Educating Sophia

by Alexis James

  She comes again, this time with a scream that I muffle with my mouth. Her eyes are glassy when she looks at me, too far gone now to think about anything other than the pleasure that’s wafting through her body.

  And still I keep going, hell-bent on making this last. My teeth are clenched tight, jaw locked as I try to restrain myself. Pulling one of her legs over my shoulder, changing the angle and allowing each thrust to go deeper, I glance down at the vision underneath me. Her light brown hair is splayed over the sheet and tangled in my fingers that grip her tightly. Her magnificent breasts bounce with each slam of my body into hers. She’s wide open and slick with need, and I dip my head down to watch as my cock disappears inside of her. It’s a beautiful thing, this joining of two souls, one thing I’ll always remember more than anything else.

  Watching us move together starts to unravel the control I’ve held on to so tightly the entire time. With a snarled curse, I go in for the kill, fucking her harder and faster than I ever have before and giving her every single piece of my body that I have to give.

  She screams my name, coming once more, with a look that’s part shock, part pain. I’ve made her come many times in the past, but never this often and never so hard that tears pour from her eyes and she draws blood with her nails.

  With a shout, I empty myself in her, blinded with release and dripping sweat down across her skin. We’re still rolling through it when our mouths meet—the kiss as soft and gentle as our lovemaking was harsh and hurried.

  My arms come around her, hugging her body tightly to mine. The flurry of need now gone, icy emptiness starts to fill my veins as my heartrate slows. God I hate myself. I have to try and make this right.

  But typical Sophia, she beats me to the punch, pulling her lips from mine and whispering, “You’re saying goodbye, aren’t you?”

  Christ, am I that transparent?

  Apparently so, if the fractured look in her eyes is anything to go by. But how the fuck do I put into words that she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I still need to walk away?

  “It’s because of my family, isn’t it?”

  I’m not going to lie to her or sugarcoat this or try to make it easy. I owe her more than that. “Yes, partly.” With a sigh, I brush her hair away from her face and keep our gazes locked. “They are right to be concerned, babe. I can’t fault them for that.”

  “Caleb, I don’t care how much older you are than me.”

  “Maybe not. But they do, and you have to consider how they feel.” When she starts to protest, I press my finger over her lips. “I’ll be forty soon. You just graduated from college. You need to be concentrating on your masters and getting a good teaching job. You don’t need to be weighed down by some middle-aged history professor.”

  She glares up at me and shoves my hand aside. “Don’t tell me what I need. I know what I need, and I need you.”

  “Come on, sweetheart, you have to know this was destined to fail from the beginning.”

  The color washes from her face. “I never once believed that.” With a shove, she rolls out from underneath me and puts space between us. “The only thing I knew without a doubt was how much I loved you. How much I do love you.” Her eyes fill as the anger remains. “Please don’t do this, Caleb. Please don’t allow something as stupid as age to come between us.”

  I hate that what she says makes sense, especially since I’ve done nothing but convince myself our split would be a good thing. A good thing for her, at least. “It’s not just about the age. It’s everything.” I sigh and pull the sheet over my body. “I’ve been married. I have a cantankerous ex who refuses to leave me alone.” She nods, pulling her legs to her chest but making no effort to conceal her body from view. “I’m set in my ways, in my job, and you’re just beginning yours.”

  “That’s such crap and you know it.”

  Tossing the sheet aside, I quickly pull on my pants, speaking as I reach for my shirt. “No it’s not. You’re entire life is ahead of you. You could take a teaching job anywhere in the world, but if you stay with me you’ll need to work here.” Sliding the shirt on, I leave it unbuttoned as I sit next to her. “If you and I stay together, I will do nothing but hold you back.” My hands cup her pale face, thumbs wiping away the stray tears. “I don’t want that for you, Sophia. I want you to have it all. I want you to dream big. I want you to travel, take chances, and never have regrets.” My forehead comes down on hers as a strangled sob is torn from her throat. “I want you to have anything and everything in life you can imagine. I would hate myself if I thought I was the reason you stopped dreaming and settled for less.”

  “I have never felt like I’ve settled with you.” Her fingers grip my hair. “I want a future with you. I want a life with you.” She speaks with her lips against mine. “I want to love you forever.” She kisses me softly then pulls back to whisper, “Please don’t leave me.”

  My chest tightens as I attempt to not allow her words to affect me. The shattered emptiness that’s settling over me now is something I might as well get used to. I have a feeling I’ll never ever be able to fully shed the weight of what I’ve done. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I have to.” Dropping a kiss on her mouth, I pull out of her embrace. “One day you’ll thank me.”

  “You bastard,” she snaps, getting to her feet and pulling on the cotton robe that’s thrown on the end of the bed. “How dare you pull that martyr shit with me. You’re not doing me any favors by walking away.” She stands there silently while I finish dressing then follows me out into the other room while I retrieve my keys.

  I turn to face her when we reach the front door. “I really am sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

  She glares up at me, eyes awash with tears and anger, her jaw firmly set. “Yeah, but you did.” Inhaling a shaky breath, she reaches for the wall to steady herself. “You’re such a coward Caleb.”

  She’s right, I am … and a bastard as well. A martyr too, I suppose. But nothing changes the fact that I have to do this. I have to give her a chance to make her own life, without me dragging her down. I have to do anything in my power to give her a chance at happiness, without that happiness being dependent on whether or not I’m in her life.

  I have to do it all because I love her.

  My hands tighten into fists to keep from reaching for her, but nothing can stop me from pressing a kiss to her forehead. My lips linger there, and I can feel her body shaking in pain, in shock. We started out with such promise. Now at its end, we’re nothing more than the two lonely people who walked into the relationship with rose-colored glasses and our heads in the clouds.

  “Goodbye, beautiful girl.”

  She doesn’t slam the door behind me as I would expect but rather closes it with a soft click. I linger on the walkway, listening for any clues that she’s unraveling, hating myself for thinking I have the right to still worry about her.

  Minutes go by and eventually the lights go out in her apartment. Still. I remain. I can’t even explain why except to say that walking away is so much more difficult than I ever imagined it would be. It’s as if I’ve left my heart behind in her grasp, my body on her sheets, my words on her skin. I’m nothing now but an empty man with empty dreams staring into an empty, lonely future.

  All of my own doing.

  My feet finally begin to move forward, the rote movement carrying me down the stairs, around the pool, and out through the wrought-iron fence. The sick feeling of needing to scream barrels down on me as I slide behind the wheel and bring the car to life.

  I don’t deserve the satisfaction of bellowing out my pain. I deserve to feel every agonizing bit of emotion rolling through me. My penance will be a lifetime of holding that pain deep inside, allowing it to fester and permeate every single molecule.

  The man to my left, in the coveted window seat, continues to pick his teeth with his too long and very dirty nails. The lady on my right side has been waking the dead with her snoring since we taxied down the runway. Flying
is hellish, but it’s all minor in comparison to the ball of agony that’s been sitting on my chest since Caleb walked out exactly one week ago.

  Breakups suck.

  Life sucks.

  I … suck.

  How did my judgement go so incredibly askew? I trusted him. I thought he cared about me. And yet all it took was my obnoxious brothers to enter the picture and he showed his true colors.

  He’s a coward.

  He’s a bastard for leaving me like he did.

  He’s the man I love, without question. Someone I mourn like I would any other great, excruciating loss in my life.

  I blame him. For his weakness. For the ease in which he told me goodbye. For the fact that he left me high and dry with the taste of his kiss on my lips and the most intimate part of him running down the inside of my thighs.

  I visibly cringe at the thought, but thankfully neither of my seatmates gives a shit. I don’t give a shit either.

  I hate him so much.

  God, I love him.

  I miss him so damn much even my hair aches. Stupid, but sadly so very true.

  I despise his excuses and the easy out he took. If I was no longer doing it for him, he should have said so. Instead, he made me come three times—three eye-rolling, mind-numbing, full-body orgasms—and then he strolled out of my life as if I never mattered to him.

  Okay, so that’s not completely the truth. He did apologize. He did look conflicted, I suppose. Though in all fairness, the man is an expert at shielding himself if need be. I saw the brief flashes of pain in his eyes, but overall he appeared to be unmoved by it all.

  Did I really read him so wrong?

  His body showed me the depth of his feelings even if his stupid trap couldn’t. Ugh … I hate this. I hate being angry at him, loathing him for taking the high road, for believing that I deserved a better life without him in it.

  I hate when people try to make choices for me, hence the years living hundreds of miles away from my family. I don’t like to be bullied or babied or ordered around. I sure as hell don’t like being told how to feel. Not by my family and sure as hell not by Caleb.

  Grinding my teeth, I force myself to take a few deep breaths and work on getting myself calm. The lack of sleep and inability to eat have made me one strung-out broad. Getting on this plane was an impulsive decision, I will admit, but now that we’ve landed in Miami there’s no backing out. I’m doing this. I’m saying my piece and getting a few things straight. Then I’m getting back on a plane later tonight and heading home to face my new reality without Caleb.

  Poor Charlotte. I’ve been a troll to her the past few days. She’s tried to get me to talk, tried to offer up a few wise pieces of advice, but all I do is end our phone calls and refuse to answer the door. I know she loves me, and while I’m now on the doubting side of love in general, I can only hope that she’ll be there waiting once I get my shit together.

  If I ever get my shit together.

  The airplane door opens and the cattle rush forward. Teeth-picking guy nudges me with his elbow, his silent, “get your ass in gear,” earning him a smug smile and a flash of my middle finger.

  I’m in a fine mood, and I fully look the part. Hag would be a generous description with my messy hair that needs washing and the clothes I’ve been wearing for the past two days. I have an ‘I don’t give a fuck’ look about me, and people wisely give me room as I shuffle forward.

  Maybe I just stink so bad they don’t want to get too close.

  Fuck them. Fuck all of them. Fuck Caleb and his perfect face, his ever-changing eyes and his too long, sexy hair. Fuck the gentle way he used to touch me, the firm hold he always had on my hand, the pleasure he gave me with his body. Fuck him and fuck my family too. I’m done being the baby, the littlest sister, the pampered one. I want them to see what they’ve done, to take some credit for encouraging the love of my life to walk away. I want someone to blame for how incredibly shattered I am.

  Tears pinch my eyes, but I stubbornly blink them away as I hoist my purse over my shoulder and walk with purpose out into the terminal. If all goes according to plan, I will arrive at my parents’ house right in the middle of Sunday dinner when everyone will be present and accounted for. I’m too exhausted and beat-up to have to replay my diatribe over and over. I’m getting in, getting it done in one swoop, and then I’m walking away. For good.

  Thirty minutes later I’m weaving the rental car out onto the freeway. I’m well aware I’m thinking and behaving like the emotional maniac I am. I don’t care one darn bit, and that has me slightly concerned. The Sophia Moran I was raised to be is—was a good girl, a nice girl. Her mama’s girl. She’s the pain-in-the-butt little sister, the one child who made no work for her parents … ever.

  I’m no longer that girl or that woman. Somewhere along the way I seemed to have lost my sense of family and my place in it. Sure, I had fantasies about me and Caleb coming home for a nice long visit and being welcomed with open arms, but since that’s never going to happen—and he’s now a part of my past instead of the person walking next to me into the future—I might as well pull my head out of my ass. I have two years to finish my schooling. Two years is a very short time comparatively. Once I’ve completed my masters, I’m moving as far away from New Orleans and Miami as possible.

  Maybe I’ll try Washington. Jace was born and raised there, and I’m sure he can …

  Stop it, Sophia.

  That crazy voice in my head reminds me that once I walk out of my parents’ house later today, chances are no one in the family is going to be in a helping mood anytime soon. They are my family and eventually I’m sure they’ll come around. But will I? Their judging made me lose the one man who made me happy. The one man I’d coveted for so long, who for a short time was mine.

  I park in front of the neighbor’s house and take a quick glance in the rearview mirror, cringing at my too pale, weary expression. Shoving my bag down onto the floorboard, I step out and shove the keys into my pocket, moving with a purpose toward the front door.

  You can do this.

  They deserve to hear what you have to say.

  My stomach rolls violently, and if I’d eaten recently, I’d probably be retching all over Mama’s flower pots. Instead, I swallow back the nausea and fear, take a few deep breaths, and whisper the words to myself. “You have to do this.”

  Hand shaking, I reach for the door handle and step inside. I pause for a moment, taking in the familiar sights and smells of my childhood home, listening to the happy voices talking over one another in the dining room. Kami is squealing, probably tired, and my throat tightens with emotion that whatever happens next could mean I don’t see her or her brother for a long, long time. I hear Thomas chiming in with his curious, toddler chatter and his mother urging him to eat. Mama is talking in Spanish to someone (Cruz, perhaps), and Roman’s infectious laughter makes me smile even though the last thing I feel like doing is smiling.

  Putting one foot in front of the other, I move slowly down the hall that feeds into the living room. The dining area is off to the left, so I know they won’t see me as easily as if I strolled right into the kitchen. It’s all a part of the plan to make them understand what they’ve done, how they’ve hurt me, and why I’m here.

  The first person to see me is Marco, who stops talking midsentence and immediately gets to his feet. “Soph? What the hell?” The room suddenly grows silent, save for the baby fussing and Thomas still yammering to no one in particular.

  Mama looks back and forth uneasily between me and my two brothers, who have suddenly grown quiet and pale, while Papa scoots his chair back and rises, coming toward me. “Hello, baby girl. This is a nice surprise.” He pulls me into his arms, but I can’t make myself respond. I’m dead inside. Hollow, worn out, and so damn brokenhearted I wish I could flop down in the middle of the floor and scream.

  He frowns as he releases me, his gaze immediately going to my two eldest siblings. Maybe it’s something on my face or the heavy
mood that’s taken over the room, but clearly my father understands my brothers are part of the reason I’m here unexpectedly.

  Bella gets to her feet and moves quickly toward me, her blue-green eyes showing worry and concern. “Soph, you okay?”

  “I need to talk to you.” She tries to take my hand, but I quickly take a step back and put some breathing space between myself and the others. “I need to talk to all of you.”

  Bella glares at Marco and Cruz but remains silent until Mia gathers the children and takes them in the other room, whispering, “Love you, Soph,” as she walks by.

  Don’t let them get to you.

  Say what you came here to say.

  I direct my gaze to my brothers, saying coldly, “You should be happy now. He left me.”

  Cruz closes his eyes and shakes his head, and Marco mutters a curse and steps closer, saying, “Ah, little sis, I’m sorry.”

  “No you’re not,” I snap, the anger and resentment bubbling fully to the surface. “You never gave him a chance. You were both jerks, spewing your judgmental bullshit and acting like spoiled children.” I lift my chin, ready to take them all on as I glance around the table. “Did they tell you what they did to me? How they treated the man I love?” I don’t wait for an answer. “Doesn’t really matter now, though, because he sure as hell doesn’t love me anymore. You both made sure of that.”

  “Sophia, I apologize …” Cruz starts.

  “Oh stuff it. Keep your damn apology. I don’t want to hear it or your excuses.”

  “Then what do you want?” Marco states, daring me to lay it all out.

  “I’m sick and tired of being babied. I’m a grown woman and I do not need your interference in my life anymore. Keep your damn opinions to yourself and stay the hell out of my life.”

  “Sophia!” Mama gasps. “This is not like you.”