“Why?” His cock presses against my thigh, thick and insistent. A reminder that he will be inside me soon.
The hard demand of lust speeds through my system, flooding me with heat, making me ache. Making me crave him. I lick my dry lips, and he watches the movement before repeating. “Tell me why.”
Did I know? Yes. Deep down, I do. I’m afraid to give voice to the reason. Afraid of what it will say about me. Afraid of what he’ll think, of the power it gives him when he already has so much.
But strangely, I’m unable to deny him an honest answer. “I… It feels possessive.” My breath comes faster. “Like ownership. Like your touch is a brand.”
“And you like that?” His fingers press into my rapid pulse, a warning that my body is already telling him the truth. Is already surrendering to him and his desires.
Our eyes lock together. An unspoken mutual agreement passes between us.
I whisper, “Yes.”
“You are mine, Juliet.”
Yes, Christos. The words press against the back of my teeth, but I can’t spit them out. I want them to be true. But even more, I’m not sure I can stop the qualification right after them. For now.
I don’t want to ruin the moment. I suppose that’s a twisted kind of progress.
“I want to know.” His fingers are still wrapped around my neck, not hard, but with enough pressure I can’t forget the message. “Why?”
I know what he’s asking. Why am I like this? What am I so afraid of? Why can’t I trust him? He wants a specific event, and the truth is there isn’t one. I suck in a breath and his grip immediately gentles.
I try to give him the best answer I can. “I wish I knew. I wish I could point to a tortured childhood and say, oh, right here is the reason, but I can’t.”
He waits, raising a brow, staring at me, not allowing me the easy answer.
I lower my gaze, focusing on a smaller photograph I’d done in the same garden. Another rose. Alone, slightly wilted but still beautiful.
I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. “I like to be in control. It’s easier. Safer. I don’t like to be emotionally messy. No one made me this way, I just am. I opened my own business because I wanted to be in control. I married my ex-husband because he was a good, safe choice. I didn’t make a conscious decision to block him out, I just did. This is the way I’m built.”
Beside me, Christos releases his hold around my neck and slides his hand down my body to wrap around my waist. He pulls me close and kisses my temple. “Go on.”
“I grew up in a chaotic house. Not bad, but just…” I frown, trying to articulate those formative years in a way that made sense. I shake my head. “It just always felt jumbled and messy and beyond my control. Like it was happening to me. Like I was trapped in a place I didn’t really belong.”
I shrug. “This is the way I like my life. Neat. In control. Safe. Everything in its place. Nothing happened to make me this way—this is how I like to feel,” I search for the right word, “comfortable.”
I stop talking and bite the inside of my cheek. That was the easy part to explain, the next is harder. Tension seeps into my previously relaxed muscles and I wish for something to cover my bare breasts.
He squeezes me tighter, then rolls onto his back, taking me with him so I’m draped over him. Covered. Able to conceal my face.
“How do you do that?” I blurt, unaware I was going to speak before the words were out.
“Do what?” He runs a hand over my back, the silk of the blouse I still wore, warmed by the heat of his palm, slides over my skin.
“Always know what I’m thinking, addressing my comfort before I’ve even spoken? It’s disconcerting.”
He kisses the top of my head, and I feel him smile against my temple as he continues his long strokes up and down my spine like I’m a cat. “I pay attention. Obviously you’re not used to people who do. All this time, I’ve been watching you. Drinking you in, learning your nuances from afar. I see what you do.”
“What do you mean? What I do?” Agitation seeps into the sensuous mood, and I don’t like it. Can’t I have one night to appreciate him?
“I see how you don’t talk about yourself. When people ask you personal questions you deflect and charm them into not noticing that you’re not telling them a damn thing.”
I hate that he notices, that he sees me. “Because talking about myself is boring. Those people aren’t asking because they want to know me, they’re asking to be polite. I deflect, not because I’m hiding, but to let them off the hook.”
“I believe that’s what you tell yourself,” he says, still sweeping the length of my back, but it’s stopped feeling good, instead it feels as if he’s pacifying me.
I shoot up, scooting away from him and wrapping my ripped blouse around myself. “Don’t think you know me, Christos.”
This time agitation flashes in his eyes and I’m happy to see it, I don’t want to be the only one. He slowly sits up, grabs a pillow and rests it against the iron headboard before propping himself against it. “I know you better than you want to admit, and that’s why I scare you.”
Rationally, I see the fault in my logic. Seconds before, I’d been asking myself how he knew me so well, but when fear takes over, logic doesn’t really matter. “You want me to be who you’ve built in your mind, but that’s not me.”
“Wrong, Juliet.” He sits forward, closing the distance between us. “I see you clearly. I’m the first person to see past all your bullshit. You like to pretend that you’re cool and in control, but that’s your façade. All your neat order, the only person you’re hiding from is yourself. “
“That’s what you want.” I raise my voice, welcoming the anger as the only form of protection I have. “You want me to be this ball of fire under the layer of ice, but all that’s there is another layer of cold.”
To my shock, he laughs, shaking his head as if he can’t fathom how ridiculous I am. I dig my nails into my palms and resist the urge to chuck a pillow at his head.
Finally, I ask, “What the hell is so funny?”
“You.” He looks at me, and despite his amusement, his green eyes gleam with some hidden knowledge that instantly puts me on high alert. “My darling girl, you are the farthest thing from cold. You surround yourself with all this control for one reason only, to protect yourself from all the fierce emotion you do feel. Underneath the ice, you’re raw, emotional and scared to death. Hell, you’re not a fireball, you’re an explosion waiting to detonate.”
I scramble off the bed, the tears already forming in my eyes. I can’t speak, can’t stay here, I need distance.
“Don’t think you’ll run away from me.” A warning.
I ignore him, walking as fast as I can without running to the door, desperate to escape. I need to collect my thoughts. Get myself back together.
I feel him at my back before I hear him move, his heat burning my skin. He grabs my waist and pulls me tight against him, slamming the door of my bedroom shut, closing off my escape route.
“I warned you, Juliet. Told you how it would be,” he says, his voice angry now. “I will not let you run from me. And the truth is you don’t want me to let you.”
I swallow hard, my nails digging into his forearm. “I need space.”
He nips my neck. Goose bumps pop over my arms as his teeth scrape my skin. “If I let you go right now, you’d hate it. Nothing would disappoint you more than if I gave you space.”
My whole being goes still.
God, he’s…right.
As much as I want to get away, as much as the fear swirls inside me, if he let me go right now, I’d be crushed. Twin tears slide down my cheeks and I brush them away.
“I have a theory,” he says against my hair. “If you give in, let yourself go, embrace the storm like you did that day from your photo, each time you do, it will scare you less. Maybe it’s so hard for you, not because you feel so deeply, but because of how hard you fight it.”
I go limp i
n his arms, suddenly tired, bone weary.
“Come back to bed, my lovely Juliet.”
“I hate you,” I say with no real heat. The opposite word to the one hovering around the edges of my mind. I rest my head on his shoulder.
“I know you do.” I feel him smile again, and I relax.
He understands.
8
Christos lays me on the bed, my head resting on the fluffy down pillow. “No more talking, Juliet,” he whispers over my rapidly heating skin. “Just let me love you.”
I tense at the word before I can stop it. Even though I know he felt it under his hands, he doesn’t pause or stumble or stop. Instead, he brushes back the edges of my torn blouse and pushes it from my shoulders, taking the straps of my bra with him.
Lips, soft but sure, trail down my neck. His tongue flicks over my pounding pulse before he sucks the delicate flesh there and his teeth scrapes over my skin. I brace my hands on his broad, capable shoulders.
Muscles bunch under my touch as he shifts down my body, kissing the hollow of my neck, brushing his mouth over my collarbones and down my chest. This isn’t like the last time, it’s not full of frantic urgency, but the power of his passion for me, my passion for him scents the air around us.
His lips travel over the curve of my breasts and he teases my beaded nipple. I inhale deeply, arousal and sex spilling from his every pore. His fingers pluck my other nipple while he sucks the hard bud into his mouth. I cry out, nails digging into his shoulders at the dual sensation.
With every pull of his mouth, with every twist of his fingers, my cunt fills with a wet heat that takes my breath away. My clit pulses. My hips start to move, the pleasure so keen I attempt to twist away.
But of course he won’t let me.
His legs cover me, trapping me beneath him. While his lips torment my breast and his knuckles dance over my exposed nipple, he pries one of my hands off his shoulders and twines our fingers together, resting our clasped hands next to my head. I clutch at him, sweat beading at my hairline and trickling down my spine, as need coils deep inside me.
Teeth gently bite down and I moan. My hips seek the pressure and friction that will bring me the release I’m desperate for now. A low growl fills the air and vibrates over my skin in a rush as I squirm.
His skin heats under my palm. I grip his hand so tightly my fingers start to ache, but I can’t let go. The orgasm building inside scares me, but despite my fear, I chase it, my body craving the release and Christos too fierce to be denied. I buck against his thigh, frustration rearing up when the pull of my skirt gets in the way of what I want.
Suddenly, I need to be skin to skin. I need him covering me, over me, possessing me. Filling me up, overpowering me in the way only he can. But I don’t know how to voice my desire and all I can manage is a desperate, “Please, oh please.”
Cool air hits my wet nipple as he lifts his head and stares into my face, green eyes filled with lust and greed that makes me shiver, searches my expression. “What do you need, my Juliet?”
I lick my dry lips. “You.”
“I am yours.” His mouth covers mine, kissing me soul-deep.
Our tongues twine together as tightly as our fingers. It seems as if electricity flows from our palms and meets in that tiny space in the middle of our hands, connecting us both physically and mentally.
It goes on and on until I think we’ll never come up for air. Until we are both panting for breath, sweat slicking our skin, the energy between our joined hands building into something tangible.
Finally our mouths part and his tongue flicks over my swollen bottom lip. “I have to let go now, Juliet.”
My fingers tightened automatically.
“But only for a moment.” His gaze sweeps down my body. “Only to get us naked.”
My throat tightens. The strength of my need must be shining on my face. All my rampant, violent emotion must show in my eyes. I know this. Can feel it reflected back at me. And still I can’t look away. I nod, and with great reluctance let him go.
He shifts to a kneeling position, reaching under me to undo the button and zipper of my skirt.
My gaze drifts to where his jeans dip down, he’d never redone them from our mad, frantic fucking in the foyer. His cock juts out from the vee of the zipper, and I stare. I have no idea when he’d gotten rid of the condom he’d worn, but he’s bare and proud before me.
Suddenly, I want to taste him. Lick him. My mouth actually waters looking at his hard length, the almost angry color of his arousal. I need it. Need to feel him on my tongue, feel his heat in my mouth.
Faster than I knew I was capable of moving, I sit up. Shimmying out of my skirt and panties on my way back down.
He must have realized my intentions because he says, “Juliet, wait, that’s not—”
My tongue circles the plump head and his hand shoots into my hair. “Jesus Christ.”
Delicious. Salty. His skin satin smooth under my lips, I moan and take the head into my mouth.
“That’s… No… Wait… Fuck… Juliet.” He sounds desperate, and for the first time since he’s started his pursuit, I experience a sense of my own power.
I’m making Christos Constantine speechless.
Enraptured by the very idea, I pull his cock deeper, swirling my tongue around the sensitive head, pressing against that soft place on the underside, intent on driving him crazy.
His fingers tighten on my head, at the nape of my neck. I’m not sure if it’s to pull me away or push me closer. I take the decision out of his hands and sink another inch down his shaft and suck.
He groans, his hips thrusting.
I create a tight suction with my lips and move up and down in a slow, torturous rhythm.
“Jesus, that mouth.” His voice is reverent.
My cunt actually convulses at his words. He suddenly fists my hair and pulls me away. My lips leave him with a pop, and I glare up at him, not wanting to be denied.
His expression startles me and my heart turns over in my chest. His face has darkened, the angles of his cheekbones taking on a harsh, predatory quality.
Fear and anticipation prickle over my skin. I have only myself to blame. Hadn’t this been exactly what I was after? Hadn’t I wanted to bring this out? And right then I admit that with Christos I want the raw, volatile emotions, want the brutality.
He is the storm, and this time I’m not going to wait it out in my car. I’m going to step right out in the open and let it sweep me away.
He releases his hold on my head and grips my shoulders, pushing me back against the blood-red comforter and pillows as if I’m some sort of virgin sacrifice. He strips away the rest of his clothing, stopping only to pull a couple of condoms out of his pocket. Never taking his eyes from me, he tosses one on the table.
The other he grips in his mouth before taking both my knees in his strong hands and pushing them apart. Something intangible fills the air between us—that sense of calm before the storm, when the trees turn still, the sky darkens and the world goes silent.
That’s what fills my bedroom.
I shudder under his touch. He tears the condom package open with his teeth before rolling it over his straining erection.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly bone-dry. He fills the space between my splayed thighs and I tense in preparation of his entry.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead he runs his hands over my breasts, dragging his knuckles up and down my nipples, over ribs to my stomach and hips. He traces a path over the swollen, needy wet slit.
I cry out.
Hand firm on my hip, holding me in place, he circles my clit. A sharp burst of pleasure has my lashes fluttering closed.
He shakes his head. “Keep them open and on me.”
Lids snapping open, I meet his gaze.
His fingers glide over my skin.
I’m so wet.
Again he circles the small bundle of nerves at the juncture of my thighs, and then he squeezes. I j
olt, levering off the bed, digging my heels into the comforter.
He smiles then, so wicked and carnal I lose my breath.
“I am going to fuck you now.” The words are almost conversational.
I nod. He squeezes again, rolling his thumb and forefinger.
I push my head onto the pillow. “Oh god.”
“I’m going to pound into you.” Another squeeze that spikes such a fevered need I would have done anything in that moment for relief. “I’m going to take you hard, vicious, brutal.”
“Yes,” I pant. I start to crest, an orgasm barreling fast and furious on me, but then he presses the heel of his palm hard against my clit and the sensation fades, leaving behind an ache so acute it’s almost unbearable.
He positions his cock at the entrance of my cunt and leans over me, once again lacing our fingers tightly together. Our faces inches apart, he looks down at me. “You’re not to look away, do you understand, Juliet?”
He couldn’t have asked anything harder. I’m already at the height of sensation, the height of vulnerability—how can he ask me for something so hard?
Again that slow buzz of electricity fills the center of our palms, connecting us.
He kisses my lips, licking along the seam, never taking his eyes off me. “I promise I will catch you.”
With that promise, I nod. How does he manage to make me feel so frightened and so safe at the same time? “All right, Christos.”
He squeezes our joined hands. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Have you ever?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“You are the only one, Juliet.” And before I can respond, he fills me so completely I gasp with the shock of it.
He doesn’t look away and neither do I.
He rolls his hips, pushing hard into me, his pelvis rocking against my clit on the upstroke. I raise my legs and wrap them around his waist, holding him close with my thighs.
A low, guttural sound from his lips. His chest brushes across my sensitive skin as he picks up his rhythm.
His cock drags along the flesh of my inner walls, going faster and harder, still rolling into me. Somehow managing to stroke my cunt, my clit and my nipples at the same time.
Pride & Surrender Page 7
