He laughed, “Well, then. Snow White.”
“Only in my sleep?” she teased.
“No,” his finger traced a line from her waist to her hip, “always.”
“You haven’t seen me with the flu,” she laughed.
He chuckled, “I bet you are stunning even when you have the flu.”
“Too many compliments to start the day, Alistair Connor,” she turned her head, smiling at him, “you surely want something.”
He pressed his rigid length into her butt, “Oh, I do want something, but I can have it without praising you.”
“Hmm, sure of yourself, aren’t you?
He raised an eyebrow at her, a smug smile on his face.
“You are so vain, Lord I’m-so-handsome-and-I-know-it.”
He laughed, “I’ve told you, I’m not vain.” And kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re really, really ravishing when you sleep and when you’re awake. It’s not just your looks. It’s you, Sophia. You,” he whispered the last word on her lips, “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 and 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, you don’t need your jeans. You can just stay naked. It’ll save time,” she grinned wolfishly at him.
“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?”
“No. 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,” she sighed. “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 had 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 frowned.
“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. “You’re like the fresh air from an orchard in spring,” he shook his head, his long bangs falling over his right eye, “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 with two fingers quietly studying her, his face inscrutable again.
“I-” She looked up at his face. “It did hurt. It’s so confusing.”
“But are you hurting? Now?”
She frowned and answered indirectly, “I’ll probably have marks by tomorrow,” she whispered, “I bruise easily.”
“If you don’t like it, we can try other things.” Marks… Fingerprints. My fingerprints. I shouldn’t have hurt her. At all. “What have you planned for us?” he changed the subject abruptly.
She let it go. “I didn’t plan anything,” she answered. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“I can think of a few things I’d like to do,” he said with a positively decadent grin.
She smiled at him and taunted, “Promises, promises.” And her grin faded and she looked down at her fingers.
“What’s nagging you?” His fingers curled under her chin, raising her face to his intense green gaze.
She stared at him for a long time, musing. “Why did you want me to condemn you last night?” She bit her lip, chewing it.
He tsked and his thumb pulled her lip from her teeth, “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. You were very angry when I absolved you.” She narrowed her eyes studying him.
“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?”
“No.”
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,” she inhaled deeply, “in my own way. Such labels as innocent or guilty are,” she waved her hand elegantly 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. What do you mean by that, Sophia? “No, we are not perfect. But we’re responsible for our acts.”
She fisted her hand and a strange expression masked her beautiful face. 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.”
What the fuck? 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 onto his chest, whispering, “Mmm, I like that.”
He bent his head and kissed her hair, murmuring, “I like you.”