She arched on his mouth and gasped low and long, thrashing her head on the hand holding it. He traveled to the other breast and applied the same sweet torture. His hands went down to her panties and, untying the ribbons, he felt for her slit, his middle finger entering her.
“So wet,” he said, and dived in again, his thumb brushing her clitoris.
She cried, grabbing the scarves for support.
“Beg, scream. I want to hear you,” he grunted in approval.
She shivered. “One more. Another finger. Please.”
As he fit a second finger in her tight passage, her muscles crushed them deep inside her. He rotated his hand.
“Alistair,” she screamed his name. “Kiss me. Now!”
His deep and low voice vibrated in his chest like a rumble, almost a primitive sound that made goose bumps appear across her skin.
“You’re in no position to give orders here.”
“Please,” she heaved, “please.”
“Are you begging?” He teased her again with his hand and a fluttery touch of his thumb.
“Yes,” she all but shouted.
He laughed low in his throat and kissed her, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth. His demanding, beseeching kisses and slow fingering took her higher and higher.
“I want you. Now!” she cried as she ground on his fingers.
He stopped his caresses and she moaned, in protest.
“Eager. And yet commanding, aren’t you?” He tsked twice. He moved back to the edge of the bed and lifted her legs on the crook of his arms, his hands supporting her buttocks in the air, opening her to his mouth. He dipped his tongue deep inside her and swirled it. “You taste like ambrosia. And I’m getting addicted.”
Sophia heard him tear the condom foil and moaned, his fingers fisted around the silk. “Oh, yes.”
He chuckled deep and knelt down on the bed by her side; his hand ran over the length of her torso.
She squirmed under his caresses, panting. “I want you now.”
“So soft, so beautiful. Almost perfect.” His voice was decadent and his hand descended hard on the side of her thigh. She cried surprised, and he slapped the other thigh. “You have to learn to be obedient.”
Sophia had never been so confused in her whole life. How is this so arousing?
Without warming, he slapped her clitoris repeatedly, all the while observing her expression, drawing small startled cries, which soon turned to moans.
“Good girl,” he praised her. He rolled onto her, supporting himself on one forearm. “Now, wind your legs around my waist, lock your ankles, and don’t move.”
But Sophia didn’t move. All rational thought had fled her mind.
“Sophia.” The bed dipped between her legs as he shifted to hit her again on both of her thighs. “Will you do as asked or will I have to spank you?”
“No,” she panted, doing as he asked.
He leaned on her and started to move, grinding the head of his erection up and down, from her slit to her clitoris and back.
Sophia’s breath hitched and bit her lip.
“You drive me crazy when you do that,” he murmured, and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.
She started to squirm under him and her hands wriggled in the scarves.
“Ah-ah! Don’t move.” He increased the pressure of his erection on her slit, but didn’t enter and glided up again, as he untied the scarf from her eyes.
She blinked at the light and stared at him.
Flaming forest-green eyes filled with lust locked onto huge yellow-diamond eyes; desire and fear mingled in them.
It unsettled him. He had never seen fear before. Pain, yes; not fear.
And the dark lust that shimmered inside his eyes unsettled her. Her breath became erratic and she closed her eyes.
“Open your eyes. I want you to see who is pleasuring you.”
Her eyes flew open. When he repeated the pressure, she rocked onto him, seeking fulfillment.
He halted.
“Don’t. Move,” he ordered.
“Impossible.” With every slight thrust of his erection, her head pressed down on the pillows and her ribs expanded forcefully. A pained moan escaped her lips and she fought for control over the deep need to close her eyes. “You are torturing me.”
“Feel it, Beauty. Feel the pleasure building, expanding, taking control.” And he rocked his hips up and down, again and again, exerting a bit more pressure on her slit, but evading penetration. “Feel how wet you are. All for me.”
Her fingers flexed open and retracted with so much force around the scarves, her arms straining against the ties, that the muscles in her arms were showing. Her legs started to quiver and she fastened them with force around his body. Shock speared her. Her eyes grew wide, alarmed at the intensity of the pleasure that flooded her and she called out, “Alistair.”
“This is it.” His lips curled, and without warning, he slammed into her in one single thrust. “So. Tight.”
Sophia screamed. Never in her life had she felt so complete, so full.
He released her wrists and grabbed her nape, taking her mouth in a greedy kiss, holding her with both arms, flush to his body, almost crushing her.
Sophia’s nails grazed his scalp and her fingers entwined in his silky locks, tugging. “Again.”
“Again what?” He stopped once more.
“Please, do it again,” she begged.
“Want it rough, Sophia?” He breathed in her ear, licking and biting her earlobe and her neck. “Answer me. Do you want it rough?”
“Yes!” She felt disoriented from so much unfulfilled desire. And she raked her long nails from his head down his back, embedding them in his taut buttocks. She rocked her hips. “Alistair. Please, make me come.”
He grunted in masculine approval and pounded in her again, stepped up to an intense and fast pace. “Move with me.”
Sophia let out a low cry, almost a lament, as she soared, higher, trembling on the brink of a shattering orgasm.
“Oh.” She was too high and afraid of the fall.
“Come for me. Let me feel your pleasure.” He shifted his arms and transferred one from her nape to her butt, lifting her. At his next hard stroke, he fused their lower bodies, and rotating his hips, teased her clitoris with his movements, pushing Sophia from the cliff.
She threw her head back. Her nails were digging into him for support and then she let go, brokenly crying his name. He followed her after another violent shove, her inner muscles clutching him in violent spams that quaked their whole bodies.
He held still above her, wishing he could feel all of her, and with a last thrust, let go.
He fell on top of her. His arms brought her to his chest and he rolled over, still inside her. His world was spinning, but he lay there thoroughly sated.
Exhausted.
And sad.
Why, Alistair Connor, do you drag everyone into your darkness?
Eyes closed, he waited for some measure of normalcy to return. He suddenly realized that Heather’s hated face hadn’t haunted him this time. It’s because I’m with Sophia.
The silence in the room was broken only by the sounds of their harsh breathing.
Alistair arranged them on the pillows and pulled up the sheet to cover them.
After a few moments, she pushed at his chest with her fingertips, making him lie back on the bed, and crawled over him, running her long smooth leg over his coarse ones. Putting her head and a hand on his chest, she settled for sleep.
He gently tugged at her hair to look at her eyes, but she didn’t move. He could see the line of her profile and her long lashes shadowing her cheeks. “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know,” she stuttered, “I was scared at first, but, well I felt pleasure. It was strange.”
“Did you like it?” he asked, an uncertainty leaking into his voice. “Would you do it again?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. It was…disturbing and…wonderful,” she said,
almost afraid of voicing her mixed and confused sentiments.
“You’re wonderful,” he crooned. He kissed her hair, amazed by all his feelings for her. “I thought you’d had a heart attack the first time.”
She relaxed and gave a lazy throaty laugh. “C’était la petite mort.”
“It’s totally inappropriate to call such a special thing the small death,” he snorted. “At least, la spéciale morte.”
“Whatever.” She chuckled. “You did kill me. With pleasure.”
“Speaking of scared, do you always frighten your bed partners like this?” There was an unmistakable hard edge of jealousy in his question.
“You want to know about other men?” she asked bewildered.
He cupped her face in his hands. “I need to know every single thing, every small detail. I don’t like being in the dark.”
She raised her brows. “Curious, aren’t you? God, what is the problem with British men? So nosy.”
“Nosy?! What happened to you twice—no, three times tonight isn’t something one sees every day. You were barely breathing and you fainted the first time. I’ve never seen a woman react like that before.”
“And you are an expert?”
“I could say so.” He raised an eyebrow. “But we’re talking about you frightening your bed partners.”
“Well.” She tilted her head and blinked twice, “I’ve always had problems with boyfriends because of this…” she waved her hand in the air, “reaction. The first three were so scared they never wanted to see me again. After Gabriel, the other six—”
“Six!”
She burst out laughing at his stunned look.
“What’s so funny?”
“Alistair, I’ve only had three partners in my whole life. Gabriel. Ethan. You.”
He almost exhaled aloud, relieved but jealousy was still there in his piercing green eyes.
“Gabriel almost took me to the hospital the first time it happened. I only managed to convince him I was feeling alright when he had me wrapped in a bed sheet and was carrying me through the hotel corridor, wide-eyed, barefoot, and clad only in his jeans. Afterwards, he got used to it,” she laughed. “But he made me see a doctor when we got back from our honeymoon.”
“And you’re going to see another.”
“There is no need.”
“And I’m going with you.”
“Come now, Alis—”
“Sophia,” he warned, sternly. “And we can ask for the STD exams and the other stuff.”
“All right. Just let me know your schedule. I’ll make an appointment with John.”
“Monday, if it’s okay for you. I’ll call him first thing in the morning to make sure he will fit us in. And…” He hesitated, but he had to know. “Did you frighten Ashford too?”
“What happened sexually between Ethan and I concerns the two of us, not you.” She turned suddenly serious. Ethan was a mistake. “I’d been too much alone since Gabriel.”
He tenderly brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and she closed her eyes for a moment enjoying the caress.
“We met at Heathrow Airport in October and he gave me a much-needed ride. He was very insistent and I was too lonely. You know how it is,” she shrugged. “In January, I decided I had to let go—”
“Two years,” he breathed, flabbergasted, “you were alone for almost two whole years. Why?”
“I,” she sighed, “I don’t know. Because I loved Gabriel too much? Because I was a mess and scared and sick—outside and inside? Because I was afraid to begin everything anew? Take your pick.” She shooed away the memories and kissed Alistair’s chest, a grin lightening her features. “Don’t worry, this doesn’t happen with the same intensity every time. It depends on my mood and,” she giggled, “a job well done.”
“So, I passed inspection.”
His smug smile told her he had no doubt about his performance.
“With honors, Alistair. With honors.” She put her head back on his chest, yawning. “Let’s sleep.”
That night, as they slept clasped in each other’s arms, neither Alistair nor Sophia had any nightmares.
Chapter 18
Atwood House
10:03 a.m.
Sophia awoke feeling that something was different. Then a big, warm body shifted behind her and an arm snaked around her waist pulling her toward a hard chest.
She turned her head and smiled. “Good morning.”
“’Morning,” he grinned at her. “Sleep well?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She stretched out like a dancer, her arms entwining above her head and her body undulating, flexing the soles of her feet on his.
“You look like Sleeping Beauty, totally perfect and ravishing in your sleep.” He combed her hair with his fingers.
“Sleeping Beauty is blonde.” As were all your lovers before me.
He laughed, kissed the tip of her nose and whispered on her lips, “You’re really, really ravishing when you sleep, and when you’re awake. It’s not just your looks. It’s you, Sophia. You, and you are mine.”
He made love to her slowly, tenderly, words of worship whispered in her ears as he revered her body.
Afterward, they lay there spent, enjoying each other’s company before going downstairs for breakfast.
Sophia watched Alistair as he helped her put away the dishes. He talked about his childhood and holidays as an adult with his family. Clearly, he had a happy family and he missed his deceased mother a lot. Heather’s name never came up.
“I have to go home to pick up some clothes. I can’t wear my jeans the whole weekend.”
“Well.” She grinned wolfishly at him. “You can just stay naked. It’ll save time.”
“Minx!” He laughed and swatted her butt. Hard.
She squealed, jumped, and turned to look at him, a wary expression on her face. “Alistair…we haven’t talked about last night.”
“What about last night?” His features acquired his characteristic poker-faced mask as he leaned on the counter, nonchalantly.
“The pain and violence thing.”
“What about it?” He crossed his arms on his chest, the muscles bulging.
“It—Will you always want that?”
“Nae. Not always.”
“Not always,” she mused, sitting on a chair by the table. “But frequently?”
“It depends on you.” He tilted his head to the side and studied her guarded and cautious look. “You said you liked it.”
“Not exactly. I said it was disturbing. Disturbing and wonderful. What if this storm of passion ends? What if you see me as I am? And if this pain thing overwhelms me?” She made a remark interweaving the lyrics of the Snow Patrol song he had chosen. “Passion is a sickness. It confounds and makes you do things just to please the other person. Quite different from love. In love, you find delight despite the person’s flaws.”
“I want to see you as you are, every day that I live,” he remarked, almost quoting the song and narrowing his eyes at her.
She just looked at him, not answering.
“I see you paid attention to the song,” he said, frowning.
“Paid attention to the song?” No, I did not. How could I? “Not really, but I love it. It’s one of my favorites.”
“It’s a bit dark and blue.”
“Why did you choose it then?”
“I like the piano and the beat. And the lyrics are—”
“Beautiful. It’s about a relationship. Besides…” She sighed and her lips curled a bit, more a grimace than a smile. “I’m despondency and darkness personified.”
“You don’t know what darkness is, Sophia.” He sat down on the chair next to hers, gripping her chin in his left hand. He shook his head, his long bangs falling over his right eye. “You’re like the fresh air from an orchard in spring. I am darkness.”
“I don’t believe in your biased and poor opinion of yourself.” Sophia’s hand raised to brush away the hair from his eye. “Seems we have a lot to learn
about each other.”
“So it seems.” He tilted his head. “Did I hurt you? Yesterday?”
She looked down at her fingers and bit her lip.
“Sophia?” He rubbed his jaw, quietly studying her, his face inscrutable again.
“I—” She looked up at his face. “It surprised me and, yes, it hurt. It’s so confusing.”
“But are you hurting? Now?”
She frowned and answered indirectly, “I’ll probably have marks by tomorrow. I bruise easily.”
“If you don’t like it, we can try other things.” Marks…fingerprints. My fingerprints. He changed the subject abruptly. “What have you planned for us?”
She let it go. “I didn’t plan anything. I’m open to suggestions.”
“I can think of a few things I’d like to do,” he said with a positively decadent grin.
“Promises, promises.” She smiled at him. But it faded and she looked down at her fingers, biting her lip.
He tsked and his thumb pulled her lip from her teeth. His fingers curled under her chin, raising her face to his intense green gaze. “What’s nagging you?”
She stared at him for a long time, musing. “Why did you want me to condemn you last night?”
“Because I have a black heart. Or no heart at all,” he sighed. “I’m guilty, Sophia.”
“No heart?” she whispered, and shook her head. “And what are you so guilty of?”
“Of everything I told you.”
“Well, I can’t understand if you don’t want to explain. It seems to me that you need to feel guilt.” She studied him. “You were very angry when I absolved you.”
“I was. Very angry,” he confirmed, quietly. “I won’t lie to you. I’m guilty of those sins. It wasn’t right to accept absolution.”
She rose from the chair, thoughtfully, and strolled to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, “Do you want one?”
He shook his head.
She uncapped the lid and drank, her brow creased, her eyes never leaving his face. So controlled, Alistair. So detached. Such a bad liar. “Don’t you want to tell me about it?”
“Nae.”
All right. All right. “It’s your right to remain silent,” she shrugged. “But, you didn’t need to corner me like that. I had already answered your question, in my own way. Such labels as innocent or guilty are…” she waved her hand in the air, “just labels. They don’t really matter to me. I’ve seen criminals acquitted and innocent people condemned. We all have a bit of evil inside us. We’re not perfect.” Her eyes darkened and she lowered her eyelids, hissing, “Some less than others.”
TRUST Series 1-8 Page 35
