“I understand.” She raked a hand through her hair and tilted her head to the side, before rolling onto her back, staring at the cerulean-green canopy of her bed. “When I became a widow, I wore my wedding band for a long time.”
Quite the opposite here. “Nae, Sophia. I don’t think you understand. My case is quite different from yours.” He pushed on his elbow. His fingers appeared to have an itch only her body could soothe. “My marriage wasn’t a happy one. I stopped wearing my wedding ring long before Heather died. I swore on Nathalie’s grave I’d never make the same mistake again.”
She stared at him, astonished. “My God, Alistair.”
“You haven’t—” He sighed. “Nobody told you? Alice?”
“No, I didn’t let her.”
“Why not?” he asked surprised.
“Because.”
“That’s not an answer. Why not?” he insisted.
She considered her answer carefully and looked at him directly in the eyes. “A story has many sides. If you ask my in-laws about what happened between Gabriel and I, they have a version. My brother, another one. And so on. What version would matter to you? Theirs or mine?”
“I see.” He stared back at her, his eyes so dark the green was almost gone. So many emotions swirled in them: rage, fear, pain, shame. But not a drop of love. “So you expect me to tell you what happened.”
“No. I don’t have any expectations concerning your past. Just don’t let your other experiences mar our relationship.” She combed his hair tenderly with her fingers. “Tell me when and if you feel like it.” And that is not exactly what I have in mind right now. She smiled at him mischievously, and pushing up on all fours, crawled over him and straddled him at the waist. Her hands rested on her knees. She eyed him, her head cocked to the side and she wetted her lips.
He quirked an eyebrow at her, his lips curling.
A cat-that-got-the-cream smile appeared on her lips. She crossed her arms in front of her body, her hands on her hips, and lifted them slowly, skimming her abdomen, up her torso, brushing her nipples, uncrossing them when she reached her shoulders to stroke her hair at her nape. She lifted her raven strands and let them fall in a cascade.
Fuck. His penis twitched and his lust awakened again to applaud the sensual show. Hmm, the fastest recovery of my life.
Eyes half-closed, she stretched her arms over her head, bent them, and gripped her elbows, undulating her body. She licked her lips and bit the lower one.
Witch! He went mad with lust, grabbed her by the ribs and lowered her for a passionate kiss, flexing his hips and grinding his erection against her buttocks. His hands ran over her back and he grabbed her long hair, wound it around his wrist, and softly yanked it back.
She bit his lip, sucked at it, and moved to kiss his jaw.
He moaned when she rimmed his ear and then nipped his earlobe.
“My turn,” she whispered in his ear.
“My pleasure,” he replied, huskily.
“Yes,” she breathed, “your pleasure.” And she glided down his body, letting him feel her soft skin. She kissed his chest and then a nipple, playfully biting it, eliciting a groan. She circled it with her tongue and then did the same with the other.
“More. Bite.” His fingers tangled in her hair and placed her mouth on his nipple, commanding, “Bite.”
She nipped it.
He groaned and demanded again, “Harder.”
Sophia bit him and he moaned out loud. She repeated it on the other. He grunted.
“You have a wonderful body. A classical sculpture.” Her voice was reverential. Her hands caressed his ribs and chest as she lavished his abs with kisses. When her tongue circled his navel and dipped in, his breath hitched. She knelt between his thighs. Her hands continued trailing down him and she sat on her heels. He watched her as her eyes flamed. She twirled her hair and threw it over a shoulder. Then she licked her lips and rested her hands lightly on his hips.
He tensed and fisted his hands.
Without taking her eyes off him, she lowered her body. Her lips parted and hovered just a breath away from his strained erection. Her tongue darted out and licked the head.
“Aye!” He pushed up on his elbows to have a better view of the goddess tormenting him. His legs widened to make room for her. This must be the sweetest torture on earth.
She gripped the base of his cock and engulfed him deep in her mouth.
He threw his head back with a roar and his neck stretched. He struggled not to thrust into her mouth. One of her hands tightly stroked the base of his cock and the other rolled his balls softly.
She worked him leisurely, lost in the power of pleasing him. Her tongue circled and her mouth sucked, nonstop.
He groaned, unable to do more. His eyes were glued on the seductress in front of him.
She moaned and that undid him. Before he lost control in her mouth, he pulled her away, and up on the bed beside him, and rolled over her body, kissing her.
He stretched out his arm and snatched his wallet from the bedside table, his fingers groping for a condom. His brow furrowed when he didn’t find one. He broke the kiss to better search and he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Fuck!” The expletive shot out of his mouth before he could think.
“What is it?” She startled.
“Condom.” He looked at her. “Do you have one?”
She froze. “I’ve never bought…”
He sensed her tensing and withdrawing and knew in that moment he would make her come, no matter what. He dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed and gripped her thighs, pulling her down in his direction.
“Relax,” he demanded in a deep, low voice, putting her legs on his shoulders, “and enjoy it.”
He kissed her inner thigh and felt her muscles contract. When his tongue traced a light path toward her clitoris, she pushed up to a seated position and fisted his hair.
His answering chuckle was filled with masculine satisfaction as he buried his mouth between her thighs.
Her eyes became hooded, her lips parted, her breath hitched, and her face grew rosier.
He grinned, eyes glued to hers, as she watched him lap her up.
She almost choked as a bolt of lightning shot through her entire body when he sucked her clitoris into his mouth. She threw her head back, arching her breasts up in the air, panting.
He fondled them, his thumbs pressing and pulling the nipples as she let out a strangled moan. He lowered her back onto the bed, his hand between her breasts, and latched his mouth greedily to her. Her smooth, bare skin felt wondrous under his mouth. His tongue entered her deep, feasting on her.
Her shaking legs, her uneven breathing, and her increasingly loud moans were all music to him. His tongue left her depths and concentrated on her clitoris again, bringing his fingers to play, staring at her.
The moment the first finger sank into her, she softly cried his name, begging for release.
“Relax.” He lapped softly at her, slowing the rhythm. He withdrew his finger and heard her relieved breath. With no mercy, he plunged two fingers into her, diving in and out, as he sucked her clitoris.
“You’re going to kill me,” she whispered, her hands shaking in his hair.
Alistair was about to explode, driven by the pleasure he was giving and by the power his caresses had over her.
“Sophia,” he moaned in her folds, half in pain, half in pleasure. “I’m going to come on your rug.”
“Who. Cares.” She tugged him by the hair. “Just don’t stop.”
He gave a half-pained laugh and latched his mouth on her again, ravenous, making pressure, sucking and licking, his fingers curling to touch her upper wall, and stroking his straining, engorged erection.
“Oh. I’m…” She tensed under his mouth and rocked her hips against him, her fingers tangling and untangling on his hair. “Alistair, I’m…”
Also close, he growled against her, as she spasmed and contracted around his fingers. “Come.”
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Her legs trembled around his shoulder and neck, and like a band, Sophia came, all sensation, her pleasure all-consuming and burning.
Alistair felt a shock run through his whole body, shaking him with violence, and he shouted her name, coming so hard his legs were trembling now. He rested his head on her inner thigh, recovering his breath.
A deep, satisfied feeling came over him. He stroked her thigh and noticed that her eyes were closed. He lowered her legs from his shoulders and sat with her in his arms, stupefied at her reaction. “Sophia, you okay?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. She smiled lazily at him through half-closed eyes. Alistair heard an amused tone in her throaty voice. “It was not bad. Not bad at all.”
Not bad! He chuckled and held her tightly while her breathing returned to normal. Well, it was one of my best.
8:57 p.m.
She pushed up on her elbow to kiss him and said with a sassy smile, “Time for a shower. Care to join me?”
Alistair watched with rapt attention as Sophia rose naked from the bed. With her long raven hair and gently swaying hips, she was temptation incarnate to him. It took everything he had to hold back when his dark and animalistic side longed to leap the distance between them and devour her senseless.
The woman has the kind of energy I like. He wanted her just as badly as if he hadn’t just come twice a short while ago. He couldn’t help but imagine how she would react if he were his usual self. “Too much of a temptation, and no condom, no sex.”
“Oh. The goddamn condom…” Sophia, you shouldn’t. But the words were out of her mouth before her mind could finish admonishing herself. “I’m clean and on birth—”
“Sorry,” he said seriously. Distrust and wariness showed on his face. “I am clean, but I don’t know about you.”
Her face fell and she looked at him open-mouthed for a few moments. Did I really hear that?
An awkward silence filled the room.
“Don’t take this personally, Sophia. It’s just a rule I don’t break. If you mind the condoms so much, we can go see John Walter, together,” he stressed the word, “and have new STD exams done.”
“All right then,” she whispered, and turned toward the bathroom. Then a smile brightened her face, and she grabbed her iPhone before heading to her bathroom. “See you in a few minutes. You can use the other bathroom. It’s ready for you.”
“You also shower with a gadget?” he asked, amused.
“Why not? You won’t join me.” She tossed her hair over one shoulder, looked back at him and wiggled her brows, waving her cell phone. “I’m going to find someone who wants to Skype and shower with me.”
She sauntered into the bathroom, giggling.
“Skype and shower, oh, man!” He rose from the bed and started collecting his clothes. He paused at the foot of the bed and grimaced at the mess he had made on Sophia’s rug. I have to take care of this first.
He knocked on Sophia’s bathroom door and heard her talking and chuckling inside. Surely she was joking about sharing showers with others!
Then she said Edward’s name and gave a sexy, throaty laugh. Immediately, jealousy and betrayal raised their ugly heads in his mind. Davidoff is an interesting man. Perhaps…nae, surely not. Nae. Sophia isn’t Heather.
He shook his head and knocked again. The door opened to reveal a smiling, trusting Sophia.
Naked. Very naked. Alistair cursed his scruples.
“Yes? Changed your mind?”
“Nae.” He glanced around searching for her iPhone. “Are you busy?”
“Busy?” she asked, confused, examining his scowl. “No, not yet.”
“I need something to clean your rug—”
She seized him by the arm, yanking him inside with force and he stumbled into the bathroom.
“I don’t need a house cleaner. We can do that later. Don’t be chicken,” she laughed. “Get in the shower with me.”
Fuck. “Sophia.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Too late.” She turned the lock and took out the key, waving it away from him. “Oh, come on, it’s just water. Are you afraid of water?”
“I’m unable to resist.” He captured her in his arms. “It’s not the water that frightens me, Beauty. It’s the siren in it.”
“You’re forgiven this time, Lord Poet.” She gave him a peck on the lips and opened the door, sighing. “Enjoy your shower, alone, because next time I won’t allow it.”
9:27 p.m.
Alistair had already showered and was wearing his gray jeans when Sophia came out of the dressing room barefooted, donning a green-and-blue wrap dress, with her hair piled up in a bun secured by a Japanese hair stick.
She coughed to keep from laughing at the scene of him on his knees, a brush in his hand, cleaning her rug. His black hair, still damp from the shower, fell around his face and the muscles on his arms and back rose with his movements.
“What’s so funny?” he asked from the floor, stopping to stare at her.
“I never thought I would have a pagan god cleaning my rug,” she said, with an endearing look on her face. “You don’t have to do this. By the way, where did you find the brush?”
“Of course I have to do this. I made the mess—”
“We made the mess together,” she interrupted him. “We clean it together, got it?”
She took the brush from his hand and entered his bathroom. She left the brush on the double sink, washing her hands as he washed his.
“Come on. I haven’t eaten since lunch.” She waited for him to put his cardigan and loafers on. “You didn’t answer me. Where did you find the brush?”
“I have superpowers,” he said, winking at her.
“I can believe that.” She grinned at him, enchanted. “Let’s see if your powers can help me with dinner.”
He took her hand in his, as they walked to the cellar to choose the wine. “Beautiful dress.”
“I love Von Furstenberg’s dresses,” she answered, not noticing he was looking down at her cleavage and the way the dress hugged her curves. “They’re so elegant and comfortable.”
“From my point of view, you can always wear them,” he said, chuckling.
She looked up and realized he had a predatory grin on his face. “You pervert.”
Pervert? I haven’t even started. “This dress complements your body.” He ran his hands from her collarbones to her hips and back again, ending on her waist, and dragging her into his arms. “Or should I say that your body complements the dress? You confound me.”
She laughed, squirming from his embrace. “I’m hungry, and I’m dying for a glass of wine.”
Lifting the hem of her dress, she ran toward the cellar, him on her heels.
He nearly bumped into her when he entered the dimly lit room. Then he looked over her shoulder and saw the bottle she had in her hands. “You don’t want to open that.”
“No?” She looked up from the 1982 Château Mouton-Rothschild to search his face and put it back with the others. Moving to another section, she pulled out a 1934 Romanée Conti and peered at him with raised brows.
“Sophia, please.” He shook his head. “It’s only us, and pasta.”
“I don’t understand what the problem is. Are you saying these are too good to be enjoyed with a simple dinner?”
“Sophia, these are very expensive bottles. Some would consider them investments, never to be drunk.”
Money! “But you drank from my body, didn’t you? Is this,” she motioned to the bottle, “more valuable than me?” Or is it because I paid for it?
“That’s not at all what I meant.” He blew out a breath. “It’s just that—”
She raised her chin, defiantly. “Just what?”
“Nothing.” He caressed her face with his knuckles. In a low, silky voice, he said, “Because when you put it like it, nothing compares to your taste, Sophia. Choose. It is, after all, a very special day worthy of an elaborate celebration.”
She lea
ned on his body, her forehead resting on his chest. “Sorry, I overreacted.”
“You do have a temper, don’t you?” He laughed when she punched him in the arm after putting the 1945 Mouton-Rothschild in its place.
“Try me.” She reached for the bottle she had chosen first, leaving the cellar.
Back in the kitchen, she put the bottle on the island and put an opener and a crystal-and-silver decanter next to the bottle. “Here, help me or I won’t feed you.”
“Are you threatening me?” He snatched her to him and his arms circled her in a tight hug. “Feed me or I will not pleasure you again.”
“You’ll lose on both counts.” She dismissed his warning, not at all afraid of the big man looming over her. “You’ll starve. For food and for me.”
“Witch.” Giving her butt a loud and heavy swat, he said, “Start this cauldron of yours.”
The doorbell rang, saving him from her counterattack.
“Are you expecting someone?” he frowned.
“Yes. I’ll be right back.” Sophia went to the back door. “Don’t move.”
Fuck. I’ve never been ordered around before. He rolled his broad and muscular shoulders and his neck. Relax, Alistair Connor. She’s worth it. He could hear her moving around the back of the house and speaking with someone.
“Who was it?” he asked, when Sophia returned to the kitchen with a mischievous grin and a white plastic bag in her hand.
“Surprise!” She said and then demanded, “Close your eyes.”
“Who was it, Sophia?”
“Never mind. Close your eyes. Please?” she asked again, approaching him with a sexy and mischievous expression on her face.
“I don’t know if I should,” he teased, but closed his eyes. He heard the sound of plastic rustling and felt her soft fingers hold up his hand, and turning it over, put a small box on his palm.
“Now, you can open them,” Sophia softly said, still holding his hand.
He shook his head, bewildered at the pack of condoms on his palm. “How?”
“I have my ways. Come on,” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the table. “Sit.”
Shades of Trust Page 33