by Jane Porter
He shouldn’t have allowed his virginal bride to go down on her knees in his white robe with nothing else on. He shouldn’t have let her take him in her sweet, hot mouth, not when he was still trying to decide if he wanted to keep her. He was an ass. Selfish, ruthless, uncaring.
And desperately aroused.
So unusual for him and his numb body.
“You don’t have to do that,” he rasped, involuntarily reaching out to run the pad of his thumb across the sweep of her cheekbone. Her skin was soft, and warm. He wondered if she was as warm between her thighs. He wondered if she was wet.
“Why not?” she answered unsteadily. “Am I doing it wrong?”
Her question, in her low, throaty voice, made his body shudder. It didn’t help that she followed her question with a light lick up the side of his shaft. He felt her lick all the way to the base of his penis, his balls tightening with pleasure. “You are doing quite well,” he gritted.
The corner of her lips turned up, her long black lashes lowering over eyes that seemed to gleam with satisfaction. He’d never seen anything so erotic, this curvaceous little siren, his unexpected, swapped bride.
“I want to make you come,” she whispered, “but obviously I’m not doing something right because it hasn’t happened.”
“It hasn’t happened because I’m holding myself back.”
For a moment there was just silence as her eyes widened as she processed what he’d said.
And then she rose slightly on her knees, her face lifting, expression surprised. “You can do that?”
“I can do many things.”
Her expression shifted, increasingly curious and mind-blowingly sensual, reminding him of a courtesan rather than an untutored virgin. “Show me,” she said, her hands on his inner thighs, her fingertips against the base of his shaft.
He clamped his jaw tight, fighting to steady his breathing. He had no idea why she tested his control. At twenty-three she was thirteen years younger than he, but in that moment he felt as if she had all the power and experience. “Show you what, gataki?”
“How to do it. How to make you feel so good that you can’t...hold back.”
“I think you’re doing fine for a beginner.”
“Fine is my least favorite word in the English language. Fine indicates mediocrity. I hate mediocrity.”
He found himself almost smiling and then he clasped her face and kissed her deeply, claiming her mouth the way he should have in the beginning. She froze and stiffened, and then after a moment her lips softened, parting for him.
It was in that moment he stopped vacillating.
It was in that moment when she opened her mouth, giving herself to him, that he knew he would take her, claim her and make her his.
There would be no turning back. Not now, not anymore.
He took her mouth the way he intended to take her—with single-minded focus, his tongue sweeping the seam of her lips before thrusting into the warmth of her mouth and finding the hollows of her cheeks, the inside of her lips, the pressure and release so similar to what his body would do to hers, and how he’d find a rhythm and make her feel.
She whimpered softly, her hands reaching up to cover his, her fingers wrapping around his wrists. But she wasn’t pulling his hands away. No, she was pressing his hands against her jaw, pressing him to her for more sensation even as her fingertips stroked the inside of his wrists and the sensitive mound of his palms.
Blood roared through his ears, pulsing in his veins. He felt his shaft bob, thick and heavy with need.
Sweeping her into his arms, Damen carried Kassiani to the bed. She lay on her back, looking up at him, the white robe parting to reveal pale skin. Her curves were ripe, the fabric clinging to the blatant fullness of her breasts and swell of her tummy. He tugged on the sash of the robe, untying it before pushing the robe back, exposing her.
She was an hourglass—full breasts with dark pink nipples, narrow waist and generous hips perfect to cradle him. He’d expected her to have a patch of trimmed dark curls, but instead she was bare, and the sight of her so smooth tested his control.
He needed to take it slowly, though. She wasn’t experienced. He didn’t want to hurt her. It was important she was ready for him.
“Eísai axiagápitos,” he murmured, telling her she was lovely, because she was. The dark pink of her nipples were in stark contrast to her alabaster skin, and the tight tips called to him, as did the bareness between her thighs.
He leaned over her to lightly trace one puckered areola with his tongue, before turning to the other. Each swirl of his tongue was awesome. He leaned over her, his mouth closing over one taut nipple and sucking it the way she’d sucked his cock.
She whimpered, one hand pressed to the mattress, fingers flexed as he worked the sensitive peak. He cupped her other breast as he teased and nipped at her nipple, enjoying her soft, hoarse cries of pleasure. Her skin was warm and satiny smooth as he pressed a kiss between her breasts, and then lower to her trembling belly.
Every kiss he placed was rewarded with another throaty pant of pleasure. He continued kissing lower, even as he caressed up, shaping her, discovering how very sensitive she was.
He pressed one of her knees down, creating space for him, and he found himself just wanting to look at her, and drink in her feminine shape—soft curves and secret shadows. His shaft ached.
Damen dipped his head, his lips brushing the inside of her creamy thigh. She sighed at the feel of his lips. She sighed and stirred restlessly as he continued kissing his way up the inside of her thigh, his tongue drawing lazy circles on the tender skin where her thigh joined her hip.
Her skin burned and she smelled sweet, like honey in the sun. He wanted to drink her, but he was determined to make her wait, wanting her fully aroused, and wet, before he entered her.
She squirmed and exhaled hard as he placed a kiss at the top of her mound, just above her lips.
She exhaled again, another devastatingly sexy gasp of pleasure and wonder, as he breathed on her, letting his breath warm her, and tease her.
“You are bare,” he said, stroking her mound with a fingertip, lightly caressing the plump outer lip that was perfectly smooth. “You’ve been waxed.”
She shuddered and closed her eyes. “I was told you would prefer me this way.”
“Who told you?”
She shook her head, her teeth catching on her lower lip.
He continued stroking her, lightly down the one side and then up over the other until he reached the top again.
Her thighs were trembling. Her body quivered and she was breathing more quickly, her breasts rising and falling, her nipples even tighter than they’d been a moment ago.
“Have you ever been waxed before?” he asked, his tongue dipping between those plump bare lips to flick across her.
She jumped at the touch, reaching for him with one hand, her fingers brushing his shoulder before tangling in his hair.
“Hmm?” he persisted, tongue tracing her folds, discovering she wasn’t just damp, but wet. Soaked. Her hips rotated beneath him and he licked the silken inner lips, tasting her. She tasted like sun-kissed honey, too, hot and sweet.
“Never waxed before,” she panted, as he used two fingers to trace her, and shape her, her outer lips, then her inner lips, skirting her damp core.
“Do you like it like this?” he asked, his mouth following his fingers, teasing, tasting, turning her into a mass of quivering nerve endings. “So smooth and bare?”
“It’s different—” And she broke off in a gasp as he drew her clit into his mouth, sucking on the nub, even as he slipped his fingers inside her, stroking her on the inside.
Her hips rose and fell as he played her, and when she cried out as she climaxed, he gave her a moment to settle before spreading her knees and sinking into her, claiming her as his, forevermore.<
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* * *
It was more than a pinch when he thrust into her. It hurt, and part of her objected to the intense fullness and pressure, but then as the sting eased and her body relaxed, the sense of fullness gave way to new and interesting sensations, with the uppermost sensation being that of wonder.
She loved the feeling of him on her. She loved the slow hard strokes of him in her. Her lips parted as she struggled to catch her breath, but it was virtually impossible to contain the tension and pleasure.
She positively buzzed from head to toe. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to feelings, and they were such good feelings. She could still remember how his mouth had felt on her. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. His mouth and tongue and breath had created so many different impressions—each of them thrilling and arousing.
Tonight had to be the most incredible night of her life.
She knew she’d never forget it. How could she when Damen was making her body hum and sing, lighting her up as if she was a living Christmas tree? Each of his deep thrusts hit a sensitive spot inside her, and as he moved faster, and harder, she arched to receive him, glowing, burning, feeling incredibly alive.
She was going to come again, she thought, as the sensation continued to build and center, intensifying, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful, and just when she thought she couldn’t hold on to the exquisite sensations a moment longer, she shattered all over again, her body climaxing, rippling with one delicious wave of bliss after another.
Two orgasms on her wedding night. Amazing.
And then he groaned and stiffened, plunging deep within her, and she realized he’d just climaxed, too.
After a bit he shifted his weight, stretching out next to her, leaving his arm around her waist, holding her to his side.
Peace flooded her. She hadn’t been sure about tonight, but everything was beautiful, and for once in her life, she felt perfect.
Kassiani tried to keep her eyes open but she was exhausted, and she fell asleep nestled to Damen’s chest, her legs tangled with his.
Later in the night, Kass felt the bed shift. Damen was moving away, rolling toward the edge. The mattress dipped and then he eased himself out of the bed.
She didn’t know why she feigned sleep and yet she listened to the bedroom door open and close.
It was only when the door clicked shut that she opened her eyes. Moonlight spilled into the room. The Sounio Cape was almost dark, everyone in bed for the night.
Kassiani didn’t know if Damen was permanently gone or if he’d be coming back. She didn’t know where he’d gone, or why.
Sleepily, she struggled to sort through her feelings. So much had happened in one day. Her father’s announcement that she needed to take Elexis’s place. Her shock and initial resistance until she realized that marrying Damen would be good for her. It’d give her opportunities she’d never have trapped in the Dukas mansion on Nob Hill.
And once she said yes to her father’s idea, the wedding gown alteration and the rigorous wedding prep—the salt scrub, the waxing, the hair mask, the application of lotions and polish—before the wedding itself.
Damen’s fury as he discovered the truth about his bride.
The reception they didn’t attend.
The early departure in the speedboat.
The arrival on the yacht.
And then Damen, finally claiming her.
Her body was sore, but not unbearably so. She also felt warm and languid in a way she never felt before. Their coming together was nothing like she had imagined it would be. It wasn’t sex but something bigger, something more, something...significant.
And she couldn’t explain how or why, but she sensed that Damen felt it, too.
CHAPTER FOUR
DAMEN LEFT THE mahogany-paneled bedroom to tackle the details needing attention, details like sending staff to retrieve Kassiani’s belongings from his villa, and changing the travel plan because he couldn’t stomach the idea of taking Kassiani on the same honeymoon that had been planned for Elexis. Elexis needed people and activity and so they were to spend a few days anchored off the island of Mykonos so Elexis could have her fill of the cafés and restaurants, nightclubs and high-end shops, before continuing to Santorini for more of the same.
Damen didn’t know his new wife well yet, but he could safely say that Kassiani would prefer not to shop and cared little about hip nightclubs and trendy bars.
While staff went to collect Kassiani’s luggage, he discussed the change in itinerary with his captain, and then retreated to the far end of the top deck so he could be alone, needing the night air to clear his head and cool his body.
It was rather shocking to discover that his body still hummed with desire and hunger. Usually after sex he was done. Sated. After a long night of sexual play, he wanted nothing more to do with his mistress for a length of time, but right now he still craved his shy, innocent bride who seemed to be anything but shy in bed.
He shouldn’t want Kassiani this much. He shouldn’t already want to return to her. And yet right now all he wanted was to be with her again, to push her back onto the bed and feel her softness beneath him. He wanted her heat and shape, and he was impatient to discover all the mysteries she had yet to share.
Frustrated, Damen left the deck, retreating to a guest bedroom on a different level from the master, stripping off his clothes to take a cold shower before stretching out on the bed.
He refused to think about her anymore tonight. This wasn’t normal. He didn’t like feeling his control slip. She was just a small part of his world, and he needed to remember that.
* * *
Sometime before dawn they pulled anchor and set off. It was still dark out when Kassiani woke to the hum of the engine, and opening her eyes, she glanced over to the space next to her and discovered it was empty. She reached out and touched the place Damen had been earlier and his spot was cool.
Had Damen never come back?
She looked past his side of the bed to the tall windows with their view of the deck and sea. The sky was still purple, and stars glittered overhead, and yet they were no longer anchored in the bay, but powering through the Greek islands.
Kassiani reached for her phone to check the time but she hadn’t brought a charger and it had died during the night.
For several minutes she lay there, thinking of Damen, and what had happened between them, and she wondered if she should go find him, but knew it would look silly to search for him on his own ship.
And then she felt the yacht surge forward, and realized that the engines had started because they were leaving the bay. She lay on the bed and gave herself over to the lovely motion of the yacht traveling through the water. The gentle rocking motion lulled her back to sleep.
When she woke again, it was morning, the sun high in the sky, and a breakfast tray waited for her on the table next to the bed, with a pale pink robe draped across the foot of the bed and her set of luggage from the villa standing sentry next to the door.
Kassiani slid from the bed and picked up the robe, slipping her arms into the silk sleeves. The robe was soft and incredibly light, hugging her curves as she tied the sash at her waist. Glancing into the mirror, she loved the color of the kimono. It was a pale pink that deepened to a rose at the thigh and by the hem had become a gorgeous burgundy. Burnt-orange peonies and delicate little birds had been hand-painted on the watercolor background and yet the cinched sash made her waist look wide and her body overly lush.
She really, truly hated her shape.
Damen hadn’t seemed to mind when they were together, but then, he’d left in the night and hadn’t returned. What did that mean?
She set the breakfast tray on the bed before climbing back in, and pulling the covers up. As she sat back down, she felt a little sore.
Suddenly she felt nervous and shy.
; What did Damen think of last night? Was he disappointed? Or had she been able to satisfy him?
She reached for the pot of coffee, and filled a cup. Steam rose from her cup so it was still quite hot. The tray had only recently been delivered, then. She wondered if Damen had brought the tray to her and then grimaced. Unlikely.
She took a sip from her cup, savoring the coffee. She loved her coffee black, and strong, and this coffee was perfect. Everything was fine. Damen was fine. Last night had been fine...more than fine... There was no reason to worry. Things were just new and different.
She took deep calming breaths as she sipped her coffee, practicing the yoga breathing she’d learned, the breathing more helpful than the yoga poses that had just made her feel clumsy. Just like that, Kassiani felt a wave of insecurity, and she deliberately smashed her fears. Worrying wouldn’t accomplish anything. Instead, she reached for one of the pastries, selecting a flaky bougatsa filled with custard, and tried to decide how she was going to spend her first day as Mrs. Damen Michael Alexopoulos.
* * *
Damen had more than enough work to do to spend the day, and evening, at his desk.
He told himself he didn’t need to worry about his new bride, that it wasn’t a good use of his time and energy to obsess about her.
They’d survived the wedding. They’d consummated the marriage. They would be together for the next week or so as they sailed the Aegean Sea. Why should he worry? Kassiani had an entire yacht of entertainment at her disposal. She’d be content, and for his part, he was far more content away from her. She wasn’t what he’d expected. He hadn’t been able to sleep even in the guest bedroom. His body didn’t feel like his body. His senses remained stirred. Everything in him was still alert, aroused.
It boggled his mind that he’d responded to her the way he had. He didn’t normally feel so much in bed. Sex was exercise, a release. It didn’t move him. It didn’t confound him. But Kassiani had made sex new somehow. New and fascinating and unbelievably good. Better than some of the best sex with his most experienced mistresses.
