by Jane Porter
Great sex, hot sex, hard, carnal sex, wasn’t normally an issue for him, but he had rules, and walls, and boundaries and hot, hard carnal sex stayed in the bedroom, and didn’t intrude on the rest of his life, and yet last night, even after leaving the bedroom, he felt her.
He thought of her.
He wanted her.
Even now he wasn’t relaxed. Instead, he’d wanted to return to the bedroom and wake her with his mouth and fingers and cock. He wanted to hear her make those whimpering sounds as she came. He wanted to feel her body arch, her full breasts crushed to his chest, her moisture creating the perfect silken slickness for each of his hard thrusts.
Damen jerked off twice in that damn guest bedroom, his mind and body too aroused and refusing to be soothed.
Feeling so much was disorienting, and distracting. He kept having washes of memory. Memory of home. Memory of olive groves. Memory of a lean tan boy who’d once loved deeply, before becoming a monster.
Damen slammed his hand against the door, slamming away memories, suppressing sensation and emotion. He refused to go there. He refused to get caught up in the past. And if Kassiani was wakening the past, then far better he take control of their relationship now before she let the monster loose.
* * *
In the end, it was a disappointing day for a newly married woman.
Kassiani had tried to keep busy. She’d tried to remain upbeat. She’d tried to fill her hours, which was why she swam in the fitness pool, sunbathed on the sundeck, napped for an hour in the shade, found two books in the library and watched a movie in the theater, with meals and snacks and cold beverages served in between by attentive staff.
Kassiani had successfully kept herself occupied, but as she finished her after-dinner liqueur, and changed for bed without a single appearance by her new husband, she couldn’t help feeling let down. Maybe even betrayed.
Yes, it was a superyacht, but theoretically, it wasn’t that big. He knew she was there. And he hadn’t once sought her out.
Turning out the light, she sat on the foot of the bed in the dark. Her emotions swirled within her, cloudy and confusing. Last night when she had fallen asleep next to him, she felt safe. Secure. There had been no regrets, just relief and surprise...maybe even joy. The lovemaking had been a joy.
She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t expected to feel so good in his arms. She hadn’t expected to relish the sensation of him, in her, filling her.
But now, in the fading light of day, she didn’t feel as calm and content. In fact, she didn’t feel calm at all. She was unsettled, and bewildered.
The lovemaking had been so intimate. They’d explored each other’s bodies and given each other so much pleasure, and yet now Damen had retreated, and she didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but today he’d shut her out, completely.
She drew her knees up to her chest, and sighed, because on second thought, she was sure it was intentional.
Damen Alexopoulos was a man who left nothing to chance. If she hadn’t seen him, it was because he’d avoided her today, not easy on a yacht because they were confined. At sea.
If he hadn’t bothered to find her, and speak to her, and check on her well-being, then it was because he wanted her to understand that he was the boss. Not her. He was teaching her her place. And her place wasn’t with him.
It was deflating, especially after what had taken place last night.
But in a strange way she understood. They had been so intimate, and so open, that it was understandable that today he wanted to take back some of that power, because Greek men were all about power. Her father had been the same. Damen was letting her know that she might be his wife, but she wasn’t an equal, and she most definitely wasn’t his partner.
* * *
He wasn’t going to go to her tonight. He would lay down the routine now, the pattern that they’d live by. The sooner she understood that he had control, and he valued control, the better.
But lying in the guest bedroom he’d taken since his room had become Kassiani’s, he couldn’t relax, instantly hard every time he thought of her. Last night she’d felt so good. Just remembering her soft skin and her soft pants and husky little breaths turned him on even now. He needed relief and he wanted to return to the master bedroom, and take her again, and he was certain she wouldn’t refuse him. No, his little kitten would welcome him, and she’d be ready for him, and he ached, imagining how good it would feel to sink into her creamy satin heat.
But he wasn’t going to just go to her every time he wanted release. She would assume his visits meant that he wanted her—not sex with her. She would imagine, as women did, that there was more to their relationship than a contractual marriage. She would then try to share things with him—thoughts and feelings—and expect him to reciprocate, and that wasn’t going to happen. Ever. Better to disappoint her a little now than to risk greater drama later.
Kassiani had just finished dressing when a light knock sounded on the bedroom door. She opened it to discover one of the ship’s stewards in the hall. “We have just anchored and Mr. Alexopoulos is waiting for you on the deck. He suggests you bring a sweater.” The steward glanced down at her feet. “He also suggested comfortable shoes but I think you’ll be fine in those sandals. I’ll wait for you here to show you the way.”
“I’m ready now,” she answered. “Let me just grab a sweater.”
Kassiani was excited and also curious. She’d thought the yacht had slowed, and maybe stopped, but she hadn’t realized they’d actually dropped anchor. “Where are we?” she asked as she followed the staff member down several flights of stairs to the level where they’d board a smaller boat.
“Paros,” he answered simply.
“I’ve never heard of it,” she answered truthfully.
* * *
As they stepped into the sunlight, Kassiani spotted her husband by the railing, and her stomach dropped amid a sudden flurry of nerves. He was tall and lean and quite devastatingly attractive this morning in a black knit shirt and khaki shorts that hit just above his knee. The shirt wasn’t overly tight and yet even then it clung to his muscular shoulders and outlined the hard planes of his chest, while wrapping firm biceps, biceps that drew her attention.
He was far too handsome for her. She felt even dumpier as she joined him, only then noticing the sleek, white speedboat tethered to the side of the yacht. He extended a hand to her, to assist her into the boat. “We’re having breakfast on shore.”
“Good. I’m desperate for coffee,” she answered, painfully self-conscious as she put her hand in his. In bed with him she’d felt confident, but yesterday had made her insecure again, and yet when his fingers closed around hers, she felt an electric shock and her shyness turned to heat, with disconcerting warmth flooding her limbs.
She wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that the racing boat made it virtually impossible to talk as they zipped across the water toward a whitewashed town flanking a gorgeous little bay. The shimmering buildings rose up on the hill and lined the small bay. “Tell me where we’re going,” she said as the boat slowed, approaching the wharf.
“We’re going to spend the morning on Paros, one of my favorite Greek islands. Most tourists don’t know about it, and yet it’s only several hours by ferry from Athens. First we’ll have breakfast in Naousa, the fishing village in front of us, and then we’ll go explore for a bit before having a glass of ouzo and returning to the yacht.”
She listened to this without comment, butterflies flitting madly in her middle as her gaze settled on his strong, muscular legs, his skin a warm burnished bronze. She’d thought he looked powerful and handsome in his wedding tuxedo, but this casual dress made her think wicked, carnal thoughts, thoughts where he had her naked on the bed, and he was doing the most wonderful things to her.
He took her hand again as they docked, his fingers interlacing with hers, and
kept it as they entered town, traveling through narrow whitewashed alleyways with shutter-framed windows. Flowers spilled from huge glazed terra-cotta pots, and purple bougainvillea bloomed over doorways.
She didn’t know where they were going, but he did, and they traveled through town, up a narrow cobblestone road to a building partway up the hill. It was a café, she discovered as they crossed the threshold, and a waiter came forward to greet them, escorting them to a table on the terrace with a view of the port.
“That was a hike,” she said with a small laugh as they were seated. “Now I know why I needed appropriate shoes.”
“Are your feet sore?”
“No. I’m good.”
“It’s a bit of a climb, but the view, and the food, is worth it.”
Coffee and slender glasses of bright orange juice arrived, and then the waiter rattled off the menu options to them in Greek. Kassiani understood most of what the waiter said, and so when Damen turned to her to translate, she said she’d have the option of omelets.
After ordering, she glanced around, soaking in the scenery. The terrace wall was stone, and more pots of flowers and small trees dotted the patio. A half-dozen small wooden tables and chairs were scattered across the terrace, the chairs a lovely blue, and a perfect reflection of the turquoise water below.
Inside the café she could hear voices, but for the most part, it seemed as if they were the only customers.
“Why is no one else here?”
“I called ahead and reserved the terrace.”
She laughed. “Why?”
He shrugged. “The tables are too close. I didn’t want to risk others listening to us.”
“Are you afraid we’re going to fight?”
He gave her a puzzled look. “Why would we fight?”
She took a sip of her juice. “I suspected from your distance yesterday that you were upset with me.”
He looked at her a long moment, and then glanced away. “Not upset, but I’m accustomed to space. I thought we could both use some space.”
She returned her glass to the table. “This is off topic, but this is some of the best orange juice I’ve ever had.”
“It’s probably from Laconia or Argos.”
“Well, it’s delicious.” She dabbed her mouth with her linen napkin and set it back on the table beside her plate before rising. “And with regards to space and independence, I’m very independent, but to be honest, I was concerned yesterday that I’d done something wrong on our wedding night, and that my inexperience left you disappointed.”
“It didn’t. You didn’t.”
That wasn’t a good enough answer in her book. He’d been rude yesterday. He’d hurt her. And she didn’t expect him to slather over her, but this was their honeymoon and a chance for them to get to know each other. “Because when I didn’t see you yesterday, or hear from you in any way, it was logical to assume that I’d failed in my wifely duties.”
He shrugged carelessly. “I don’t know how else to reassure you that you did not disappoint me. I enjoyed our wedding night, and I hope you did, too.”
Any pleasure she might have felt in his words was diminished by his cold, measured delivery. There was no warmth in him, and none of the passion of their wedding night.
Damen lifted a finger, signaling the waiter, indicating she wanted more juice since her glass was now half-empty.
She found it interesting that he couldn’t give her any emotional warmth, but he’d make sure she had plenty to eat and drink. Did he imagine this was how good husbands behaved?
Apparently he did, because as soon as the waiter retreated, Damen said bluntly, “I’ve been a bachelor for thirty-six years. I’m accustomed to my routine and doing things my way.”
“Of course.”
“Which means, we’re not always going to see each other every day, and we won’t be sleeping with each other every night.”
“When you say sleeping, is that your euphemism for sex?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“I warned you I wouldn’t be a tender husband. I tried to protect you from who I am. You didn’t listen. You insisted you wanted this marriage. This is who I am.”
“And who are you?”
“Hard. Cold. Indifferent to the needs of others.”
She swallowed with difficulty, refusing to let herself be intimidated. “You weren’t indifferent in bed.”
Silence followed, so thick and heavy that Kassiani could barely breathe, and then he leaned forward, leaning so close that she could see the silver flecks in his gray eyes. “Sex is the only time I feel anything, and I prefer sex rough. I like to dominate. I enjoy the power. It turns me on.”
No wonder he didn’t want anyone around them.
Kass swallowed again, her face flushing, her body tingling, wondering why she wasn’t scared as much as...aroused. “Fascinating. This is a new world to me. Do you like toys? Whips? Nipple clamps? Handcuffs?”
* * *
Damen pushed his coffee cup back, incredulous.
Kassiani might gaze innocently at him, all big brown eyes and sweet smiling lips, but he was beginning to discover that her placid cheerfulness hid a very sharp mind and an extraordinarily steely spine.
“No nipple clamps or whips yet,” he answered, checking his testy tone, not wanting her to know just how much she tried his temper. “But there’s a place for handcuffs, and the right toy.”
Her cheeks turned an even darker pink but she held his gaze. “So since we’re on our honeymoon, why wouldn’t you want to have sex every night, with or without toys? Unless, you don’t really want...me.”
“I do want you.” In fact, he’d like to bend her over the breakfast table and lift her pretty navy sundress and show her how good it felt when he took her from behind. He was certain he’d get more than a few pants and hoarse cries of pleasure. “But I don’t need to have sex every night,” he added, grateful the table with its blue-and-white linen cloth hid his lap and his thick, heavy erection.
“But do you want it?” she asked. “Every night?”
His jaw nearly dropped. Her questions astounded him. “I don’t find it necessary to impose on my wife every night.”
“Even if your wife wants your company in her bed?”
She might have been a virgin when he married her, but she wasn’t an innocent. The woman was provocative as hell. “I don’t spend the night with anyone. After sex, I always leave.”
“Why?”
“Because that is how I prefer it.” He ground down, jaw tightening. “It’s not necessary for me to explain myself to you, and I’m not sure why I’m even trying.”
“Maybe because your wife wants to get to know you, and seeks to understand you.”
“There is nothing to understand. Some weeks we might have sex nightly. Other weeks we might have sex a couple times a week. It depends on my work schedule and my mood.”
“So I’m not to initiate?”
A picture of her taking him in her mouth flashed through his head and burned all over, so hot he felt as if he might pop out of his skin. “I didn’t say that.”
“So if I want to sleep with you each night, I can approach you?”
And just like that, he hardened all over again, his shaft throbbing, aching to be freed. “You can’t want it every night. In fact, I’m sure you don’t want it every night. You’ve only just lost your virginity.”
“The point is, what if I want you to come to see me at night? What if I want your company in my bed?”
“This isn’t a love marriage. I’m not going to romance you.”
“I don’t believe I asked for romance.”
Damen wasn’t accustomed to being questioned, or challenged. No one questioned him and he couldn’t quite believe she was now. What did she hope to gain? Was this some kind of ill-c
onceived marital test? “Are you some kind of sex fiend?” he drawled, deliberately using words he was sure would offend her. It was best to check her now, let her know that he wasn’t her father, he didn’t invite arguments or challenges. He was a traditional male, and he was expecting a traditional wife. Those were the terms of their marriage and she had agreed just the other night, promising to put his comfort before all else.
If he’d thought his offensive words would check her, he was wrong. Her eyes didn’t well with tears. There was no quiver of her lower lip. Instead she held her place, lips curved, chin tilted, expression cheerfully defiant. “Would you be unhappy if I was a sex fiend?”
“You’re not,” he answered shortly, impatiently. “You were a virgin just the other night. The sheets bore witness to your lack of experience.”
“But maybe I have tapped into long-suppressed desires. Or—” she paused, head tilted, expression thoughtful “—or, I have discovered how much I enjoyed being with you.” She paused again, a dark winged eyebrow arching. “Or is that not allowed? Am I not to have any desire of my own? Am I to only serve you but not feel pleasure in our coupling?”
Damen ground his teeth together, beyond exasperated. She was pushing him, and hard, and this was only day three of their marriage. “You’re not playing by the rules,” he gritted.
Her winged eyebrow rose higher. “I should have realized you had rules. Because, of course, a man like you has dozens of rules, rules that can’t be challenged. So list them now and we can be on the same page.”
“You are not the meek, compliant woman you pretended to be.”
“I never pretended to be meek, or compliant. If you recall, I fought for you, and I fought for our marriage.”
The fact that she was right didn’t improve his mood. “Are you goading me?”
“I just think it’s time I heard your expectations.”
