All Chapters of Sold To The Possessive Billionaire In A Suit : Chapter 221 - Chapter 230

Sophia’s POVI’ve barely arranged myself when Alexander gets to my bed. He sets some things aside quickly—I hear the rustling of plastic bags—and climbs onto the platform, dropping onto my bed with his knees.My lips part as I breathe through my mouth. I try to rise, but I’m too torpid; he beats me to it, crawls closer, and leans over, stopping me while my elbows hold up my weight. My chest swells when he brings his face only a breath from mine. His heat cocoons me instantly. I catch a faint whiff of his scent; my stuffy nose blocks everything else out.“Hi, my love,” he mutters in my face, his breath warm and needed.I blink. Everything blurs, but my feelings are clear; my heart is fluttering.He wraps his hand behind me, helping me sit up. My body weighs heavier than usual, and I just want to sink back into bed.“How are you?”I open my mouth, but a hoarse sound comes out, so I clear my throat.“Sorry.”“You came back?” I manage a murmur.“Should I not have?” His voice is gentle and

Sophia’s POV“No, no, no, no, no,” I murmur, rolling away with my eyes closed as my husband pesters me for a third round. Saying I’m drained is soft-pedaling how I feel right now.“Come here,” he chuckles, easily catching me with a hand, and rolling me back toward him until my body touches his. He slips his other hand beneath me to wrap my waist. I’m electrocuted with pleasure for a second, warmed by his heat, and tempted by how solid he still is as he traps me with his strong thighs and calves. My hands grip his arms by instinct.And he puts his face in mine, whispering, “You said you didn’t want gentle… You can’t leave now after doing this to me.”Shivering, I sniffle, yet manage an excuse, “Alexander, you know I don’t feel well.”“You have to deal with the consequences of your words, dear wife…” he kisses my nose. “I want you inside me. Right now.” And does an awful imitation of my voice.My cheeks flame, pushing my lips into a smile.“I want you to be inside me… Right now.” He do

Sophia’s POVSluggishly, I pull the sheet and help myself up from the bed to sit. Tears leak out of my eyes. My elbows keep the pink fabric pressed over my chest; my palms rest on my eyes as I cry quietly. My mind recalls the frame on his nightstand and what was written behind it: ‘To the woman who has kept me alive and going…’“Soph?” My husband calls softly behind me. And my heart shreds further to pieces—for him, for myself, for what our future might hold. It’s hard to grasp my thoughts; they’re chaotic and heartbreaking. Picturing all he’s gone through is nearly impossible. Why would any father do that to their child? Why am I the one having to fix him? I’m the most fragile person I know. I don’t trust myself to handle all the weight he’s carrying; I fear I might break under the weight, and it will crush what we have. But I can’t live without him. I’ll choose all his pain over never having to see him again or be with him.After what feels like ages, his fingers brush my back on

Sophia’s POVWe scramble for our clothes on the bed, covering up as quickly as possible. Alexander is unbelievably fast and has worn his sweater before I even put a hand through the sleeve of my pajama shirt. He jumps off the bed, packing his things.Kneeling on the bed, I adjust my glasses with a knuckle and slowly button up my shirt. My lips twitch as I fight laughter; I press them together, working my head for what to tell Layla about the bathroom. I know she’s going to ask.My husband sneezes again, and my eyes shift toward him, my forehead crumpling. He brushes his hair out of his face and grabs his locket chain, his phone, his socks, his wallet, and his leather coat.“Did you catch a cold?” I murmur.He turns, leans over, and kisses my forehead. “I’ll be outside, my love.”“Wait.”“Meet me outside.” He repeats, rushing out of my bedroom, with his coat over the zipper of his pants to cover his hardness.My cheeks warm up.“Good morning, Layla,” I hear his deep stuttering voice. “

Alexander’s POVSophia wants to get a tattoo. No thinking it through, just a spontaneous decision she made in the moment, while we were talking. Now, we’re here, inside the tattoo shop, covered in face masks and an overly high level of alertness. I hold her small hand in mine, my thumb brushing her diamond ring as we stroll the narrow hallway and glance over our shoulders, both of us hoping no one recognizes us – that’s if there’s even anyone here. It’s awfully quiet. My head of security is outside; I didn’t see any other car parked outside, and it’s Monday morning, so I’m seriously tempted to believe that we’re the only ones here. I turn to my right and look into my wife’s beautiful eyes through her glasses. Her eyes form a happy line, and I know she’s smiling. I squeeze her hand and ask through my mask, “What tattoo do you want to get?”“Not telling you.” She responds, clinging to my arm. My left brow quirks up. “Did you think about it already?”No answer. Only a lot of clinging