Page 45 of Cloak of Red

“Going on?” My fingers lightly tap over his chest. “So, this is going to keep happening?”

His palm flattens over my ass. Reticent eyes return to me. “As long as you want it to. I mean, at least while we’re married.”

That makes me laugh.

CHAPTER18

FISHER

I wake with Sophia’s back to me. She’s curled onto her side, and I’m draped over her, clinging. The drapes are open, as we didn’t let housekeeping prepare the room for the night, and outside the dim glow of a sun hidden by snow clouds brightens the room.

I lie there with her, breathing in her heady, floral scent, in the room’s quiet, and recognize the situation. This moment, this second in time, is bliss. Perfection. But much like the eye of a hurricane, this serenity won’t last. What I’ve done here is wrong on so many levels.

I should be stricken with guilt. Not luxuriating in peaceful tranquility. My shoulder aches, but it’s a manageable pain. It’s not the first time it’s taken a beating. I stretch my legs out, straightening, separating our bodies slowly, so as not to wake her. Her fingers curl against my hip, and I still.

She rolls over, and her soft breasts press against my ribcage and her thigh rises over mine. She nips at my chest, and her fingers comb through my chest hair and trail lower. My lungs contract as my body subliminally wills her to continue.

“Sophia,” I groan, her name a warning and a wish.

“You’re hard.” Those long fingers wrap around the evidence, stroking me.

Fuck it. I’m already going to hell.

With that thought, I gently push her onto her back and administer light kisses, starting at the base of her neck, across her clavicle, and down to her breasts as I shift to position myself between her legs. My fingers sweep over her, through her trimmed patch of curls, and into her hot heat. And yes, she is so fucking wet.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who woke up eager.”

I watch her closely as my fingers plunge into her, knead, and rub. Her eyelids close and her lips pucker. I listen closely to her little mewls and purrs, learning what she likes, what she needs. She’s close. As I apply more pressure to her clit with my thumb, I suck her nipple, teasing the tender peak with my tongue and teeth, and her channel tightens around my fingers as she curls forward.

That’s what I wanted. Right there.

She presses on my hip, and her eyelashes flutter. “I want you.”

Not one to deny her, I position myself at her entrance and sink deeper into bliss. Because that’s what she is. This is. And as fantastic as her tight pussy is, as perfect as her little moans are, as right as her legs feel wrapped tight around me, that’s not bliss in its entirety. For me, being inside her is the nirvana I didn’t know I’d been seeking. By definition, bliss is fleeting, and the recognition of a blissful moment bittersweet.

With my good arm, I lift her ass higher, plunging deeper, and she chants the wordsyesand broken fragments of my name mixed with gods. I’m so close, on the verge of falling, losing myself within her, but it’s not until she quivers around me that I succumb and my orgasm rips through me with the force of a Category Five hurricane. I collapse over her, gasping for air. “Holy fuck, Sophia.”

She wraps her arms and legs around me, holding me close as our breathing slows. Bliss.

“That’s what I call a good morning wake up.” With a coquettish wiggle of her eyebrows, she presses a quick kiss to the side of my neck and caresses my sore shoulder.

With great effort, I push up off the mattress, and she slides out from under me. The bathroom door clicks shut, and I rub my eyes. The day has begun.

I stumble into the hall bathroom, brush my teeth, pop four more pills, get presentable, then work the magic of the Nespresso, which to me is basically a fancy-looking Keurig. I re-enter the bedroom with two coffees.

Sophia sits back on stacked pillows, her work phone in hand. She glances up at me, and a sweet smile slowly spreads. “Coffee. My hero.”

I hand her the white mug, then walk around to the other side of the bed.

“What’re you reading?”

“Nothing much. An article about Colombia preparing for tourism. Guatemala and Belize have booming tourism. If Colombia can maintain stability, there’s no reason the tourism industry won’t thrive. Well, drugs.” Her eyebrows rise, but her gaze remains focused, reading the article.

“Mexico has drugs and tourism.” My black coffee is a tad stronger than I like, so I chug it.

“It does. But they aren’t getting it into the States on their own. They’ve got Stateside resources. Distributors. Crime enterprises these days are international conglomerates.”

Her personal phone vibrates beside her. When she picks it up, I glimpse pretty boy Zane’s name before she presses it to her ear and answers.

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