Cristiane Serruya - Trust: Betrayed

A perfect day for a wedding. She had made it. Every small detail was in place. That devil of a stubborn man, he had proven himself right. Sophia grinned at her naked reflection in the bathroom mirror and stretched, arms over her head, closing her eyes. Today, I’m not going to worry about anything.

“You drive me crazy when you do that,” Alistair murmured in her ear, his hands circling her waist.

She spun in his arms looking at him, surprised. “Alistair Connor. What are you doing here?”

“This is my bathroom and you are my wife-to-be. How can you ask me what I’m doing here?” He wrapped his arms around her tightly, pressing her naked body to his dressed front. “I’m enjoying the view.” He wiggled his brows, looked down at her breasts and back at her face, grinning. “Have you showered already?”

“Ah-ah. We can’t do this today. Or rather, not now. I have a busy schedule. And, Lord You’re-not-supposed-to-be-here, didn’t we agree fifteen minutes ago that you would only see me again when the castle doors opened?”

“Did we? I don’t recall.” He bit her earlobe and softly chewed on it as his hand kneaded her buttocks gently. He turned her to the mirror and rested his chin on the top of her head so he could see her face while his hands traveled down and spanned her flat belly. “You are so beautiful. I love this mischievous smile of yours. And when your eyes turn this yellow diamond color, I know that you and I are in for a hell of a good time.”

“I have to shower and get ready,” she complained in a moan, turning her head to look at him.

He pressed his advantage when she parted her lips and kissed her deeply, saying afterwards, “I’ll wash your hair, then.”

“Right. Wash my hair,” she twirled in his arms and her hands yanked his T-shirt off.

His hands cupped her breasts and his thumbs circled them until they had budded for him. He leaned her against the sink and his head dipped to taste her throat.

Sophia gasped when the cold marble touched her back, but his mouth quickly distracted her as his teeth nibbled one nipple and his fingers played with the other.

He kissed his way back along her throat, nibbling and lapping at her collarbone and neck as he toed off his jeans. “I can’t wait for you to be mine, Sophia. All mine. Really mine.”

There. There it is again. That quiet desperation in his voice that his heavy accent can’t hide. She framed his face and pushed it back to look in his eyes. “Amor, I’m yours already.”

His thin nostrils flared as he began to breathe heavily. “Forget the shower. I need you now.” His hands gripped her by the waist and turned her from him.

She looked at her own image in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her mouth was red and swollen by his kiss, her nipples were wet and erect. Ah! Naughty.

“Like what you see?” he asked as he shoved down his boxers and took himself in his hand, stroking his already full erection.

Oh! Damn the schedule! “I do!” Her hands shimmied over her body, from her thighs to her breasts, which she offered to him. “And you?”

“Love it.” His smile was feral as his large hands covered hers and with his body he pushed her down, ordering, “Down.”

She gripped the edge of the sink and gasped as his arousal pressed on her, testing her wetness.

“Hold on,” he commanded harshly and thrust. His body tensed as he eased inside her just a bit. “Fuck. I love how tight you are.”

“I love how big and hard you are,” she replied.

His grunts and her moans echoed in the bathroom as he pumped from behind until he was inside her completely, conquering her as she sheathed him demanding back all she gave.

“Oh, yeah! Just like that.” One arm wound around her keeping her in place and his free fingers searched for her clitoris, circling and pressing. His grip on her tightened. Heated and breathless, he growled, “Come, Sophia.”

“Alistair Connor! More,” she begged, softening under his rough seizure, feeling his need and his passion. She wanted to make him feel powerful and whole, just like he made her.

He groaned in masculine approval, “You make me so hot.”

The pleasure built in her body as he forcefully plunged in her. His expert fingers teased her to a mindless orgasm and she cried his name as her body shook in spams and she struggled to remain standing.

He held her against his front as he thrust once more, and shouted her name, his climax burning its way through his body.

His breaths came out in loud spurts as he carried a boneless Sophia in his arms to the shower and leaned on its wall, regaining his bearings.

She purred in contentment, “My legs are not obeying me anymore.”

He chuckled and turned on the water. “Mine aren’t that steady either.”

She giggled and stepped into the water, wiggling her fingers at him, “So, Lord Jelly-legs, you promised to wash my hair.”

11.16 a.m.

“Hmmm. I don’t know. But they form a strange couple, to say the least,” Alistair smelled the vanilla in the air and felt lightheaded. That’s new.

Tavish watched as Carolina descended the castle stairs on Drake’s arm. She was dressed in a fancy gauze layered red dress. Her sleeves feel to the floor, resembling bird wings when she walked. Her soft brown hair was braided and piled in a high dramatic bun, with diamond and ruby pins in it.

“She is ravishing, Alistair Connor. But there’s something that doesn’t quite fit. It’s as if...” He looked at Alistair. “She is not like Sophia.”

No one is. He just snorted not deigning to answer Tavish.

“I mean... It’s as if the clothes weren’t made for her. As if she wasn’t quite comfortable in them.”

“When I met her, four months ago, I would have said she wasn’t comfortable in her own skin. She was... introverted. Not antisocial, just shy. Almost awkward. Pretty, but not remarkable, much less this fashionable model that appeared at Galewick a few days ago. Even Sophia is astonished by the transformation.”

“And her fiancé... Fuck, Alistair Connor, he’s so flamboyant. And he has a strange way of staring at people...” Tavish eyed the man dressed in a perfectly tailored suit without really knowing what bothered him so much.

Alistair looked at Drake, “Aye, he’s weird. Christ, they’re coming our way.”

“Smile, Brother. He’s going to be Sophia’s brother-in-law,” Tavish nudged Alistair.

Drake’s eagle eyes raked over Alistair’s and Tavish’s attires and smirked, “Look, my love. I’ve never seen such manly looks in skirts.”

Alistair reined in his temper. “This is a kilt.”

Alistair and Tavish, as was their father, were dressed in a Bonnie Prince Charlie jacket and a black three buttoned waistcoat, white shirt with a stiff, turn down collar and tie, wearing the MacCraig kilt, with a silver pin, a formal furred sporran with silver chain strap. The only difference between Alistair and the others was that his tie was silver silk and a fly tartan plaid was pinned on his left shoulder with a huge silver and emerald brooch with his father’s ducal crown, setting off his green eyes. An extraordinary jeweled sgian dubh was tucked in the sock of his right leg.

“Oh, yeah. I know. It’s just so...” Drake leered at Tavish and Alistair, “barbarian. Skirts and knifes. Don’t you think, Carolina?”

“Everything is so beautiful, Alistair. The flowers and the garden... Amazing, really.” Carolina looked at Alistair with an apology in her eyes.

He smiled at her, “Sophia is amazing. She-”

“Oh, yeah, she is! She followed my advice, didn’t she?” Drake interrupted.

Alistair raised a black eyebrow, “Your... advice?”

Drake signaled to a waiter to be served with Malossol Sevruga caviar. “Yeah. I told her she had to hire the best wedding organizers. I even emailed her a list of them.”

Carolina looked down at him, surprised. “You did? You didn’t tell me.”

“It was nothing,” Drake waved his hand in the air dismissing her surprise. “I like to please beautiful damsels in distress.”

Alistair’s temper bubbled and spilt. “Sophia’s not-”

“If you would excuse us,” Tavish grabbed Alistair by the arm, “I just saw our father signaling to us. Please, make yourselves at home.”

“Of course,” Drake smirked as if he knew he had irritated Alistair. “Let’s grab some champagne, Carolina.”

Carolina and Drake walked away under the intricately designed pavilion, which guided them to the back lawn of Airgead and to the loch.

“MacCraig,” Ethan stretched his hand to greet Alistair. “Congratulations.”

Christ! What happened to you, Ashford? “Thanks, Ashford. Did you had a good trip?”

Ethan’s navy tailored suit paired with a Gucci navy tie couldn’t hide that he had lost weight and that his eyes were unlit, depressed.

“Yeah, thanks. It was kind of you to have an airstrip and a heliport available for the guests.” Ethan had had a serious talk with his image in the mirror while he shaved and got dressed for Sophia’s wedding this morning. But nothing could scare away the sadness that was etched in his face and voice. “You remember my friend, Paola.”

“Of course,” Alistair nodded at the beautiful woman not really paying attention to her. Sophia was the only woman that occupied his thoughts. “How are you?”

Paola smiled at him and said, “Congratulations on your wedding. Your place is amazing. And the decoration is stunning.”

“Yeah. Really impressive,” Ethan muttered taking in the orchestra playing classical music and the amazing flower arrangements of white roses and orange blossoms in tall cylindrical vases. White rose petals were scattered alongside the aisles and around the vases. I wish I were in your place, MacCraig. “Nervous?”