by Jane Porter
Kassiani hated it when she disappointed him. She hated it even more when he hurt her, but she’d come to crave time with him. Truthfully, her day only really began once she saw him. The only hours that were important were the hours with him, and the only hours she felt truly alive were the hours in his company. Was that normal?
What was this terrible need she felt for him?
Kassiani slid her hands under his shirt, relishing the texture of his hot skin. She wanted her mouth on him. All of him. She wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go. Damen leaned her back against the marble counter, exposing her neck and throat. His lips traveled the length of her jaw, lighting fire beneath her skin. She whimpered, and whimpered again as his teeth scraped a sensitive place on her neck that made her desperate for more. Her whimpers always stirred him, and he growled against her throat, his hips pressing against hers, and then his knee was between her thighs, his knee grinding against her, driving her wild.
She felt wild now.
“Security cameras,” he panted, peeling away from her to go punch buttons into a box on the wall. “Don’t need to give everyone a show.”
She smiled, answering breathlessly, “It would be a good show.”
“You are shocking.”
“But you like it,” she flashed, as he closed the kitchen door, locking it before returning to her side. “You like that I can’t get enough of you.”
They made love on the marble island counter. Damen took her in so many different ways. Kass prayed the kitchen was soundproof because tonight he took advantage of those jars of olives and the accompanying olive oil to feast off her, dribbling the oil across her breasts and down her tummy to her thighs. After he made her come with his mouth, the oil became a massage, and then a lubricant and used for an exploration of her most sensitive, private places. Each orgasm was more intense than the last, and the pleasure so overwhelming that there were moments where she thought she would break down and cry, and she did end up crying after the last orgasm, the intensity of the intimacy making tears fall. She didn’t even know why she was crying, only that she felt spent, and turned inside out. Her body didn’t hurt, but she felt him everywhere even now when he wasn’t in her. She felt his imprint and felt his possession and so the tears came and she tried to hide them from him, but he gathered her to him and held her, her body slippery and shuddering against his.
“I’ll get oil all over you,” she choked.
“I already have oil all over me.”
“We’re a mess.”
“Chef is going to have to sanitize this center island tomorrow.”
She laughed unsteadily and Damen used the pads of his thumbs to wipe beneath her eyes.
“I think I push you too far,” he said, drawing her back against him so that her head rested against his chest. “I fear I am too much for you sometimes.”
“You haven’t broken me.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said hoarsely. “That’s the last thing I would ever want to do to you.”
She lifted her head to look up at him. “But you like the forbidden.”
“This is true.”
“So how far is too far?”
“That is up to you. I suppose I push you to see where you will draw the line.”
“I don’t want to draw lines between us. I don’t want walls and boundaries. I want to trust you,” she said softly, breathing in the scent of his skin, nearly always comforted by his nearness and the warmth of his skin. It was in these moments where she could hear his heart, and feel him relax, that she felt most comfortable, and safe.
Despite the unpredictable quality of the lovemaking, Damen felt like hers, and he still felt like home, and she couldn’t remember a time, or place, or person who had felt like home...until now.
She kissed the side of his neck, and then the upper plane of his chest. “My goal is to trust you,” she whispered, “so you can also trust me.”
She felt him stiffen and she loosened her arms, but didn’t let him go.
His hands smoothed over her arms, a caress to her upper arm, before carefully, deliberately peeling her hands away from his shoulders. “Do not take this the wrong way, but it will be years before I trust you. I find trust a very difficult thing. It’s why when I find the right staff, I keep them. I pay them well and reward their loyalty because it’s vital I retain them. Turnover makes me uneasy. I like to know who is true.”
“Then I hope you will discover that I can be trusted, and not because I am your wife but because I care about you.”
He let her hands fall and he pulled away, taking several steps back, putting distance between them. His features hardened, his expression had shuttered. “I don’t need those words. I don’t respond to those words. I would prefer not to say things like that in the future. If you don’t mind.”
Kassiani blinked, confused. “I don’t understand.”
His broad shoulders twisted carelessly. “I don’t trust strangers. I don’t trust people in general. And I most of all do not trust words. Your actions will matter to me more than anything you can say. So please do not use words of affection here. Don’t say I care for you. I don’t believe it. I will never believe it. Just show me with your actions that you are a loyal wife, and with time your actions will reveal the truth.”
A knot formed in her throat, matching the knot in her chest. His voice had become brittle and icy cold. His features looked as if they’d been carved from stone. This harsh, unfeeling man frightened her a hundred times more than their edgy sex games.
When he spoke so disparagingly about love and affection, it made the fine hair on her nape rise, and her stomach cramp, and her survival instinct scream at her to run. But run where? Go where? He wasn’t a date. He wasn’t a boyfriend. He was her husband. She had to make this work. She had to find a middle ground. “We have been spending a lot of time together,” she said quietly, calmly, trying to keep her voice even and reasonable. “It’s only natural that I will develop feelings—”
“No,” he interrupted sharply. His jaw flexed, his body tensed. “No,” he repeated more quietly. “Feelings are not natural to me. I find ‘feelings’ suspect, particularly any that you might have for me. Why would you have feelings for me? I don’t give you affection. I am not tender in bed. I use you as I use my mistresses. I’m hard, and demanding, and when I take you I...”
She flinched at his words, but refused to look away.
“I warned you that first night. I said I was hard. I am hard. And it gives me pleasure to be ruthless. It turns me on—”
“Yes, I know. You’ve made that abundantly clear,” she said coolly, impatiently, masking her frustration and hurt. “But just because you like sex a certain way doesn’t make you a bad person.”
“But I am a bad person.”
“I’m sorry, but I see no evidence of that, anywhere.”
“Oh, no?” he retorted, in that deep, rough, unapologetic voice, before running his hand across the firm, carved plane of his chest, sweeping the sheen of oil lower, over his chiseled abdomen, and then down to his cock, which was thick and hard and fully erect. “Would a tender groom do this? Would he enjoy shocking his bride? Wouldn’t a good man try to be a gentleman in front of his bride?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t really care. What I care about is you, and me, and you don’t intimidate me, and you don’t threaten me. You’re my husband.”
“Then you’re not as smart as I thought you were, because I’m dangerous, kitten, I am destructive. You should be careful around me. And you should be careful about what you feel, because if I were you, I wouldn’t trust me. I know who I am, and I know what I am, and I’m not safe.”
His words made her go hot, and then cold. She didn’t understand how he could go from sensual and passionate to volatile and destructive, but she knew this—she wouldn’t stand here and listen to
this. For one, she didn’t believe it, and she wasn’t going to buy into the fact that he was some treacherous monster.
Kass turned, searching for her clothes, and then remembered she’d come to the kitchen with him just wearing her nightgown. She couldn’t imagine putting the silk gown on now, not over the oil covering her body. It would ruin it, stain it. She liked this pretty nightgown too much to ruin it. She wasn’t the type to be careless with her things.
Or her people.
She clamped her jaw tight, grinding her teeth together to keep her emotion in check, as she grabbed his shirt from the ground, and stuffed her arms into the long sleeves. He was tall and his shirt had plenty of fabric and it covered her better than most of her sundresses. Once dressed, she scooped up her nightgown, pushed her hair back from her face and faced him, her expression smiling but fierce.
“Thank you for your attention, and your helpful advice,” she said. “I’ve made a mental note of your wishes, but just as I can’t control you, you can’t control me, and I shall care for whomever I want—”
“I don’t want feelings in our relationship.”
“Desire noted. I shall do my best to refrain from expressing emotion so that our sexual encounters be more like the ones you enjoyed with your mistresses. Now please unlock the door and let me return to my room.”
* * *
Kass tossed and turned all night, too upset to sleep well. She was so angry with Damen. And if he thought he could bully her into submission, he was wrong.
He had no idea who she really was, or what she was made of, and she hadn’t survived life in the Dukas household to come to Greece and become a doormat. Maybe being a traditional Greek wife was off the table. Maybe she couldn’t be what he wanted, but my God, she’d be what he needed.
She turned her pillow and punched it and then snorted as she remembered how he’d thrown his mistresses in her face.
Did he think she’d be jealous? Did he think that would hurt her, or offend her?
Of course he had mistresses. He was one of the wealthiest men in the world. Men like Damen preferred mistresses to girlfriends because they liked the power, and control, and they liked having a relationship on their terms.
In fact, it was one of Damen’s past mistresses who had told her father to make sure Elexis was beautifully waxed because Damen wasn’t a fan of body hair. The former mistress had been happy to share a few helpful tips...since her father was happy to do something for her in exchange.
Kassiani was up so late that she ended up sleeping in the next morning, and the first thing she noticed when climbing from bed was that they weren’t moving, and then as she pulled open the heavy blackout curtains she discovered they’d anchored in another harbor, and she’d been to this one before. Mykonos.
She was surprised they were here, because Damen had said he didn’t want to take her to the same spots he was going to take Elexis, but at the same time, she’d really enjoyed playing tourist yesterday and she’d welcome the opportunity to explore Mykonos today...if that’s what Damen had in mind.
She dressed quickly and left her room, going in search of her husband, but it seemed he’d already gone ashore. The captain informed her they were to take her to him in Chora, Mykonos, if she wanted.
And since she wanted to go to Chora, they set off immediately.
Damen was waiting for her on shore, and he arched an eyebrow when she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Good morning, husband,” she said sunnily, determined to at least start the day off on the right foot. “So what is the plan for today?”
“Chora is a traditional Cycladic village, and I thought we should wander the streets, visit my favorite bakery, stop in at some of the beautiful churches and chapels and then we talk business.”
She felt a rush of excitement. “Business? As in Greek shipping business?”
“No, business, as in between you and me.”
The excitement faded, but she tried to hide her disappointment, struggling for a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “Then I’m going to need some serious coffee for that.”
They made their way through the narrow streets, turning this way and that, until they reached the bakery, which wasn’t up, but down, below street level. The medieval bakery’s thick arched doorways, creamy white walls and flagstone floor attested to its age, and there were tables in the back for cozy seating and a delectable display of baked goods at the entrance.
“Best baklava anywhere,” Damen said, “but for breakfast, I highly recommend the ham and cheese croissants, or the feta spinach pie. I never come to Chora without stopping here.”
They squeezed past other customers to sit down with their coffee and feta and spinach pie at one of the little white-painted wooden tables in the back.
Kassiani concentrated first on her coffee, and then started on the warm, fragrant, savory pie. It was delicious, and the owner came out briefly from beyond the counter to welcome Damen back. The bakery was family owned and had been in business in this spot for two hundred years, with the bakery passing from one generation to the next. After George left them, Kassiani looked at Damen. “So are we here to sightsee, or talk business?”
* * *
Damen could hear that Kassiani was guarded, and her voice revealed wariness, too. He hated that he’d taken much of the joy out of her morning, but at the same time, he had to manage their relationship before it imploded.
Last night had turned into a proper mess, and he blamed himself for letting Kassiani get too close to him. She was wanting more from him, not less, and he didn’t have more to give her. He’d reached his limits, and she needed to accept the reality of their marriage. Both good and bad.
This marriage was good for her. This marriage gave her advantages she’d never have as a single woman, living in her father’s house.
But the marriage wasn’t without cost. She didn’t have a love marriage. This wasn’t a relationship where the husband and wife became close...became best friends.
He didn’t want or need a best friend. And he wasn’t going to ever be a doting husband.
She needed to accept that this was a businesslike arrangement, a relationship based on clearly delineated jobs and responsibilities.
In the past, he had a contract with his mistresses. The contract spelled out how the relationship would work, and what his mistress could expect of him, and what he expected of her, and how she’d be compensated, as well. It was very black-and-white, and had nothing to do with feelings and emotions. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement that could be ended by either party at any time.
That was what he needed now—minus the clause about terminating the relationship. He and Kass were married. There was no divorce for them. But they could use a contract, something that would spell out needs and expectations. Kassiani might initially object to an agreement, but ultimately it would help her, giving her a better idea of Damen’s wants and needs.
In hindsight, he should have had an agreement, or contract, for her on day one. He should have been more organized and logical. If he had been better prepared, last night’s uncomfortable scene might not have taken place.
Although, he wasn’t entirely sure that a contract would have saved them from all drama because Kassiani didn’t play by the rules, but if it would help save them from a great deal of drama, that was a start. Because he didn’t like surprises. He hated being caught off guard, and he hated feeling whatever it was he was feeling right now.
What he was feeling made his head ache and his chest feel heavy and tight as if he couldn’t get enough air.
He wouldn’t say he was panicking, because he didn’t panic anymore, but the sensation was enough to make him remember who he had been as a young teenage boy, and how as a fourteen-year-old boy he’d been rendered helpless, and Damen despised the boy he’d been.
Damen despised weakness in himself.
Weakness was pa
thetic and memories of the past still managed to make him feel worthless and pathetic, which was why Damen didn’t just allow things to happen. It’s why he didn’t welcome emotion. It’s why he kept control of situations. And he needed that control back.
He needed Kassiani to follow his rules so Damen could close the door to the past, and keep it closed, and locked. Always.
Kassiani’s breath caught as she watched Damen draw a folded envelope from his pocket.
She frowned as he pulled papers from the envelope, unfolding them and laying them in the center of the bakery table.
She forced a smile as she nodded at the paperwork. “So what do you have there? Honeymoon itinerary? A postnuptial? Something else even more intriguing?”
“It’s just an agreement,” he said, tapping the paperwork lightly, carelessly. “I thought it’d be useful for us.”
She held her breath, containing her worry.
“I’ve always had one with previous relationships,” he added. “The agreement is designed to streamline communication and reduce, if not eliminate, misunderstandings.”
“How practical,” she said brightly, suppressing the urge to laugh, hysterically. What on earth was he talking about? And he couldn’t seriously be referencing his mistresses again, or had there been some significant relationship she hadn’t known about? “I’d love to have a look at this useful agreement.”
“It’s probably best if I go through it with you. I’m happy to read it aloud and then I can explain various points.”
“That’s not necessary,” she answered, reaching for the creased paperwork. “Reading is one of my underutilized strengths.” She wasn’t just a good reader, but a speed reader, and it didn’t take her more than a few seconds to understand what he’d given her.
