Chapter 9. The Penthouse: Piercings & Wine

Sophia’s POV

Alexander’s calmness fills the elevator like gravity. 

I stare at my reflection against the panel—blonde hair secured in a neat bun, my teal silk skater dress falling perfectly—a 360-degree improvement from the last time I was here.

He slowly holds my hand and locks our fingers with gentle possessiveness. Then he meets my gaze in the panel, looking at me like I’m already his. It feels undebatable.

My breath flutters.

The first and last time I was here was by chance. This time, it’s by choice. Whatever happens to me is all on me. 

Ding.

The 69th floor.

And the elevator doors open.

I clench my free fist as I follow beside him.

The drive here was quiet. Nothing surprising; his silence does all the speaking. 

We’re waiting until marriage. He told me that himself, yet it feels like I’m walking into dangerous storms I don’t understand.

“Eleven, eleven, two…” he mutters as his fingerprint gets scanned. 

I look at him.

“That’s my passcode.” 

His passcode?

“It’s the same for the private elevator.”

I give him a nod, committing it to memory.

The door clicks open.

A quiet tremor rolls through my chest as we move inside. 

I know to stop at the console table.

He drops his phone on it and crouches, taking out a small pair of pink fur slides. “These are yours.”

“M-mine?” The word stutters out of me.

He holds my leg, and I almost choke.

“Your shoes,”

Slowly, I raise a leg, watching him unwrap the chandelier from my shin.

“Are you nervous?”

I press my lips together instead of answering.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to eat you… At least, not tonight.”

My pulse slams hard, sending an ache through me. I grip the console, releasing a deep breath. When he asks, I give him my other leg so he can unwrap my shoe.

Once my feet are inside the soft slides, he rises. They’re my perfect size.

He holds my gaze now, stepping out of his dazzling black shoes into his slippers.

Just then, his phone buzzes. 

My eyes flick to it on instinct.

Dimitri: {You left? Lucio said he saw you leaving with Sophia. Why?}

Alexander sighs softly, takes his phone, and types back without hesitation: {Relax. I’m just dropping her off at home. I’ll see the guys later.}

Immediately, he pockets his phone and meets my eyes again, leading me inside as if the world outside this penthouse is irrelevant. But my mind is still processing what he said about ‘eating’ me.

“Give me a minute, Soph. I’ll be right back.”

I respond with a nod.

He turns around, heading for his bedroom. I still remember because it’s the only room on that wing.

My mind races as I watch him move with effortless elegance. 

When he’s out of sight, I consider taking my phone out, but the thought of seeing messages from my mom or even Dimitri worries me more than what might happen to me tonight. 

I focus on my slippers instead, wishing I could take pictures of them. It’s a first-time experience for me. A nice one.

And soon, he returns. Changed into a gray ribbed long-sleeve top that sticks to every contour of his body; two of three buttons are undone. He gets closer, and my mouth opens, my eyes fixed on his chest instantly. The piercings. 

It’s not a faint outline this time. The barbells are right there, with dangles—sharp. Obvious. I picture him without the shirt, and my brain empties for a moment. I shouldn’t be staring, but… I can’t stop.

“Come,” he reaches for my hand and locks our fingers. “Let me show you around.”

I follow his lead quietly, struggling to ignore all that I’m feeling and the image etched in my head at the moment.

“The living room,” he says, gesturing. “You’ve seen most of it already.”

We move into a sprawling kitchen, sleek and modern, but he doesn’t linger. 

“This hallway leads to the dining room, pantry, and the back entrance,” he explains simply.

Then his fingers brush the small of my back to guide me forward. Heat sizzles through me. 

“Let’s go to the seventieth floor.”

Upstairs, he pushes a door open. 

“This is the library.”

Awed into silence, I stare at a vast space of books, floor-to-ceiling shelves, warm lighting. So calming.

“You love books,” he says softly, staring at me as if he knows me.

We continue.

“This is the media room. For movie nights… still setting it up, though. Maybe we can finish it together.” 

We?

Another door: “The gym.”

We return downstairs.

“My home office is down that hallway. Just books and a desk,” he says, seeming to wrap up the house tour. 

Back in the living room, he pulls me a little closer.

“You’ve seen two of the bedrooms, including mine… What do you think?” He questions, standing tall before me.

My eyes glide over his chest before settling on his face.

“Good enough for you?”

“W-what?”

“This is where we’ll live once we’re married.”

I freeze. Again, indisputable. I just stare into dark eyes, remaining quiet.

He comes closer and brushes hair away from my face.

My eyes shut in realization of how much effect he has on me. Being with him renders me speechless, thoughtless, wanting.

“Would you wait on the sofa for me?” His voice dips as his touch lingers on my face.

“Okay,” I answer.

He lets me go slowly and turns, headed for the kitchen.

Now alone, I walk to the large sofa, fingers curling on my purse as I sit. My chest won’t stop growing tight as I wonder what comes next.

In a few minutes, he’s back, a large bowl in one hand and a bottle of wine with two glasses in the other.

I instantly smell popcorn.

He drops the bowl on the sofa before sitting at the other end. My eyes fall to it. The sweet smell wafts into my nostrils, making my throat dry.

Seated in the middle, I watch him place the wine and glasses on the coffee table. After uncorking, he fills both glasses.

“Yours,” he says, giving me one.

I hold the stem, feeling my stomach flip as our fingers brush. He lifts his glass to mine, and we clink them.

Seconds pass as we stare at each other until he takes a sip of his wine. 

I take more than a sip, hoping my nerves would calm. 

Then he drops his glass and meets my gaze. There’s a soft smile on his face that naturally sends warmth to mine.

“Come sit on my lap, Sophia.” He utters, his voice low and relaxed.

I stop breathing. 

He stares, waiting like it’s the most normal thing.

My brain scratches. But slowly, I rise, remembering I was on his lap when we kissed. My purse slips off my shoulder onto the seat. 

Wine in hand, I obey, going over to him.

His dark eyes don’t stray once, glued to me, lifting when I get to him.

Standing before his knees, I lower myself onto his lap. Too carefully.

And the worst happens.

His thighs part because I sit with half-butt. I nearly slip, but his hand closes around my waist to steady me.

“Easy,” he murmurs, holding firmly, taking my wine glass from me. “I’ve got you.”

The warmth of his hand, the solidness of his chest against my back—it short-circuits every thought in my head.

He drops my glass first on the table, then adjusts me until I’m settled properly on his thighs, my legs draped and dangling beside his. When I stare at him, embarrassment washes over me, prickling my skin.

“First attempts can be messy…” he says, slipping his right arm around my lower back. “Comfortable?”

I swallow hard and give him a nod.

“Popcorn?” He offers, raising the bowl.

I slowly dip my hand inside, scooping some. He does the same, before dropping the bowl. We chew in silence, our eyes completely locked.

“Tell me something you enjoy,” he says, voice quiet but genuine. 

I glance at the popcorn briefly, until my gaze accidentally drifts to his chest.

“Football,” I answer. 

His shirt clings too well. Metal pressed against large pecs, leaving little to my imagination. My brain fogs from staring. I curl my toes in my slides.

“American football, or…?”

I lift my eyes quickly, seeing the ghost of a smirk on his lips. 

“European,” I mumble, fighting the urge to look again. “Europeans never say s–soccer. I got to enjoy it in London…”

“So, you call it football… wasn’t expecting that…” He says, putting popcorn in his mouth. “What’s your team?”

“On most days, it’s Chelsea. Manchester United on other days…” My eyes track back to his piercings. 

“Sophia,” he murmurs.

I look at him. My lips fold. My breath trembles softly.

“If you keep looking at my chest like that,” he says, voice lowering dangerously. “I’m going to think you want to touch them.”

My entire body lights on fire. “I–I wasn’t—”

His gaze darkens, stealing my voice and breath, daring me to deny it. I’m unable to. Without warning, his strong arms firm around me, slowly pulling me close.

My breath hitches.

He stretches a hand, reaching down to the lower shelf of the coffee table, and pulls a small mahogany humidor. He opens it, and my eyes fall to an array of premium, chocolate-colored cigars. He picks one and meets my gaze.

“You want to feel them, don’t you?” His palm slides a little higher on my waist. It sends goosebumps all over me. He leans closer to my ear and says so quietly, “They’re sensitive. But I’ll let you touch them… only if you let me touch you, too.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I just stare at him, my head floating in realization that I’m not stopping this.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he utters firmly.