“I thought it was the other way around,” he laughed.
“Hm?” She started unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off as she wiggled her hips, rubbing herself on his waking arousal. “I want your cock in my pussy.”
“WHAT?” He roared with laughter. “You’re tipsy. You don’t talk so dirty.”
“It’s the company,” she teased. She licked her way down, from his collarbone to his nipple, while she opened his jeans and stroked his semi-hard penis through his underwear. “Well, has your cock ever been deep in a tipsy pussy before?” she provoked him with a devilish smile.
His blood boiled with lust. “I would never refuse a beautiful lady with such a request.” He took over the situation as his hand pulled her against him and he licked her lips. A low growl built in his chest as she responded with gradually bolder parries of her tongue without really engaging in a kiss until she sucked his lower lip and nipped it gently with her teeth. He groaned deeper and pulled away slowly. He drank in the sight of her face softly flushed with desire and her mouth gleaming wet.
“Up,” he lifted her from his lap and sat her on the sofa, stood and walked to the door, locking it. Back to the sofa, he shoved down his jeans and underwear and, fully naked, he sat, commanding, “Strip for me.”
Sophia felt empowered. Her hands toyed with the ties of her dress before she unlaced the belt and whirled it around herself. The wrap dress opened to one side and she watched as his half-arousal stirred and hardened with lust.
Alistair flexed his hands, willing his arms to stay at his sides, as the sparks between them grew.
Sophia couldn’t help her wicked smile as she danced slowly, playing with the dress, baring just one of her breasts. Her lacy bra didn’t hide a thing. She opened the other side of the dress and, turning her back to him, shrugged it off, letting it fall slowly to the floor.
She looked boldly at Alistair over her shoulder.
Wearing only a bra and panties she worked her hips in agonizingly slow circles, as she moved her hands along her body.
His chest heaved in pants. He propped his elbows on his knees and watched as she swayed her hips to one side and then to the other, the smooth skin of her buttocks driving him mad. His fingers itched to touch her, but he controlled himself.
Sophia danced with her back to him as she lowered first one and then the other bra strap and disengaged it from behind. She began to caress herself, her hands wandering leisurely over her buttocks, hips and waist. She turned and he sucked in his breath as she cupped her breasts and her thumbs toyed with the stiff nipples.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
Her breasts swayed softly as she bent and kissed his lips, while her hand toyed with her thong. Her fingers dipped down in her thong, she closed her eyes and moaned.
That did it for him.
“Enough.” He picked her up by the waist and pressed her back on the sofa. Divesting her from her flimsy thong, he settled on the floor between her thighs and used the skills he knew she liked most, just small tantalizing touches of his tongue and fingers, to bring her to the edge of her orgasm.
When she gasped and shivered on the brink of a climax, he sat at the sofa again and lowered her slowly on his arousal, watching her as she threw her head back in pleasure.
“Yes!” She gripped his biceps hard as he lapped at her hard nipples.
“You feel so good.” When he was fully settled within her, he sucked a breast in his mouth, suckling.
Sophia thrust her hands in his hair, keeping his mouth firmly in place as she moved in circles on his lap. Soft gasps and moans of pleasure escaped her throat.
While she enjoyed his attention to her breasts, he slid on a finger between the crease of her ass, probing softly with a feathery touch and testing her reaction. She tightened and then to his surprise, writhed down on it, whispering in his ear, “Do it.”
“Relax,” he ordered and plunged his finger slowly into her. He watched her face as he withdrew and pushed two fingers this time.
Sophia’s mouth opened in a silent gasp and she pulled him by the hair to her breast.
He thrust his hips up in time with his fingers. She moaned loudly and he took her mouth in a hungry kiss and she tasted herself on his tongue. That excited her wildly. And she started to ride him with fierce movements.
“Please,” she gasped on his lips as he pushed his fingers further into her.
“Come for me.” Mere seconds under his expert ministrations and she was climaxing, her head thrown back, her hands clenched in his hair. He slammed hard into her once more and came, pouring himself in her.
He pulled the blanket draped over the sofa arm and covered her back. He squeezed her gently, his hands stroking her back as she drifted down from her physical high.
For the past three days, Alistair thought he had lost Sophia. Her breath fanning his neck soothed his fears. “I love you, you know?” he whispered in her hair.
“Mmm,” she purred.
One day, Sophia. One day soon, you will say the same to me.
Within moments of lying in bed with Sophia curled over his body, Alistair’s breathing evened and he was sleeping peacefully. However, Sophia could not sleep.
She was astonished at the intensity of his feelings for her and, worse, of her feelings for him.
She raised from the bed, put on her wrap and walked to her bathroom, looking at her reflection in the mirror. It was the certainty of her own feelings that caused her so much inner turmoil. She picked up her hairbrush and brushed her long hair, the repeated movements giving her mind room to analyze the last few days.
As always happened late at night, eleven faces appeared to haunt her.
Brazil, Rio de Janeiro, Ipanema, Avenida Vieira Souto.
Leibowitz’s Penthouse, on the veranda.
Wednesday, June 4th, 2008.
2.11 p.m.
“Doutora Sophia?”
Sophia slowly pulled her eyes away from the rolling waves as her driver’s soft voice reached her from far away. “Sim, Gilberto?”
All the mirrors and photographs in the huge penthouse were covered with white sheets as is the Jewish mourning tradition.
Sophia, however, was enclosed in her own black shroud, sitting on a reclining chair under the shade of an enormous parasol. The sling that held her left arm was also black. The only jewelry she allowed herself were a slim white gold necklace with Gabriel’s wedding ring hanging from her neck.
Gilberto eyed Sophia’s face, thin and haggard as he had never seen before. Sophia’s normally clear and happy eyes were dark and dulled. Her face was so pale and her skin so translucent that she rivaled a ghost. Her hair was simply braided, hanging down her back. Her normally beautiful nails were unpolished.
She didn’t sleep, unless under the effect of drugs; she didn’t eat unless Claudia, her former nanny, begged and practically cried; she didn’t talk, but when strictly necessary. And Gilberto would bet all his money that yesterday, when she was told that her husband was dead, she would have killed herself if not for Gabriela.
“Doutora Sophia, one of my brothers still lives in Rocinha. You know that, don’t you?” Every night, Gilberto said a prayer thanking his bosses for the nice little house they had bought for him in Botafogo. His family was much safer out of the slum, and he could work without having to worry about them so much.
She blinked and shook her head slowly. “Still?” Sophia cringed inside at the sound of her hoarse voice. “Tell him to look for somewhere to live. I don’t want anyone from your family still living there, Gilberto.”
“I will.” The black man smiled sadly when he heard proof of the horrible nightmares that assaulted Sophia every night. Everyone in the household knew about them, Sophia’s screams were so loud. “Yesterday, twelve men crossed the woods over the top of the hill from Vidigal. They camped near Rocinha’s border. One of the policemen, who busted the house where Doutor Gabriel was, lives in Rocinha, too. And he recognized them this morning. My brother phoned me as soon as he heard the rumors.”