Cristiane Serruya - Trust: A New Beginning

He shifted his hold on her butt to free one arm. He shoved a hand between their bodies and pressed his thumb on her clitoris. “That’s it,” he said through clenched teeth as he thrust deeply into her, over and over, their desire spiking. “Come with me. I’m so close.” He groaned and his cock jerked within her in agreement.

A flash travelled through her spine and her body sizzled with it. She lifted her head and yanked his down to a scorching, primal kiss. Her muscles contracted around him, as he pushed deeper and stilled, pressing her onto the wall. With a low scream, she exploded with passion. She convulsed in his arms, trembling so hard she was sure she was being torn apart. Her limbs weakened and she tumbled against him as her inner muscles narrowed one last time around his length.

Alistair grunted loudly as lightning speared through his spine and exploded behind his eyes, making him dizzy with the force of his incoming orgasm.

He heaved and gasped out loud.

“Sophia.” His low whisper became a plea of devotion. He repeated her name over and over as he came violently.

Her hard breathing on his neck made him shudder with renewed desire.

He kissed her mussed up hair. “Christ, Sophia.” His green eyes were flaming. “You’re mine,” he rumbled in his chest. “Mine, do you understand?” He embraced her tightly against his chest, anxiety burrowing deep in his soul.

“Yes,” she breathed in his scent, “yours.” She loved his smell. A scent unlike anyone else’s in the entire world. Sublimely Alistair.

He walked them to the bedroom with careful strides, his trousers still on his hips and laid her down on the bed. He went to the bathroom and flung the condom in the wastepaper basket. He shed his clothes quickly, leaving them on the chair there.

When he returned to the room, she was already under the sheets. She rested against a mound of white pillows, her raven hair framing her face and upper body. Despite her beauty, the troubled look in her eyes caught his attention. He paused in the middle of the room, uncertain of what to do.

Sophia held out a hand to him, motioning to the empty space next to her. “Alistair, I deserve your trust.”

He winced when she spoke, her voice raspy and low, which confirmed his previous brutality. He walked slowly to a chest of drawers and grabbed a T-shirt and pajama shorts. He dressed and sat on the edge of the bed, scowling.

She waited for his apology in silence. She had no idea what had brought about the outburst or what he would say next. His erratic behavior unnerved her.

“Did I hurt you, Sophia?”

What do you think? Thousands of thoughts went through her mind in a rush. You’re a lawyer, Sophia. You’ve defended women who have been assaulted, battered, and raped. She shoved a hand in her hair, still studying him. What are you going to say to a man who just assaulted you before having wild, absolutely amazing sex?

For the first time in her whole life, she began to understand the dilemma of many women in denouncing their companions. It wasn’t that easy to distinguish and decide what was right when so many emotions where involved.

“Sophia?” he coached, gently.

“It’s okay,” she cleared her throat, trying to get her voice back to normal.

His hand stretched to caress her hair but stopped midair.

Her hand met his halfway and she entwined her fingers with his, putting their hands on her lap. She looked down from his face to their interlaced hands and up again, staring deeply into his green eyes.

Alistair noticed that her eyes were not the beautiful yellow-diamond color he saw when she was turned on or sated after making love. He so loved that color.

She hooded her eyes when she noticed him studying them. But he had already seen that they were tinged with a light brown and it made a strange emotion unfurl in his chest.

A knock sounded on the door, startling them and breaking the awkward silence that had descended in the room.

“I’ll answer it,” he whispered and rose from the bed.

Sophia could hear another male voice. The waiter, probably. She had completely forgotten about the Armagnac and cigars she had wanted.

She jumped off the bed and took a wrap from the closet, donning it. When she heard the door closing, she quietly entered the sitting room and saw Alistair standing in the middle of it. He lowered his head and ran a hand over his nape, frowning. His posture echoed his utter dejection.

He raised his head slowly to examine her, a concerned look on his face. He motioned to a bottle of Armagnac and a cigar box on the table. “Do you still want?”

She shook her head.

He stepped slowly in her direction as if afraid of scaring her. “Did I hurt you?”

She tilted her head back to face him. “Do you want the truth?” she whispered, careful not to hurt her throat anymore.

“Aye,” he nodded, halting only when he almost touched her, “Yes, I do.”

“You did,” she answered him ruthlessly, “I’ll probably have your fingers printed all over my throat tomorrow morning, not to mention your hands on my thighs and my ass.”

He flinched at her bluntness. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His forehead rested on hers and he caressed her back with slow, circular movements. “I really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You were… jealous.”

“You’re right. I was jealous.” More than jealous, Sophia. I felt insecure and afraid. I felt rejected and betrayed. And I don’t like those feelings. “And possessive,” he said. “Not only jealous. Possessive, too. I have issues with trust, Sophia.”

“Albert Ackerman is just a fellow lecturer at Cambridge. And he’s married. He was waiting for his wife to join him.” She swallowed with care, her throat hurting.

“Marriage never stopped anyone from betraying.”

“Well, it’s a determinant for me.” She stared at his green eyes. “I believe in principles and morals. I’m faithful.”

“And I’m an idiot.” He said, his low, deep voice filled with sadness.

Sophia raised an eyebrow, “Can I agree with you? Or you are going to asphyxiate me again?”

He winced and she stood on her tiptoes, kissing his lips in forgiveness, saying, “However strange this may be,” her hands delved under his T-shirt to stroke his back in a calming caress, “even after everything, I liked the sex.” Mind you, Alistair Connor, the sex.

She astonished him. Is she forgiving and trying to soothe me? He put his arms around her and she leaned onto his chest.

“Is your throat hurting?” he asked, his voice concerned.

Sleep on it, Sophia. Don’t think about it. Give yourself some time to cool down. She nodded, “It will get better.”

“Sophia-”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now. Tomorrow.” She rested her forehead on his chest and stifled a yawn on his T-shirt.

“Come,” he picked her up in his arms and she nestled her face into the hollow of his neck, “let’s sleep.”

Make things light, Sophia. “Why are you always carrying me in your arms?”

“You’re light as a feather, I’m strong and,” he shrugged, “I like you where you are.” He squeezed her in his arms and felt her smile against his neck.

“I see. I just missed the stomping,” she teased.

His lips turned up in a small smile as she used his own words against him. And, although he felt too downcast to be amused, he tried to keep up with her mood. “Tomorrow morning, I will show you the child sleeping beside you.” If you still want me.

Sunday, March 14^th, 2010.

6.57 a.m.

Sophia woke to the gentle sunlight streaming into their room.

They had forgotten to close the curtains.

Her back was snuggled flush to Alistair’s front, his arms wrapped around her like bands, and her head rested on his shoulder. He caged her as if he feared she would run away. She didn’t know if she should smile or grimace at the possessiveness of the position and, very cautiously, she turned in his arms.

In his sleep, his face looked relaxed and young. Several strands of raven hair fell over his forehead.

So handsome. So distrustful. What am I going to do with you, Alistair Connor?

She tried to disengage herself from his embrace without waking him, but he mumbled something in his sleep and tightened his hold on her. His eyelids fluttered and he blinked, focusing green sleepy eyes on her.

“‘Morning,” he whispered and kissed her forehead, grinning. “I like waking up to the sight of you.”

“Sorry, I-” she croaked. Her larynx hurt when she spoke and she put her hand on her neck, clearing her throat but ended up emitting a small pained sound.

Immediately, he sat on the bed, pulling her with him. “Let me see your neck.” His hand pulled hers away and he paled, closing his eyes at the sight of his fingers imprinted in black-and-blue on her skin. “I am a monster,” he muttered under his breath, disgusted with himself. He inhaled a deep breath and his beautiful green eyes filled with sorrow, “Please, Sophia, forgive me.”

“You’re forgiven. I’ll be fine in a few hours.” She gave him a small smile and her palm touched his cheek. “Some honey and hot pomegranate tea will cure this,” she said and frowned. She squirmed from his embrace and jumped off the bed, smiling, “I’ll be right back.”

Despite her light words, Alistair felt totally miserable. He looked at his large hands and brooded over the absurdity of his actions.

A low whimper followed by a heartbroken sob and the sound of a key being hastily turned made his head come up sharply.

Sophia! Oh, Christ. He knocked softly on the bathroom door. “Sophia, please, my dear, open the door.”

All he could hear were her sobs.

“Please, Sophia. Open the door. Let’s talk. Please,” he begged, to no avail.

Alistair rested his back and head on the wall, eyes squeezed shut, and slid down to the floor. What have I done?

Sophia’s muffled sobs cut through his despair. Enraged with himself, he pushed up from the floor and grabbed the phone to ask reception for a spare key to the bathroom.

Sophia huddled in the corner of the bathroom, hugging her legs.

Never, in her whole life, she thought she would see so many black-and-blue marks on her own body. And she didn’t know what to make of it. I haven’t been beaten, I haven’t been-I bruise easily, that’s it. Who are you trying to fool, Sophia? The man is- She sobbed again and more tears rolled down her face, dripping on the bathrobe she wore.

She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to face it.

She liked him. She really did.

And she didn’t know what to do with this situation.

You provoked his ire, Sophia. You shouldn’t have - Oh, please, it was not my fault. She dropped her head onto her knees and cried, confused and lost. Her mixed feelings and sorrow tormented so much her that she didn’t hear when the inside key dropped, the lock turned, and Alistair quietly entered the bathroom. He dropped to his haunches beside her.

He lightly stroked her hair. “Sophia, please,” he murmured.

She threw herself in his arms.

She was not supposed to trust him, but she didn’t know any better. Over the past few weeks, he had unlocked the door to her heart and had raided her soul. Now she didn’t want to believe him capable of turning into an abusive man. No, no. It was… What, Sophia? An accident, like what happened with Ethan?

Alistair’s whole body tensed from the many emotions running wild in his chest. He didn’t say a word and rose with her cradled in his arms.

He had been doing foul things in his life to fill the void that Heather had created with her sick pleasures. But since he met Sophia, he couldn’t discern the emptiness anymore. He had been unfulfilled, yes, but now he had Sophia. And Gabriela. He couldn’t afford to lose them. He couldn’t.

Alistair sat in the armchair in the bedroom and rocked Sophia in his arms, patiently waiting for the tears to subside. “Please, Sophia, forgive me,” he whispered.

She sniffled and cleaned her face with the sleeve of the bathrobe. She nestled herself better in his arms and hid her face in the hollow of his neck. She knew they had to talk about what happened but she didn’t want to. In fact, her reaction shocked her more than his actions. She shuddered in his arms.

“I’m so sorry-”