He smiled at this. “I think you have a book of spells and a caldron hidden somewhere. What does your instinct say about me? Innocent or guilty?”
“It says I should trust you,” she answered sincerely. She covered the bowl of pasta with plastic film and put it in the refrigerator. Turning to him, she asked, “Dessert? There’s a banana cake that I usually heat up. Ice cream. Or chocolate? Pierre Marcolini. The same I gave your father the weekend of Tavish’s birthday.”
“Chocolate.” He scowled at her. “You didn’t answer. Innocent or guilty?”
“Bring the wine, will you?” She exited the kitchen with the pack of condoms in her hand. “Come. Or I get to choose the film.”
Why didn’t she answer? What had started as a joke, unexpectedly turned into something serious. He wanted…no, needed to know her opinion. He followed her, the decanter in his hand. “Sophia.”
“I have champagne truffles, marzipan, or seventy percent dark chocolate for grown-ups.” She didn’t look up from where she hunched near the small fridge, just pointed to a beautiful big black box by her feet with the number sixteen stamped on it. “Or milk chocolate for the kids. And macaroons. Which do you prefer?”
“Dark and macaroons.” He put the decanter and his glass next to hers. She’s beating around the bush. He approached the window, looking outside, but not seeing the park. “But I’d rather you answered my question, Sophia.
She frowned. “I have answered.”
“Nae. You. Have. Not.” Alistair turned from the window, a stern look on his face, and asked in an icy-thin voice, “If I were your client, would I be innocent or guilty?”
Chapter 34
Sophia stiffened and rose from the floor with the boxes in her hand. She didn’t face him, but she could feel his uneasiness. She took her time putting the boxes on the square ottoman and picked up her glass, refilling it, and drinking a steady gulp. “You are not my client.”
“Let’s make an exercise, Counselor,” he said, watching as she breathed deep, her ribcage expanding.
“Are you serious?” she asked astonished. This game is ridiculous, Alistair Connor, and I know quite well its rules.
“Aye,” he answered. “Me, myself, and I is your defendant.”
“Me, myself, and I,” she repeated, in a whisper, studying his face intently, her forehead creased. I know exactly what you’re looking for. But I’m not game for condemning someone without a cause. She gazed into his eyes, in the way she sometimes did, as though she thought she could read him.
“I have to hear my client first. I cannot judge before a fair hearing.” She felt as if she was wading into a muddy and sticky pool, which could well not have a way out. “State your plea and your crime, please.”
“Too many sins and most of the seven capital vices,” he answered quickly, without doubt.
“Too general,” she riposted promptly in a calm way. “Go on.”
“Debauchery, perversion, anger, hate, selfishness, murder, indifference, and detachment. And, of the seven vices: lust, wrath, pride, and envy,” he said, trying to shock her. “In that order, since December 1999.”
“Who pressed charges?”
He stood there staring at her.
“I’m waiting.” She tapped her foot on the rug, aggravated at the silliness of this psychological pretense. “Who pressed charges?”
“Me, myself, and I.”
How can you press changes against yourself, Alistair Connor? She mused, frowning, evaluating his eyes, face, and body language, searching for something more. Guilty by omission? Maybe. She turned her back to him and pinched the bridge of her nose. But there’s more to this. He’s lying. Why? She wouldn’t deny him the right of lying, even to himself. “Any evidence? Proof?”
A fight. A destroyed car. Blood everywhere. Two dead bodies. “Photos,” Alistair answered brusquely.
“No documents? Testimonies? Fingerprints?”
“Nothing conclusive.” He stood still, watching her pace the room.
“Photos can be manipulated,” she mused. “The jury sees what the lawyer wants them to see.”
“The photos weren’t forged.” His deep voice sounded angry and sad at the same time. “Guilty as charged.”
She finished the wine, placing the glass on the other side table and paced some more. She voiced her thoughts to herself in a whisper, “Just photos.” She spun around and her dress swirled around her. The Japanese hair stick dropped to the ground and her hair tumbled down. “Who or what was in the photos?”
“The scene of the crime. Blood. Dead bodies.” He could almost see her growing taller, sprouting wings, and yielding a fiery sword, ready to pierce his black heart, guilty of Nathalie’s death.
“Think hard before you answer this question. Was me, myself and I there? Or had he been there at any moment?”
“Nae.” His head dropped a bit as the memories of his little blonde angel all battered and bruised flooded his mind. “But should have been.”
“Ha! So there is no connection to the supposed crime.”
His head came up abruptly. “Nae, but—”
She raised her hand, demanding silence. “This was not a question. It was a conclusion. Neither the supposed criminal, nor the accusing party, has no proof that the defendant was, or had been at the scene of the crime, or is guilty of sins, why should I condemn him?”
His eyes narrowed.
“No answer, Alistair Connor?” she pressed. She stabbed a finger hard on his chest, like a dagger. “Therefore, this lawyer is pleading innocent in the name of Me-myself-and-I.” She glared at him, pinning him under her angry stare. “Or rather, in your name, Alistair Connor.”
How dare she absolve me? The fear that her absolution could destroy the detachment he had achieved so far erupted in him a need to destroy whomever could have absolved him.
Alistair’s hands encompassed her waist swiftly, hauling her body flush to his, his mouth crushing hers.
The unpredicted assault startled Sophia. She gripped his arms to steady herself as his tongue explored.
He clutched her hair in his fist and with a rough tug on her hair, slanted her head to his invasion.
Sophia stiffened and gasped at the sharp pain. Her slender fingers wrapped around his wrist and surprised Alistair, causing him to loosen his hold on her.
She pulled his head up to look at his eyes. They burned her with pure carnal lust and his grip on her hair tightened. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I am a sinner.” His head bent to the hollow of her neck and bit her there. “And I’m going to show you my hell.”
“I—” She could not answer, paralyzed by sudden fear and dread. An intense arousal showed in her eyes.
“You might even like the devil.” A need to brand her as his whipped through him. He closed his eyes and imagined her bound by ropes or cuffs. He became so hard he hurt. As he bent his head, his nose brushed hers in a gentle caress, and he spoke against her lips, “Do you trust me?”
“This is not fair,” she said slowly.
“No’ fair?” His hands dropped away from her and he stepped back as if he had been slapped. Fuck. She doesn’t know the first thing about this game. “Nae, I guess it isn’t.”
Sophia observed his face, as a kaleidoscope of emotions played on it. Her hand shot out to grab his arm, holding him in place. She stared intently into his eyes. “Wait. I told you that I trust you.”
“Are you sure?” He cocked his head.
“Yes,” she breathed the n answer out.
His fingers untied the sash at her waist and nudged the dress off her shoulders, dropping a light kiss on one, then the other.
The dress pooled on the floor at her feet.
He lost his voice as he saw her breasts straining against a sensual black-and-silver bra made of lace and silk, and matching panties with thin ribbons tying it. The silk hid exactly what he wanted, and the lace showing everything else.
He lifted her to his chest and she wrapped her leg
s around his waist, his hard erection probing her through his jeans.
She gasped in his ear, “Alistair.”
“I’m right here,” he whispered back, and carried her past her bedroom into her dressing room. He deposited her softly on her feet and shed his cardigan, throwing it on the armchair in the corner. “Do you have rope?” His demeanor suddenly turned serious, muscles bunched, and his eyes flashed.
Sophia jumped back. “No.”
“Scarves?”
She nodded, spun on her heels, and went to a corner of the room, gesturing to a shelf. “Silk scarves will do?”
He nodded. “Let me see.”
She gave him the first one and he coiled it around his hands, snapping it, testing its softness and strength. “Two more.”
She handed them to him.
He took her hand without a word, towing her back to her bedroom. He put the scarves on the bed and turned to look at her, studying her intently. “Can I put on some music from my phone?”
She picked up his cell phone from the bedside table, and connected it to the Wi-Fi network. She handed it to him.
He typed in the name of a song, smiling when he found it. “Pay attention to the song.” Snow Patrol The Lightning Strike flooded the room. “And forget everything else.”
He backed her to the wall, cupped the back of her head, and kissed her hard.
Their lips clashed and he bit her lip.
She moaned.
Aye, Sophia, that’s it. He stepped away from her and started to divest himself of his jeans, boxers, and loafers, to advanced on her naked, sporting an already full erection.
When her hands faltered on the fastenings of her bra, he had to inhale deeply, controlling the urge to snap the ties of her bra, to delicately unfasten the silk strings that held it in place.
Alistair led her to the bed and laid her down, reclining on the bedpost to study her for a long moment.
Sophia stared at him, a twinge of anticipation rolling down her spine. His whole bearing had changed.
He took his time before sitting on the bed and leaning to kiss her neck and shoulders. His hands roamed over her body, driving her crazy with need. He picked up the first scarf and paused to gaze into her eyes. “Let me guide you through this.”
When his fingers gently touched her face, she gasped. Oh, my! What is he planning to do?
“Don’t be afraid.” He licked her throat with the tip of his tongue. “Can I blindfold you?”
She nodded. Her hands started to tremble and she fisted them as he folded the white scarf.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered again, and covered her eyes with the scarf. “Anytime you want to stop, just let me know, okay?”
“Yes.” Sophia heaved a deep sigh as the darkness enfolded her and she fumbled for his biceps. In the darkness, everything became overwhelming: the feel of the cotton against her back, the silk around her wrists, the fluttering brush of his fingers on her arms and shoulders, the shift of the bed, the music, the lyrics.
“I’m going to tie your wrists with the scarves.” He held her hands in his and guided them to rest on the bed angled upwards to the bedposts. He knotted the first scarf around her right wrist and tested the fastening, then did the same to the other wrist.
Sophia’s mouth dried out in anticipation and her breathing shortened.
“Now, the scarves to the bedposts.” He tied them to the bedposts and pulled her down, arms stretched to the point where she couldn’t move. “Sophia. You with me?”
“Yes,” she rasped.
“Free your mind.” The mattress dipped between her legs as he settled himself there. “Don’t rationalize.”
She exhaled as she felt his chest and abs as he hovered over her. The touch of his silky skin and hard muscles was all she could feel.
His thumb brushed her mouth and she opened her lips. He pressed it inside and she sucked on it.
He breathed in sharply and his other hand fluttered against her throat and down her shoulder, finding a breast.
“Oh.” She never thought how arousing being tied and blindfolded could be.
He bent to suck a breast, tonguing the nipple slowly with gentle strokes, teasing, tormenting.
Sensations overwhelmed her, and she gasped as he closed his teeth around her nipple. The unknown brought on by the darkness and the impotence of being at another’s mercy was arousing and scary. Sophia was sinking, desperate for a lifeline.
“Be as loud as you want. I want to hear your pleasure.” He tightened his hold on her head as he sucked and tongued and bit her nipple. “I can’t get enough.”
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 clit.
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!”
“You’re in no position to give orders here.” His deep and low voice vibrated in his chest like a rumble, almost a primitive sound that made goose bumps appear across her skin.
“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 she 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 cock tip 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.
This unsettled him. He’d never seen fear before. Pain, yes; not fear.
Her breathing 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 length into her, 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.” 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?”
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