NO BACKING OUT NOW

~~Sofia~~

Rafael is kissing me again.

His lips are softer than they have any right to be on a man like him. I remember the first time, the hallway, the towel, the way he whispered sole against my ear like it was something he'd been saving and this feels like the continuation of a sentence that was never finished.

He starts to pull back, and I don't let him.

I shift in his lap and he exhales sharply against my mouth, his hands tightening on my hips like a reflex he can't help.

"Fuck." His forehead drops to mine. "Don't make that sound, Sofia."

"What sound?"

He pulls back just far enough to look at me. His eyes are dark and a little dangerous and completely focused on my mouth. "The one that makes me forget every reason I shouldn't be here."

I lean in and brush my lips against his, barely a kiss, more of a question.

"Rafael." His name comes out quieter than I intend. "Stay."

Something moves across his face, conflict, want, something heavier than both. He loops his arm around my waist slowly, like he's giving himself one last chance to think clearly.

"You know what happens if I stay."

"I know."

"Enzo would-"

"I know, Rafael."

He searches my face for a long moment. Whatever he finds there makes his jaw tighten.

"Fuck it."

He kisses me like he's already made peace with every consequence. His hands are everywhere, gripping my waist, sliding up my back, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. I bite his lip and he growls low in his throat, his fingers digging into my hips.

"Don't tease me, sole."

And then I become suddenly, acutely aware that my knees are pressed into the marble of the front steps. That the guards are somewhere in the dark. That my father's bedroom window is three floors up and directly above us.

"Rafael."

"Mm."

"Rafael."

He pulls back, chest heaving, eyes hooded. "What."

"I can't lose my virginity on the front steps."

He goes very still.

The word hangs between us, virginity, and I watch it land. His expression shifts through something I can't fully read. Surprise, maybe. Then something more careful.

"Sofia." His voice has changed. Lower. More serious. He takes my face in both hands, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones, and looks at me like he's seeing me clearly for the first time tonight. "Are you sure you want to do this? With me?"

"Yes."

"I need you to be sure. Because I'm not-" He stops. Starts again. "I'm not the guy you deserve. You know that."

I put my hand over his, still cupping my face. "I want you, Rafael. Not who I deserve. You."

He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, the conflict is still there, but it's settled into something quieter. A decision made.

"Okay." He presses one soft kiss to my forehead, then stands, and before I can process what's happening he's scooped me up over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.

"Rafael-"

A sharp, warm smack lands on my bottom.

"That's for prolonging my wait."

I burst out laughing, completely undone by the absurdity of it, and punch his back as he takes the stairs two at a time. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance."

"Third on the left!"

Another smack.

"Rafael!"

"That's for living next door to your brother all these years and making it impossible."

I'm still laughing when he pushes my bedroom door open with his foot. He throws me onto the bed, and I sink into the comforter, breathless, my hair fanned out around me. The laughter fades slowly as I watch him reach back and pull his shirt off in one motion.

The room is dim, just the soft light bleeding under the curtains. Enough to see the line of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he looks at me like I'm the only thing in the room worth looking at.

I have wanted this without letting myself know I wanted it.

He takes his time crossing to me, unhurried, deliberate, the same way he does everything. He wraps one hand around my ankle and I think he's going to kiss up my leg, but instead he pulls me down the bed in one smooth movement and I shriek, and he laughs, and for a moment he looks nothing like a man who sat in a room tonight while someone died.

He looks like just Rafael.

"Hi," he says quietly, hovering over me.

"Hi," I whisper back.

He traces his hands down my sides slowly, like he's learning me by touch alone, and I feel my breath go shallow. His eyes stay on mine as his thumbs brush over the fabric of my cami, and whatever sound escapes me makes him smile, not the easy, practiced smile he wears for everyone else. Something smaller. Realer.

"Shirt," he says softly.

I pull it over my head.

The way he looks at me makes me want to cover myself and never cover myself at the same time.

"God, Sofia." He says it like it costs him something.

His mouth finds my skin slowly, tracing heat down my collarbone, the curve of my chest, until his lips close over my nipple and my back arches completely off the bed. I've imagined being touched before in the vague, abstract way you imagine things you've never had, nothing prepared me for the reality of his mouth, his hands, the specific and devastating way he pays attention.

"Rafael-"

"Tell me what you want." His voice is rough against my skin. "I want to hear you say it."

"More," I breathe. "Just.....more."

He obliges.

By the time his hands slide into my shorts I am already lost, already somewhere beyond embarrassment or hesitation. He says something low and reverent that I can't fully catch, and then his fingers find me and I stop being able to think in full sentences.

Nothing has ever felt like this.

No one has ever touched me like I was worth being careful with and completely taken apart at the same time.

I don't know when I started pulling at his hair or when my hips started moving on their own. I only know that the pressure builds and builds until it crests and breaks, and I shatter with his name on my lips, my fingers twisted in his hair, his mouth pressed against the inside of my thigh like a secret.

The room is quiet for a moment.

Then "Good girl, sole."

His voice is wrecked and warm and unbearably smug. He props himself up on one elbow and looks at me with his hair ruined and his lips curving at the corner, and I feel heat rush back into my face.

He traces one finger along my jaw. "Don't go shy on me now."

"I'm not shy."

"You're pink from your ears to your chest."

"That's just... that was just-"

He kisses me slowly, and I forget what I was going to say.

When he pulls back his eyes are dark again, that focused, patient intensity that I am beginning to understand is just how he wants things. Completely. Without apology.

"My turn, sole," he murmurs against my lips. "And I plan to take my time."