauses, blowing on her cocoa. “It’s just when she left, I never saw him upset, or angry, or anything like that. He was just concerned for me, for how she betrayed me. He never spoke about how much it had hurt him.”
“Maybe he just keeps it to himself?”
“Maybe,” she says. “But I don’t think so. I don’t know if Dad has ever been in love, really.”
I repress a shiver, half fear, and half delight.
Could I be the one to break down Solomon Sky’s emotional barricades?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Solomon
I try to focus on my work the next morning, smiling in all the right places in conference calls, writing all the correct things in reports.
But everything I do is clouded by her, my woman, my obsession.
I pace over to the giant windows and look down upon the city.
The midday sun hangs brightly in the sky, the first hint that summer is truly on the way, that winter is finally behind us. It’s been bitter cold in the winter this year, icy and jagged.
It’s almost as if the weather knows the change happening within me, bathing the city in yellow heavenly light as a sign of the transformation Sophia is triggering inside of me.
Goddamn, that sounds like some second-rate poetry bullshit.
And yet I can’t smirk it away how I normally would.
The idea lingers and expands in my mind, ringing with the tenor of truth, telling me that I’m always going to be bound to this woman no matter what I do.
“Why does she have to be Caitlin’s best friend?” I sigh, shaking my head and turning back to my desk.
I rest my fists against it, my jaw pulsating.
It’s twelve-thirty. Surely that proves I’m not a complete animal, that I’ve at least tried to resist the urge to call my woman up here.
I just need to see her, to drink in her curvaceous beauty with my eyes.
I laugh drily at the thought.
As if just taking a look at Sophia will ever be enough.
I’m just telling myself convenient lies so I don’t feel like the worst dad in the world for what I’m going to do with Sophia—what I have to do with her.
All last night, sleep danced away from me as thoughts of her thick, gorgeous legs invaded my mind, as I remembered the way she shivered and moaned and then finally screamed, gyrating on the hood of my car.
Deep inside of me, a primal need grows and expands, pulsing like a dance song, frenetic energy consuming every inch of my body.
I didn’t even get a chance to tell her what she really means to me.
What if she’s down there right now, flirting with one of her colleagues because she doesn’t understand who she belongs to?
It wouldn’t be a good look, the CEO marching down there and tooling up one of his employees for the crime of hitting on his lady.
I walk around my desk and drop into the chair, interlocking my fingers, squeezing tight so I can feel the tension in my knuckles. I want to roar as my need for her spirals through me, endlessly, my seed rioting and making my balls tight and heavy.
She’s a virgin, untouched, innocent, naive, young, and mine, only mine.
Forever.
I reach over to my intercom and press the button.
“Peter,” I say, “please send up Sophia Clarkson.”
My little virgin must have some idea of what she’s doing to me. She must know wearing a skirt that hugs her hips so closely is going to cause feral thoughts to rise and flare inside of me.
My eyes are drawn to the way she moves those thick tempting hips from side to side. She’s wearing a white shirt, buttoned up almost all the way to the top. But there’s one button that shows the barest slice of her chest, just a hint, a promise, and it makes me want to tear it open and send the buttons flying.
I need to taste those breasts, to suck on them until her nipples are pert and achy and hungry for more.
She stops at the edge of the desk. She’s wearing her hair around her shoulders today, cascading waves of it begging to be touched and caressed.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” she says, a subtle smile playing at her lips.
Her shyness tries to make her features submissive, but the fiery goddess in her won’t allow it. I wonder if she’s driven by the same primal forces as me if her womb is screaming as loudly as my seed roars.
“Wanted?” I snarl, rising to my feet.
I walk around the desk slowly, perhaps to give myself time to stop, to do the right thing, and remember Caitlin.
Sophia twitches with my every footstep, causing her beautiful thick body to undulate alluringly. Her breasts are large and round and perfect in that tight shirt, bulging, making the base of my cock flood with tension.
“Wanted,” I say again, walking up behind her, “doesn’t even come fucking close.”
She turns her face to me but keeps her body aimed toward the desk. It makes me think of how she’ll look when I fuck her from behind, driving up between those big ass cheeks, making them bounce and shimmer with her release.
“Solomon,” she murmurs.
“Don’t Solomon me,” I snap. “Don’t come in here looking like sex on legs, wearing that tight-as-fuck shirt and that mind-fucking skirt, don’t call me sir, knowing how crazy it makes me … Don’t do all of that, my sweet Sophia, and expect me to do
