Chapter 8 Sophia's POV
Of course, I didn't really end my relationship with Vincent.
It was just a dream.
I wished I was so brave.
But in fact I was very timid!
I was terrified of losing Vincent.
I never saw Vincent again in the following days. He never came to see me.
Catherine sent me home on the day I was discharged. Looking at the empty and lifeless house, she sighed. "Sometimes I really can't comprehend where your head is at. You used to be fearless—there was so much more to you than this. But now? Oh, Sophia, what has love done to you?"
Love was a hell into which I willingly stepped. I knew I had slowly been losing myself, yet I had still surrendered all of myself, body and soul.
I could have denied having slept with Vincent on the day they found out. I could have turned down, with my head held high, from being named his mate. But the word "mate" was like magic. And so I had chosen to stand next to Vincent, this tall and handsome man on whom I had had a crush for a few years but to whom I hadn't spoken a word until the eventful night.
I couldn't blame anyone for my own choice, could I? "It's the choice I made, Catherine. Still, thank you."
Catherine shook her head and left.
There was no one at home, and I was sitting alone on the couch, trying to recall everything that had happened in this place. But in the end, I realized that Vincent and I had never shared a moment. I sat here until evening when the afterglow of the setting sun filtered through the window into the house. I heard my phone ring. It was the ringtone I had set for Vincent alone.
Joy swelled in me. I almost rushed over to pick up my phone, and the name popping up on the screen seemed so unreal. Holding out hope, I answered the call, "Vincent," only to hear a woman's moan: "Oh, Vincent, you are great, I love you..."
Marianne's moan was a nightmarish tune to my ears, but at the same time the man's low growl came from the other end of the phone.
I held the phone blankly as my whole heart plunged into an abyss of desolation. I hung up the phone in a hurry, trying to deceive myself and erase the voice just now, but tears had already slipped from the corners of my eyes.
The silence around me was like a flood. I staggered to get to Vincent's wine cabinet and popped open a bottle of red wine. After a few sips, however, I gave up attempting to numb myself in this way, and I couldn't let the child in my womb suffer with me.
But I had still overestimated my alcohol tolerance. Already I could feel my consciousness getting hazy, and amidst the daze I saw the man I had yearned for eight years walking toward me. What a tall and handsome man, I thought. Whether it was his face or strength, he was in his own league. Here was a man I had loved for as long as I could remember, a man who would never be mine.
I set down the wine glass on the table and staggered toward him. Putting my arms around his neck, I stared drunkenly into his starry eyes.
"Vincent, am I not good enough for you? I'm your mate! Is another woman better than me?"
In vino veritas—alcohol had prompted me to say the things I would never have said otherwise; my pride and amour propre be d*mned.
Displeasure crossed his face. Vincent pushed me away in disgust. But I didn't want to—I couldn't—give up. I tried to undress him with both hands and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. A foreign scent assaulted my nostrils. It was Marianne's.
There was a momentary stiffness in my movements, but I didn't stop. I tried to ignore the scent and have my way for once.
Vincent was obviously aroused by my kiss; he grabbed my hands. "You're drunk, let me go."
"No!" I said in a low voice. "I am your mate, and I have a right to this."
I was desperately trying to silence the moans and growls of pleasure from earlier and rewrite them with this. I found Vincent's lips again and kissed him. I could tell that he, too, had had some to drink. He stopped rejecting me.
I traced his neck with my lips. When I looked up I saw his eyes, gone was his usual revulsion for me. That fact alone was enough for me to lose my sanity. I could sense Vincent's heavy breathing, the strong lust in his eyes.
I may have touched his sensitive spot, for he suddenly cupped my cheek and forced me to be on tiptoe, with my lips still on his.
I felt weak and fuzzy, and I was about to lose my senses.
But all of a sudden, I was hoisted off my feet. I exclaimed. He carried me upstairs, opened the door, and threw me on the bed.
A month after the wedding, the room welcomed its male owner for the first time.
He got on top of me, his breath steamy, a fascination to me. Weakly, I laid my palms on his chests as thrust his tongue into my mouth. He kissed me, quickly going from restraint to rough, as if he was swallowing prey. My wrists were pulled up and pinned over my head. I arched my back, facilitating the act.
The mattress creaked under our weight. I could only whimper and gasp as he tasted me, and for a moment I thought I was in a dream.
Soon, I felt my pants being pulled down. I saw Vincent kneeling on top of me and taking off his clothes, revealing the organ hidden deep in his crotch.
The scene of that night seemed to appear in front of my eyes again, and frightened by the size of him, I crawled back a little. But Vincent quickly grabbed me back. I pushed him away, struggling, but he spread open my legs and slammed his fingers into the hidden crevice. I could feel myself soaking wet.
Countless nights of erotic dreams coincided with reality, on this bed. His big hand gruffly caught my jaw and forced me to raise my chin as he kissed my hot and trembling cheek, his fingers poking harder and deeper into my increasingly hot and humid hole. He removed his fingers and replaced the emptiness with his genitalia.
I exclaimed from the pain. He was just starting, but already I was deterred by the sharp sensation and cried out.
He was deep, deep inside me, yet I couldn't even moan because his lips were locked on mine. The pleasure of each thrust made my body tremble. I was forced to lift my waist high, sweat oozing all over my body.
Between pleasure and pain, it was clear that pleasure had the upper hand.
As I drifted in and out of consciousness, Marianne's shy and enraptured look in the ward that day flashed before my eyes, and my heart throbbed. Laying my eyes on the man who was in the throes of passion, I was possessed by a sudden stubbornness. I struggled to sit up and hugged Vincent.
Bolstered by our unborn baby, I pleaded, "Vincent, can you mark me?"
He stiffened, but soon continued what he had been doing again. He slammed his genitalia into my deepest spot, and our flesh twitched wildly for a moment. I lost my voice, my body began to spasm out of control as water spewed from between my legs. I felt a sensation that transcended both life and death before an indescribable emptiness swept over me again.
My body was eagerly clamoring for more, to obtain pleasure over and over again. Only when this man was entirely mine could I banish this emptiness from me. I was about to plead him for the mark when he entered me once again, catalyzing my foray into a euphoric loss of consciousness.
Next thing I knew, I blacked out.