Cristiane Serruya - Trust: Betrayed

Just because we haven’t been having wild, violent sex this year? “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I can’t drink while taking antibiotics, Heather. And I’m really beat, this week has been rough. You go. Kiss Emma for me.”

Heather demurely picked up her purse from her lap and stood up, “Oh, honey. I’ll miss you.” She kissed Alistair on the cheek. “I’m going to take the Porsche, all right?”

“Aye. Have fun.” Alistair looked at her retreating back, missing the victorious smile that had opened on Heather’s face.

A loneliness permeated his soul and he walked to his daughter’s room, softly opening the door and dimming the lights up a bit. The sight of the sleeping toddler in the bed soothed him.

He sat on the bed beside her and brushed his fingers in her hair, deep in thought. Doctor Lodes’s advice hadn’t left his mind, ‘Get rid of Heather’. But how could he do it, if just the thought of not seeing Nathalie every morning and every night made his heart ache?

Northumberland. Ells Hall.

Friday, March 19^th, 2010.

5.07 p.m.

As Erskine drove along the estate, Alistair continued to point out the different buildings and talking about the rooms, explaining the modifications his ancestors and, later, his parents and himself had made along the years. “When my father inherited it everything was rewired, the plumbing and heating were modernized, and he added bathrooms in all the bedrooms. The old and cavernous kitchen near the dining hall was remodeled and a smaller one was built closer to the family dining room. And, recently, I built a spa in the garden at the back of the main building. You’ll like it. It’s more modern and refined than Craigdale’s.”

A liveried man opened the car door and she stepped out, craning her neck to admire the impressive house.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Alistair paused behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, looking at the manor too.

“It’s fantastic.” The same coat of arms she had seen on a flag at the heliport was blazoned in stone over the tall portico’s façade. It featured a shield with two horses rampant facing each other separated by an armored knight holding a sword in front of him. Beneath it, a wide stone ribbon bore an etched heraldry inscription: ‘Veritas vos liberabit’.

It took but a moment for Sophia to translate. “Truth will set free?” Oh, damn.

“The family motto. One I fiercely believe.” His fingers kneaded her shoulders. He bent his head down and whispered in her ear, “I’ve booked a massage to relax you.”

She whirled and put her arms around his waist. “I don’t need a massage to relax.” She flexed her shoulders. “I’m relaxed.”

He smiled. “Believe me, you’ll need it after I’m through with you.”

“You pervert,” she slapped his butt. “You’d better book one for you too.” She laughed mischievously. “Don’t you forget that I’m younger-”

His mouth cut off her words in an intense and lustful kiss that left her panting, before he said, “And I’m stronger, lass. Better watch your mouth.”

She laughed again and gave him a kiss on the lips, “Never, my lord, never. It’s so much fun to provoke you. Come on, we are providing a show for your guests and employees.”

“Hmm,” he gripped her slim waist keeping her in place and looked into her eyes. “I think I’ll cancel that massage and give you one myself. Right now.”

“Do you only think about sex?”

“When I am with you? Aye,” he confirmed, unabashedly. “I can’t get enough.”

“If you behave,” she smiled and, standing on her tiptoes, murmured in his ear, “I have a surprise for you tonight.”

His eyes flamed, “I love surprises. Come, I want to show you a few of the rooms before we go to the gym.” He put his arm over her shoulder and started for the doors.

She looked around the majestic hall. “It’s so grand, Alistair.”

“Aye. I love Ells Hall. Let me warn you,” he said as he climbed the stairs to the first floor and turned left into a small corridor, dramatically paneled in black and gold damask silk, “so you don’t have a shock.”

“What?” She smiled at his teasing bow when he opened the last door and she entered the anteroom of the master chamber. It was paneled with oak and had walls hung with ancient tapestries. To the right, through an open door, Sophia could see striking antique furniture composing a small dining area.

“I don’t have OCD. So don’t expect my dressing-” He laughed as she slapped his biceps.

“Stop teasing. I don’t have OCD.”

“Maybe something worse, then?” his grin was positively naughty. He directed her to another door that lead to the enormous bedroom. “Through here.”

The bedroom was sumptuous and testified to tradition and power. On the floor, an enormous Persian rug gave the room even more grandeur. It was unlike any Sophia had ever seen, covering the floor entirely. Near the windows, there was a seating space with what looked like comfortable but very old armchairs and a sofa facing a large Regency secretaire library bookcase.

Against the farthest wall, an enormous four poster bed with a gothic headboard, lavishly draped with embroidered black and gold velvet, completed the dramatic ambient.

“My, Alistair Connor.” Sophia stopped in front of the bed. “How many can sleep in here?” She looked at him over her shoulder, “It would comfortably fit you, Tavish Uilleam and your father together.”

Why? Do you want them too? He shooed the thought away and focused on her question. “This bed was commissioned by my great-great-grandfather for his wedding night. He and his wife were both unusually tall and large so they needed space to-”

She whirled around, and slapped his arm again. “Spare me the details.”

When she looked at him, he wasn’t smiling any more. A strange expression lit his face.

Sophia stepped back.

“What?” she breathed.

“You like to hit, don’t you?” He grabbed her upper arms, hauling her flush to his body. He asked in a smooth voice, “Do you like to be hit too?”

“I... I don’t know what you mean.” The pain and violence thing again. “I was just playing around.”

I would love to introduce you to a few new games, Sophia. He sucked on her lower lip before saying, “Sophia. Beware of what you propose as a... recreation. I may like it.”

Sophia stared at him, openmouthed and breathless. She didn’t know what to say or what to think.

Hmm. Should I introduce you to them today? Alistair felt a rush of desire fill him as he thought about the possibility of having Sophia under his control and kissed her with such force that they tasted blood as his teeth bit Sophia’s lip.

She gasped and broke the kiss, putting her fingers on her mouth. When she drew them away they were bloodied. She stared at them for what seemed like an eternity to Alistair, as he waited for her reaction.

“You like it, don’t you?” she whispered so low that he had to strain to hear her.

Slowly, he released her upper arms and wound her hair around his hand, lightly tugging it to make her look into his eyes. “What?”

But her eyes were glued to her reddened fingers as she murmured, “This pain and violence thing. You really like it, don’t you?”

And you, Sophia? Do you like it? “Look at me,” he ordered and she lifted her eyelids. “I told you I did.”

“How much-”

“The amount that is pleasurable to the partner.”

“Partner...” she breathed. Dammit. Here I go again. Stop it, Sophia. Stop. It. Say you don’t like pain. Say it!

“You, Sophia. You’re my partner. If it’s not pleasurable for you, then it’s not for me.” His other hand pressed on her butt, making her feel his arousal at the idea. “Do you want to do it again?”

Sophia’s heart was beating so fast that she felt dizzy. She was hypnotized by how the green of his eyes had darkened and how his voice had turned husky. She opened her mouth to say ‘no’ but a strangled moan left her throat.

His breath hitched and, as he lowered his head to kiss her again, a knock sounded on the outer door.

“Fuck,” he muttered low. Shaking his head, he said, “We are going to take a rain check on this conversation, Sophia.”

“Where’s the bathroom?” she asked, breathlessly.

“That way,” he pointed to the far door, as he went to open the door for the bellboy with their luggages.

Sophia pushed the door open and found another huge room that served as a walk-in dressing room. It had a dramatically painted ceiling. She noted, pleasantly surprised, that his closet was perfectly organized. Separated by a floor-to-ceiling glass wall, there was a gothic chapel-like bathroom with a shower room and an adjoining whirlpool bath to one side and on the other, a double sink with a vanity space with gilded mirrored gothic panelling. In a corner there was another door, that she supposed was the toilet.

Dark and elegant... As he is. She mused as she looked around.

She sat on the chair in front of the mirror, observing her own pale face and slightly swollen lip.

She saw as he entered the dressing room with her small suitcase and his bag.

He glanced at her face and dropped the luggage on the floor in the middle of the room.

Oh, fuck. With three long strides, he was by her side, hauling her into his arms. “Don’t freak out. I’m not going to hurt you. Never.”

“I don’t understand this fascination of yours,” she whispered. “And I don’t know if I want to understand.”

“There’s no rush.” He put a hand at the back of her head and brought it to his chest. Don’t freak out. Please, don’t freak out.