Entwined Fates

by Cristiane Serruya

  “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 k-know,” she stuttered, “I-I was scared at first, but, well I f-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 soul.

  “Gabriel almost took me to the hospital the first time it happened. I only managed to convince him I was feeling all right 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. “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 gasped, 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 35

  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 w
olfishly 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’d 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.”

  He tilted his head trying to understand the cryptic remark. “Nae, we are no’ perfect. But we’re responsible for our acts.”

  She straightened up to her full height and crossed her arms over her chest. A dark smile spread on her lips and she whispered to him, “Only if we get caught.” That’s enough, Sophia.

  He raised his brows, astonished at another cryptic remark and her weird stance.

  She drank the rest of her water and turned her back to him, shaking her head as if scolding herself. She threw the bottle with rage into the rubbish bin in the far corner of the kitchen and stared in that direction.

  Alistair strolled to her, putting his hands on her shoulders and digging his fingers into her skin, massaging her tense muscles.

  She relaxed into his chest, whispering, “Mmm, I like that.”

  He bent his head and kissed her hair, murmuring, “I like you.”

  “Promise me something?”

  “What, Beauty?”

  She turned in his arms, placed her palms on his chest, and fixed him with her hazel, troubled gaze. “Don’t turn your anger unfairly toward me. Trust isn’t something I bestow easily. It’s something precious. You have it or you don’t. Like faith, like love. It’s blind. It has to be. If I trust, if I love, I’ll always believe you, no matter the circumstances.”

  Her beautiful eyes were open windows to a scared and hurt soul and Alistair drowned in them as they showed him all her feelings.

  “Don’t doubt my word. It’s the most valuable thing I could ever give you.”

  4:30 p.m.

  Leaning on the doorjamb of the kitchen, Sophia stared at Alistair.

  She’d seen him wearing formal and informal clothes. And no clothes at all.

  Now though, resting on the kitchen counter eating leftovers from their lunch, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist, he’d never been sexier.

  His hair was still wet from the shower and small rivulets of water ran down his neck, bare chest, and back. “Hungry?” he asked as he saw her.

  For an edible hunk. Pushing from the threshold, Sophia sauntered over to him. “No.” She smiled and shook her head at the plate of food he held. She picked up a glass from the cupboard and poured some fresh passion fruit juice she’d made for breakfast. “Seems you are. But then I can’t think of many people that eat as much as you do.”

  “I have to keep strong. You consume all my calories.” He stabbed a steamed broccoli and waved it at her. “Besides, this cooking of yours, it’s too light. Too many vegetables. That is why you’re so thin.”

  “No, it’s not true.” She laughed. “I eat everything. I just prefer to eat healthy food at home.”

  She knew how good her food was and she could tell how much he liked it. She had prepared a green salad with buffalo mozzarella, grilled salmon with honey mustard sauce, and steamed vegetables. Sophia motioned to the juice. “Do you want some?”

  “No’ now, thanks.”

  She took a seat at the table and gazed out the win
dow at her beautiful garden outside.

  “Sophia?”

  Pulled from her thoughts by the soft sound of her name, she looked up and saw him watching her intently.

  “Yes?”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah…” She nodded absentmindedly. “I was just wondering…” She drank the juice, her gaze unfocused. I was wondering if this is true. If it’s not another bad joke God is playing on me. She’d meditated on these questions more and more since she’d starting going out with him.

  He sat beside her and curled his fingers under her chin, making her face him. “What? What were you wondering?”

  Needing reassurance, she voiced her thoughts, “Is this true? Is it real?”

  “Aye, it is.” He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her right ear. “It’s for real. As long as we want it to be.”

  She tilted her head, a thoughtful frown creasing her forehead. Really? Not just a passing infatuation?

  His finger smoothed out the lines on her brow. “Don’t you worry. I want this to work. And it seems to me that you do too. Now…” A slow smile spread over his face. “I want to collect a promise.”

  “What promise?” Her brows lowered.

  “Your promise to take me for a ride in your McLaren. I wish to see if you’re really as good a driver as you claim you are. We can dine at The Waterside Inn in Berkshire. It’s a restaurant with rooms, as they like to call it. A very common concept in France. We can spend the night there. The accommodations are spectacular. It’s about an hour’s drive. What do you think?”

  “I’m game.” She smiled, looking up at him.

  “Great. Do you want to spend the night there?”

  “Why not? We can take some wine, and please,”—she ogled him, stressing the word—“you can choose from my cellar as if you were choosing from yours.”

  He put his hands up. “I will. Don’t worry. I don’t want to incur your wrath. Again.”

  She harrumphed playfully. “I’m going to pack, and then we can swing by your place to pick up your things.”