He wrapped her in his arms and soothed her with tender, loving words in Gaelic, stroking her back lightly for some minutes until he felt her relaxing against his chest.
She looked at him, mortified that he had seen and heard her having that nightmare. “I’m so-”
He stopped her with a finger on her lips. “Are they still common or was it caused by my aggression?” He thinned his lips and drew his ink-black brows low.
“Oh, Alistair, please, don’t do this to yourself.”
He grimaced, “You had a nightmare when Ethan hurt you.”
“No, the nightmares aren’t triggered by…” she paused, searching for a word, “moves toward me.” She sighed, “I used to have them every night. It’s getting better now.”
“Have you seen a doctor recently?” He looked at her, worried.
“I have therapy sessions twice a week. But, how can I talk about something I don’t remember? How can I work it out if I don’t know what goes on in my head when I dream? It’s unsettling. I feel…” she shivered and finished in a mumble, “damaged, incomplete, sick.”
“Oh, Beauty,” he whispered onto her hair, “you’re perfect. Just perfect.” He squeezed her in his strong arms.
“No. I am not. I was diagnosed with severe stress and mood disorders after,” she waved her hand briefly over her scarred arm. “My mood and my behavior changed. I had to take lots of drugs. Not so long ago, I had therapy sessions every day. Every day,” she sighed. “I still see a psychiatrist once a month. I know I’m nothing but imperfection personified.”
He curled his fingers under her chin and made her look at him, commanding, “I forbid you to say that again. You’ve gone through an unimaginable horror and survived it. You’re a wonderful mother, a strong and competent businesswoman, and an amazing lover. You’re beautiful, gentle, understanding. You have an indomitable spirit. You humble me with your character.” He shook his head at her and pressed a finger in the center of her lips. “I don’t want to hear that again. Ever. Understood?”
All the traits he recited made him acknowledge the failings in his own character, now even more noticeable to himself. And that made him more resolute to better himself for her. He clenched his jaw as he glanced at her body, black-and-blue marks all over her thighs and neck.
Alistair kissed the top of Sophia’s head and inhaled her scent. White roses, oranges, and vanilla. Fresh, innocent, and sweet. Goodness. “You smell so good, Sophia,” he whispered in her hair.
“Make love to me again. Hard and fast. I want to feel alive,” she asked, offering her lips to him. “Make me feel alive, Alistair.”
Sophia nearly screamed when he softly bit her lip. “It feels so good,” she gasped. She gripped his hair and demanded, “Hard and fast.”
He just smiled and lowered his head into a heart-stopping kiss and shifted over her body, kissing and licking his way down.
He pulled her lower body off the edge of the bed until her legs draped over his forearms. His hands held her buttocks as he knelt on the floor. He grinned savagely at her before his teeth nipped her clitoris. “Good?” he asked and his tongue delved deep into her body.
“Yes, oh, yes.” She rocked in his mouth as his licks drove her crazy with need.
“Fingers?” He traced her seam softly with his index finger, teasing, stroking her to a fever pitch.
“Ah! Yes, please,” she gasped. She couldn’t contain her moans anymore when he dived one finger deep into her body, rotating it. And then two. He made a low growling noise and lapped at her clitoris. Digging her nails into his scalp, Sophia struggled to keep her orgasm at bay.
“What else do you like?” he whispered.
She fisted his thick, silk hair, threading her fingers through it, holding him close. “Everything. Keep going,” she gasped as she approached climax. She tugged roughly on his hair, pulling him up onto her body. “Take me. Hard.”
Her words brought his gaze to her face. He stood, sheathed himself, and held up her legs to wrap them around his waist while he pressed his hips forward until the tip of his shaft pressed against her. “Tell me, who do you want?” he rasped.
“You, Alistair Connor, only you,” she promised.
“Hard and fast?” he asked.
“Yes. Now!” Her heels pressed down on his buttocks.
His hands cupped her bottom and his thumbs parted her. A groan rumbled low in his throat as he shoved hard in one thrust.
A throaty scream escaped Sophia as he burrowed himself until the hilt.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he gasped. Pulling out, he repeated the sharp movement.
“Ah,” Sophia screamed, “yes.” His rough plunges kept her on the edge between pleasure and pain.
“Touch your breasts, Sophia.”
She opened her eyes, startled by his growled order.
“Touch yourself. I want to see you pleasuring yourself,” he crooned.
The command made her nonsensical. She had never done anything so bold. She cupped her breasts with her hands and looked at him. His green eyes caught fire.
Pleasure flared through her body as she noticed how turned on he was watching her. “Harder! Faster!” she demanded, as the climax peaked. She opened her eyes to look at the rugged visage of her pagan god.
He set a violent rhythm, his measured thrusts filling her with passion. “Come for me, Sophia,” he bent down to catch a nipple between his lips, sucking hard.
Suddenly, it hit her with violence, bright stars exploding behind her eyes, making her breathless and dizzy. Her muscles clamped around his invading arousal and they shouted together. He pulled her hips flush against his own. She felt a sharp pleasure as he pressed deeper.
“Yes,” he gasped as her orgasm triggered his. He plunged deep once again and stilled, his whole body stiff and his eyes closed tight. For several moments, he stayed immobile enjoying the sensual feelings coursing through his body and then collapsed on the bed, supporting himself on his forearms over her, his beautiful eyes searching hers.
He placed a kiss on her mouth and rolled onto his back, pulling her against his chest. He sighed deeply when her head rested below his chin and she purred, contented and sated.
“Sophia, you have just the right amount of energy for me,” he chuckled and felt her smiling on his chest. “And the weekend isn’t over yet.” His hand caressed her long hair. “I love you, mo chridhe.”
“What?”
He smiled. He hadn’t noticed he had spoken in Gaelic. “You, Sophia, you are mo chridhe. My heart.”
“Mmm. Mo chridhe,” she experienced the words on her tongue. “I like that.”
He didn’t try to order his emotions that felt completely out of control. He sensed a strange happiness filling his heart. An unrecognizable desire to be with her forever surged through him. It wasn’t only her exquisite face or her sexy body that had drawn him to her. It was her incredible spirit and way of confronting life. It was her hope for a better life in spite of all she-and he-had suffered.
Sophia is not my second chance. She is my heavenly gift.
After a few minutes, she kissed his chest, rose from the bed, and walked to the glass doors, stretching, entwining her arms above her head, “Mmm. It’s a beautiful day.” She turned to him, with a satisfied smile on her lips. “I’m hungry. Can you call for our breakfast, please? With coffee. Espresso, of course.”
Life suddenly had possibilities as new and bright as the sun shining outside. He sighed happily, picked up the phone from the bedside table, and asked for the delivery of their breakfast.
Alistair watched her young face as she raised it toward the gentle winter sun and made a firm decision in that moment. She, I will trust.