“Hey, Sophie,” I shift around to face him, pushing back the wet locks of hair off his face. God, he’s beautiful. His eyes are wide as he studies me. “I made an appointment to see a therapist . . . shit. Look, you can say no if you don’t want to, but I need help to sort stuff out. Would you like to come with me for the--”
“Yes,” I say, trailing my fingers along his scruffy jaw. “Yes, I’ll go with you.”
He breathes out loudly, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank you.” He turns me around so my back is to his chest, then pulls me flush to his body.
“My grandmother wants to meet you,” he says as he shifts, arranging himself behind me. He pulls the covers to my shoulder and I snuggle into him. His large hand flattens on my stomach, his thumb drawing circles on my skin.
“She does?”
“The press are going to have a field day with everything that’s happened. I figured we could get away.”
“I would love that. Do I need to pack anything special?”
“Skiing stuff?”
“Oh, where are you planning to take me, you big, romantic bear?”
“Romantic?” His lips traces the shell of my ear, nipping it. “I guess I can work with that. I want you all to myself, and far, far away from the press. St. Moritz is our first stop before we head for the Netherlands.”
“I don’t ski.”
“I’m not interested in skiing. My agendas are dark and beautiful. I wouldn’t trust myself on meltable ground, so we’ll stay away from those snow-capped mountains. I want to spoil you. Take care of you. I want to eat caviar and truffles off your body.”
I shiver, snuggling closer and nod. I can’t remember when I last let go.
He hums under his breath, the sound vibrating in his chest, and before long, I drift off to sleep, thinking about what to pack.
Sophie
I WAKE up to the feel of my wrist being tugged, then warm lips down my arm, and something pulling on my other wrist. I lift my head, but all I can see in the dimly-lit room is a head full of dark hair at the end of the bed.
“Rafael?”
“Ah, there you are,” he says. Warm lips press again my navel, blowing hot air over my skin.
I move my hands. Nothing. “What the hell?”
“This image has been driving me insane. You, tied up like this . . .”
Oh, kinky. “I bet you’ve been dying to do this, given that it’s . . .” I turn and squint at the clock on the nightstand. “Three in the morning.”
“Are you complaining?”
I lift my hips when his mouth touches my inner thigh, and groan. “Complaining? I’m not sure I know the meaning of that word right now.”
He laughs, crawling up the bed and between my bound legs, then supports his upper body on his elbows as he bends to kiss me. His right eye is almost swollen shut, the skin around it tinged blue. His bottom lip looks much better than yesterday. But even with all that, he’s still lickable.
“Did you have to bind my legs?” I say, annoyed when I try to lift them to press into him and realize I can’t move. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I want you like this. All spread out for me.” The bed shifts as he disappears out of sight, then comes back holding a glass of champagne as straddles my waist. Dear God, he’s hot and ready. I wiggle, wanting the part of him nestling on my stomach inside me. “Don’t move.”
Oh, he’s got his growl on. I love it when he gets like this.
I bite my cheek to stop from squirming, glance at the glass, then at his face. He’s wearing a very wicked smile. “What are we celebrating?”
“We forgot to do that, yesterday.” He takes a sip from the glass, his dark-eyed gaze fixed intensely on mine. I’m hypnotized, tracking the slide of his tongue as it licks his bottom lip. He tips the glass over my navel and I’m coiled so tight in anticipation. “I’m going to drink this off you, lick every drop from your skin.”
Ack! “T-that’s . . . um . . . well . . .”
He chuckles deeply, and my whole body tingles with the vibrations of it. “Speechless? Never thought I’d see the day.”
“I never thought I . . . ah, fuck!” The cool liquid hits my heated skin, then his hot tongue saps it up. The contrast has me bucking my hips and panting.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” he murmurs, his mouth inching up my breast. My eyes shut tightly. I’m certain I’m about to melt into the mattress when his breath fans my cheek. “Open those pretty eyes and look at me.” The command is soft, but unyielding.
I do as he says. The glass hovers over my breasts, and I watch it tip forward, splashing the contents over my skin. His mouth follows, once again on my body. A scream tears through me. I can’t take this anymore. I need to touch him, torture him like he’s doing to me. “Untie me.”
He lifts his head from between my breasts, and shakes it once, then grabs the back of my neck, lifting it up. He places the glass to my lips. “Drink.”
I do, taking a gulp from it. As soon as I swallow, his mouth is on mine, one hand curled around my cheek, his thumb caressing my skin. His tongue takes possession of my mouth, my body, and I let him, because it’s him. The boy I gave my heart to long ago, the man who still holds it in his large hands and can crash it with just a flick.
His mouth leaves mine, tracing along my skin. He nips my earlobe then licks it as he murmurs. He pours more wine on my skin, puts the glass on the nightstand, and licks every drop. By the time he’s done, I’m wet and ready to explode into a million pieces of want and need.
“I’m not sure I can take this anymore,” I say, my thighs trembling as his erection brushes along them. “I want you inside me. Now, Arie.”
He raises his head and pins me with his good eye. It should freak me out, but it’s such a turn-on, especially remembering he fought for us. “Not until I’m good and ready, Butterfly.” And he’s back, kissing my toes, my knees, shifting me to access the soft dip behind them. His chest vibrates as he grunts low in his throat. His hands skim my thighs, edging between my legs, and makes another noise in his throat when he feels how wet I am. He moves away, leaving me cold, and a whimper leaves my lips. I hear foil being ripped and my pulse races, waiting.
“Don’t. I want to feel you. I’m on birth control now, so the chances--”
He slams his mouth on mine, kissing me fast and furious, then lifts his head and brushes the locks of hair off my face. “I want to feel you, too.”
He levels his lips on the shell of my ear and nips it. Unable to stop myself, I shiver and whimper and sob, jerking my hips up.
“I’m going to make love to you, baby. Slow, sweet love until my name is the only thing that passes through your lips.”
I squirm some more. “Hurry up, I’m dying here.”
Rafael nips my earlobe harder. “Patience.” He shifts lower, his hands skating down my neck, my chest. His mouth follows the trail, stopping to suck on my breast, rolling his tongue around the nipple, then doing the same to the other one. He straightens and grips my hips, his chest rising and falling, eyes hooded behind long, spiked eyelashes. Sweat beads on his forehead and chest, soaking into the bandage on his ribs.
“Be careful. I don’t want your wounds splitting open,” I say, peering for any signs of blood.
“I’ll be fine. Stop worrying.” He snags my bottom lip between his teeth, grabs his dick with one hand, and rubs it against my center as he watches me. “You like that?”
I nod quickly, pushing into him.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
He grips my hip tightly with the other hand and inches his way into me. I’m dying, dying, dying. When he’s completely sheathed inside me, he waits a few moments before he starts moving, and I want to touch him so bad right now.
“Untie me, please.”
Again, he shakes his head. He pulls back, then slowly slides back in, and I can’t resist looking where our bodies connect. He does too, and flashes that
wickedly scrumptious grin of his. His pace increases from sensual and slow to frantic desperation. He stops suddenly, and slides out, leaving me panting and wanting to punch something. He works the binds on my wrists, then my ankles and seconds later, he’s back inside and it’s like he never left. He hooks his hands around my knees and hikes my legs to his waist, then gathers me in his arms, his big rough hands cradling my face as he stares down at me.
We don’t talk as our bodies move against each other. I press my lips shut, afraid to break this moment, this connection, and just grip the hair on the back of his neck, meeting the quick thrust of his hips. Heat gathers inside me and the wave builds. I don’t want to let go. I want to do this with him. Together. Locking my gaze with his, I smile, communicating what I want, and as if reading my mind, his lips spread into a blindingly beautiful smile.
“Your wish is my command, my little Butterflyrologist.”
I laugh. He pulls back and slams into me. Once. Twice. Then grinds his hips, trying to get deeper. He increases the pace. “Oh yes, that’s it, my Sophie,” he murmurs over and over until I’m taken over by my own climax sweeping me up, and I forget who I am. He buries his face into my neck and jerks twice, his body stiffening around mine as he growls my name into my skin.
We lie there, panting. I try to gather enough words to express how I’m feeling.
“Best celebratory sex, ever,” I manage to say.
“Not sex. Making sweet love,” he says, lifting his head up, and brushing hair from my face. God, he smells so good. Like sweat, him, and sex . . . er . . . making love. He rolls over, taking me with him, and pulls me against his hard body, my back to his chest, one strong arm curved around my waist. His palm presses firmly on my stomach, stroking it back and forth.
Every girl dreams of a man, a prince who’ll sweep her off her feet and love her like his world is ending, and hers is just beginning; touch her like she’s the only thing he’s ever wanted, his everything; and kiss her with hopeless abandon, as though he can’t help himself.
I’ve found my prince. He’s broken, a fighter, a lover--oh my God, he’s a lover--but he’s mine. Truly, deeply, mine. He’s my everyday dream, my safe haven.
“What are you thinking, Sophie?” he asks, tucking my head under his chin.
“I’m glad we’ve come this far.”
Read other books by Cecilia Robert
A huge shout-out to my early readers for the priceless feedback that made this story better: Sarah Brown, Betareader Sarah, Nanette Bradford, Debbie Weintlein, Priya Kanaparti and Tianna Doyle. Thank you for making me laugh and cry, for being patient with me, for everything. I send you virtual hugs and tiny pink hearts.
Nanette, I can't find enough words to thank you for taking time to write the poem. It's achingly beautiful. Breathtaking.
Another huge shout-out goes to the ladies at Give Me Books, and Nereyda at YA Bound. You girls rock! I am truly humbled, and will forever be grateful for your support. <3
Thanks to Najla at www.najlaqambar.com designs. You're a God-send. Thanks for putting up with me, and loving me despite panic-filled emails and Facebook messages. You know I feel the same, right?
An extra special shout-out goes to all my fellow authors, bloggers and readers. Thank you for your friendship, encouragement and support. If I could hug each and every one of you, I would.
To the Self-publishing Authors Friends (SPAF) and New Adult Authors United (NAAU) groups on Facebook, I've learned so much from you. I feel very lucky to be part of you.
To those reading this, thank you for taking a chance on me and my story.
And last, but not least, I'd like to thank Kisa Whipkey, my fantastic editor. Two words sum up how I feel: awe and respect. You took this story in all its messiness and made it better. Gave it wings to fly. Thank you for your patience and our late night twitter messages. Well, late for me and early for you, and vice versa. You're my superhero! <3
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are a product of the author's imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons living or dead, is coincidental.Any businesses, locations, and organizations named in this novel while real, are used in a way that is purely fictional. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. Thank you for respecting the authors work.
Copyright ©2014 by Cecilia Robert. All rights reserved including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
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