Sophia’s head fell on his chest, her eyes shut. The rise and fall of her chest being the only movement of her body.
“Sophia,” he whispered, his breath still ragged. “What you did to me.” He kissed her hair. “You okay?” As he didn’t get any answer, he raised his head. “Sophia?” Sitting on the bed, he pulled her into his embrace, frowning.
Sophia’s head lolled in his arm.
He shook her gently, “Sophia, wake up.”
Think, Alistair Connor, think.
She was barely breathing and her face was flushed.
Don’t freak out. “Fuck! Sophia!”
Her eyelids flickered, opening slightly. She murmured, “Don’t… panic.”
“What?” He didn’t understand.
She blinked and her eyes opened, completely in awe, burning him with their yellow-diamond color. “Mmm…” she licked her lips. “What was that?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.” He searched her face: her lips were red and swollen; her rosy face had a dreamy look. “You fainted. For what seemed like a lifetime. What are you feeling?”
“I didn’t faint,” she whispered and shut her eyes again.
“Sophia,” he shook her again, concerned, “I’m calling 999.”
“Don’t,” she grabbed his hand, “it’s normal. I’ve never… been… better.” She stared at him, dazzled. “It was… mind-blowing.”
“For Christ’s sake, Sophia, how is this normal? You’re scaring me.” He bent his head and kissed her forehead, hugging her closer. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”
“Yes, just hold me. You have such strong arms,” she ran her face against his chest, purring in contentment like a kitten, “so silky and so hard.” She smiled at him, lazily, “You know you look like a pagan god?”
Alistair chuckled, feeling calmer and repeated her praises, “A pagan god. A Highland warrior.” He shook his head. “I’ll become conceited.”
“You already are…” she whispered, “Lord I’m-so-handsome-and-powerful-and-I-know-it.”
“Lord I’m-so-hand-” He laughed and kissed her. “I’m not conceited.” He laid her down and spooned her. “I’m handsome. And powerful. It’s a fact.”
“Vanity is a sin, Alistair Connor,” she murmured, amazed.
They fit together perfectly, just as he imagined. His arm draped over her waist and his hand on her breast. The other arm cushioned her head. His chin fit exactly over her shoulder.
It seemed eons since he had cuddled after sex. He snuggled her into his body. Her heartbeats were returning to normal, her breath becoming even. “Tell me, you planned this?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“When?” He marveled at her soft, creamy skin, caressing it with the tip of his fingers.
“This afternoon. A few minutes before I called you.” She rolled over on her stomach to look at him and propped her chin on her hand.
She was a vision of paradise with her black hair falling down her back, her lips a deeper red from kissing, legs raised and crossed at the angles.
“That’s why you became so angry in the car-”
“No,” she cut in, shaking her head, “it wasn’t because I wanted to seduce you.” She raked a hand through her hair and tilted her head to the side. “It was because it looked like you didn’t care or need me to miss you, Alistair,” she said softly but with conviction, “which is quite different.” Her face had a pensive air, “Wasn’t I right?” Then she corrected, “Aren’t I? You’re still afraid of commitment? Any kind of commitment?” She gave him a little smile to soften the question. “Even after what I told you?”
“It’s not-” he stopped the lie at her pointed look. “No. I’m not afraid. That’s not the word. I’m fearful. I was badly hurt in my only serious relationship.”
“I understand.” She rolled 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.”
“No, Sophia. I don’t think you understand. My case is quite different from yours.” He pushed on his elbow and turned to look at her grimly. “My marriage wasn’t a happy one.” His fingers appeared to have an itch only her body could soothe. “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? Leonard? Or Alice?”
“No, I didn’t let them.”
“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.” She combed his hair tenderly with her fingers. “Tell me when and if you feel like it. Just don’t let your other experiences mar our relationship.”
She then mischievously smiled at him 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 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 cock twisted and applauded 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. So she also does this when she is turned on. He went mad with lust.
“Witch!” He grabbed her by the ribs and lowered her for a passionate kiss. He flexed his hips, grinding his erection against her buttocks. He felt as her lips curled in a small grin. His hands ran over her back and he fisted her long hair. He wound her hair around his wrist and softly yanked it back.
She bit his lip, sucked at it, and moved to kiss his jaw, searching for his earlobe. She nipped it and then rimmed his ear. He moaned.
“My turn,” she whispered in his ear. And ran her tongue on his neck and shoulder.
“My pleasure,” he replied, huskily.
She caged his face with both her hands and raised her face to give him a naughty smile. “Yes,” she breathed, “your pleasure.” And glided down his body, letting him feel her soft skin. She kissed his chest and then a nipple, playfully biting it. He groaned. She circled it with her tongue and did the same with the other.
“More. Bite,” he demanded.
“What?”
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. Her hands caressed his ribs and chest as she lavished his abs with kisses.
“You have a wonderful body. A classical sculpture,” her voice was reverential. 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.