by Dani Collins
Or how easily he made her give up so much.
“Has there been anyone since that tourist?”
“No.” She was struck with performance anxiety as she admitted it.
“Why would you do that to yourself when you’re so sensual?”
“It was my first time. It was clumsy and awkward, not something I was excited to try again. Why do you feel a need to make conquests of women when you’re barely interested in them?”
He snorted. “You do love to go on the attack when you feel threatened, don’t you?” He threw his napkin onto his plate and rose. “Quit being so nervous. I was serious about making it good for you. And now I know how inexperienced you are, I’ll take it slow.” He drew her to her feet and into a close dance.
She stiffened, but couldn’t, simply couldn’t remain tense when everything in her was drawn to melt and soften against him. His touch made her shiver, especially when he found the low back of her dress and traced the edge, leaving a tickling line of fire against her skin.
With a wince that she hid with a duck of her head, she let herself succumb to his hold until she was resting against him.
“I have not stopped thinking about the way you moved against me that day, koukla mou.” His voice was a low rumble in his chest. “How you ignited and made those erotic noises as you hit your peak.”
“Don’t remind me. It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s arousing. Does it not turn you on to remember?”
It did. She was growing weak, even though they were talking about something that made her squirm. His body brushed against hers. They moved in a slow rock that didn’t even match the muted instrumental music playing in the background. Was he hard? Was that what she had just felt as her stomach grazed his pelvis? All of her senses came alive to him. Attuned. All of her cells honed in like magnets attracted to the polarity in his. She held her breath, waiting for the next brush of contact.
“You don’t want to hear that I relive it every night? That I can’t sleep unless I let myself imagine I took you against that wall until we were both groaning and shuddering in a shared release?” His lips nuzzled her neck, making her whimper.
“Don’t be graphic.”
“Sex is graphic. You and I will have a lot of sex, glykia mou. Get used to the idea. Nerves are fine, but I can see you trying to resist what you feel and I don’t like it. You’re the one who said you don’t want lies between us.”
She stopped moving and glared up at him. “You really think you own me and the entire world, don’t you?”
He lifted a hand to smooth back her loose hair, then slowly closed his fist into the mass at the back, not hurting, but holding her still as he lightly teased his mouth against hers, making her lips burn.
“You and your world. For the next six months. Beg me to kiss you.”
“No.”
He released a breath of hot laughter against her chin and lowered to almost but not quite kiss the side of her neck.
She tried to wriggle free, but his grip was implacable. He only lifted his head, leaving the skin at her nape tingling in anticipation, yet aching with loss. Everything in her wanted to beg him for that kiss, but she set her chin, refusing to.
“If you want me to stop, say so, but if it’s yourself you’re fighting then tell me why. Is it because you were raised to think it’s wrong to like sex?”
“I don’t have hang-ups, if that’s what you’re asking. I just don’t like feeling manipulated by someone who treats my body like it’s territory on a game board. You’re not sensual at all. You’re more turned on by the idea of conquering me.”
His expression hardened and a bright light filled his eyes. “The only reason I didn’t take you against the wall that day was because I didn’t have a condom. Stop fighting how much you want me and I’ll show you how much I want you,” he promised.
Or was it a threat?
Either way, it was a huge risk. Scary. She didn’t have a hang-up about sex, not really, but she didn’t like letting her basest self overcome her rational brain. Biology was a powerful thing, designed by nature to perpetuate the species no matter the cost to the parents. The way Brandon had made her feel had been a tepid bath compared to the way she reacted to Stavros, but she had still allowed that bit of pleasantness to override her good sense.
The result had been a disaster, and she was terrified her life would spin out of control again, especially when the temptation to allow it was so strong.
“I won’t beg, either,” he said in a gravelly undertone, drawing a tendril of her hair across the base of her neck. “Even though I want you more than... I keep thinking it’s because of the way we met. Where we met.”
His gaze was fixated on the silk of her hair drawn across her skin, his voice a rasp.
“Don’t imagine I could walk out of here and enjoy the next woman who comes along. I want you,” he said.
She couldn’t help the cut of her breath against the pressure on her throat. Her pulse leaped at the same time, while a flood of heat washed through her.
“I—” She tried to swallow. “I started a prescription, but it’s not working yet. You have to wear something until it is. I don’t want to get pregnant.”
It was a desperate attempt to slow things down, not that it had any effect on either of them.
“I won’t forget.”
They held a locked stare for a minute, something that was between a power struggle and a quest for reassurance. On her part, at least. She didn’t know what it was for him. She didn’t know him, which was distressing. But she looked into his eyes and sensed... Maybe she was projecting what she wanted to see, but she sensed that she could be his salvation in a way that she wanted him to be hers.
That reflection of herself in there, that sense that he wrestled in his own cage of agony, got to her every time.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
As if it was the signal he’d been waiting for, he set one brief, openmouthed kiss on her lips. A test. Was she ready for this? Would she respond as he’d asked?
She was. She did. Only this time she didn’t just let her lips cling to his. When he came back for a longer kiss, she kissed him back. She didn’t just let the wash of pleasure guide her reaction, she responded with intention. Encouragement. She revealed the hunger that had been prowling inside her from the first moment she had seen him.
A growl sounded in his throat as he took control of the kiss, deepening it.
She moaned, let him have his way, but splayed her fingers in his hair and massaged. His arms tightened, drawing her already hot body tight against the inferno that was his, making her breathless.
With each tiny reaction, the intensity pinballed tighter and faster between them. She arched into him; he gave her his tongue. She met the intrusion with a delicate suction and he made a ragged noise while moving wide, possessive hands over her back and hips. Her waist. When she rocked her breasts against his chest, both trying to ease the ache in the tips and incite his reaction, he caught one in his splayed fingers.
The sensation had her opening her eyes, but she saw nothing, all of her vision white. A flood of wet heat poured into the juncture of her thighs while he plucked and rolled her nipple through her dress and bra. A plea caught in her throat, begging him to strip her so she could feel that hot, sensual touch on her bare skin. Please. She thrust her pelvis into his.
He pivoted and stumbled her backward. They bumped an end table. A lamp hit the floor with a clattering smash, jolting her back to their elegant surroundings.
“What—”
“Forget it,” he ordered, fingers working behind her. “Where is the zip?”
“It’s here—” She lifted her arm, panting, but as her hand came up she couldn’t resist cupping his jaw and chasing his mouth with her own.
He avoided her long enough to say, “Give me your tongue,” then he kissed her, made a feral noise as she gave herself up to him and got her dress open enough to sweep his fingertips across the lace of h
er bra.
They fell to the sofa, angled and crooked, each with one leg hanging off. His knee dug into the cushion beside her hip and they both writhed a moment until he pulled back and guided her inside knee so he was between her legs. The skirt of her dress fell to her waist, baring her lacy white panties.
He took a moment to look from the scrap covering her hips to where her dress gaped at her shoulder. His carved features were more savage than ever. She shouldn’t find it a turn-on, but her wetness increased. She shakily pulled her shoulder from her dress, then opened her bra, baring her breast.
She offered herself in the most blatantly scary way. Please like what you see.
His lips tightened across his teeth in something too feral to be a smile, then he covered her and took her nipple into his mouth, hot and assertive, sucking strongly so she bucked against him.
“Stavros!”
“Too much?” He drew back to circle with his tongue and scrape lightly with his teeth. “Or not enough? Tell me,” he ordered in a guttural tone.
All she could say was a whispered “More” while she scored her nails across his shoulders, wishing she could tear open his shirt and feel his skin.
He kept teasing her while he lifted his chest enough to yank at his buttons, tearing open his shirt then making a noise of satisfaction as she slid her hands beneath it, stroking hot, flexing muscle, squirming with pleasure at the way he dallied at her breast and pulled at her other shoulder until both her breasts were available to him.
She was being utterly wanton, shocking herself, but the way he pulled back in a kind of sexual daze was incredibly exciting. How could she not thrill to the power in arching her back and hearing his breath grow ragged?
“Not scared now, are you? You should be,” he said in a dangerous voice, stroking a hand up her inner thigh and catching at the damp fabric of her undies. His fingers went under and the backs of his knuckles grazed the seam of her lips, making her stomach muscles tense and jump.
He grunted approval. “Like that?”
She was trembling all over, unable to speak, to say she loved it. She moved one fingertip to his fly, tracing the ridge that pressed at the front.
He bit out a curse and, with a jerk of lace, he bared her to his avid gaze.
She squeaked in surprise, then caught her breath as he jerked open his fly with an equal lack of finesse and revealed himself.
Oh. That was... They were really doing this. He rolled a condom down his length, stroked himself with his fist as though ensuring a tight fit.
Her thighs twitched and she felt too exposed, too vulnerable. It was all happening so fast. Her hands went to his chest as he started to cover her.
His gaze flashed as he saw the hesitation in her eyes. “Say yes. Say yes, please.”
She wasn’t sure if he was ordering her to beg or pleading for her to give him permission. The hint of desperation in his expression reassured her, though. He looked like he thought he might die if they didn’t do this. It was enough to convince her he was as engulfed in this experience as she was.
With a tentative touch, she slid her hand between them and guided him into place. Like it was a signal, he took control again, covering her mouth in a passionate kiss as he pressed into her.
There was a pinch and a stretch, but “Mmm...” She groaned in joy, stunned by the rush of sensation as he moved in a testing stroke. He trembled and lifted enough to look at her, his gaze intense, as though holding back took all his effort.
Nothing in her life had ever felt this good and she wanted more. Needed it. Demanded it. She arched, inviting a deeper penetration on his next return.
His breath rasped and he drove a little harder and drew back to do it again. From there they abandoned any attempt at propriety and gave themselves up to the wildness of it. It was primitive and raw. Graphic. But good. So sinfully good.
She heard herself urging, “Never stop. Never.”
“Never,” he growled, driving her higher with every powerful move of his hips. They clung and arched and moaned and, when the crisis arrived released jagged cries as they crested together.
CHAPTER FIVE
STAVROS LANDED ON his back on the floor when he rolled off her, knocking out what little breath he had left. His elbow bumped the coffee table when he eventually lifted his wrist from his eyes.
All he could see was one bare knee off the edge of the sofa cushion and a flash of torn white lace abandoned on the glass of the tabletop.
He licked lips that were dry from panting. His breath and pulse slowed, but remained unsteady. He swallowed and rubbed his hand down his face, trying to pull himself together.
What the hell had just happened? He had promised to take it slow.
He had known it would be good and had wanted to savor their first time, but damn. They were a seriously combustible combination. The part of himself that carried a million responsibilities, and remained in control while taking on crazy physical stunts, told him to step back and reassess. The other part, the part that went hang-gliding and ran with the bulls merely to keep from dying of boredom, that man was beating his chest and screaming a primal “Hell, yeah” from a mountaintop.
Her leg twitched and she made a noise. Discomfort?
Concerned, he forced his lethargic muscles to work and rose on one arm. The rest of him came back to life as he came eye level with her landscape of curves en déshabillés.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She pushed her skirt down and tried to draw up her rumpled dress to cover her breasts.
He hitched his elbow on the side of the sofa, set his chin on his fist and patiently waited for her gaze to quit skittering in avoidance. She finally turned her head so mere inches separated her nose from his. Such adorable shyness after they’d been rapacious and lost to one another. Did she remember demanding more from him? Telling him to never stop?
He would never forget it.
His scalp tightened all over again.
“Do you think we could make it to the bed this time?” His voice came out more tender than he intended.
Her eyes widened. “You want to...again?” She swallowed.
He reminded himself she was the next thing to a virgin. “I did warn you we’d be doing it a lot.” Say yes. Please.
Her pretty mouth drew into a moue and her lashes swept down. If she was physically uncomfortable, he would accept it, but if she was about to trot out one of her fibs about not wanting him, he would press harder. Surely they were past that now?
Surely she wanted to slake this voracious animal as much as he did?
“Perhaps if you gave me a head start?” She cut a dry glance toward him.
“Ha!” A rush of delight had him grabbing her and dragging her down atop him, laughing openly when she squealed in surprise. He caught at her dress, sweeping it upward and off as she wriggled to sit up across his hips.
They both stilled as he took in her naked figure.
She brought up a shy arm and he stopped her before she could cover herself. She blushed and bit her lip as she peered at him from behind hair that was loose and messy, framing her flushed face. Her curves were ample and soft, pale where she had protected herself from the sun. Mesmerizing.
He was humbled in that moment by her innocent beauty. By the feminine grace of her.
As he absorbed that this sensual, glorious woman belonged to him, it struck him that if he had grown up on their island, he might have been the one to take her virginity. Would he have married her? Had a lifetime with her?
It was a disturbing thought, like believing in fate, but it just went to show that the mistake he had made that day with his father continued to have repercussions.
He felt like a thief then, like he was stealing something he wasn’t supposed to have.
He had long ago learned to live in the moment, however, not pine for what had been or what could be. He and Calli had an agreement. They had six months.
He would enjoy every one of them.
* * *
If it was possible to be punch-drunk from lovemaking, Calli was exactly that by the time they arrived in New York. They had even made love on the plane, since Stavros had a private jet with a stateroom.
When Calli thought back to her awkward fumblings with Brandon, something she’d done to feel close to a boy who had dazzled her, there was no comparison. It was the same act in name only.
Stavros took pains to make her soar, almost like it was a contest. Like every single time he was proving to her that he could make her feel like that. He seemed to take incredible pleasure in it, which was addictive in another way. She feared she was becoming infatuated, because how could she not fall for a man who provided such intense gratification with such delight in such an intimate way?
At the same time, the feeling that she was bought and paid for grew. When they had taken a break from lovemaking, their honeymoon had consisted of a lot of shopping. Obscenely decadent amounts of shopping.
She had protested, claiming the dresses, shoes and jewelry weren’t necessary, but he had insisted. We’ll have a lot of appearances. You’ll need to look the part.
She wasn’t his real wife. He wasn’t spoiling her because he wanted to. He was paying her to be something he needed.
The number of parcels that had been loaded onto the plane had made her feel uncomfortable, especially when he had called for a particular bag from a lingerie boutique to be brought into the cabin.
I want to see you in the red set.
Try as she might to feel objectified by that, when he had skimmed his lips along the lace at her hips, drawing it down oh-so-slowly, she had begged for the pleasure of his tongue. Twice.
She was losing herself. It was especially disturbing because, despite the intensity of time they were spending together and the physical familiarity they had arrived at, she still felt as though he was a stranger. Especially once he dressed in a tailored suit on the plane and began firing orders at everyone from his driver to the people he spoke with on the phone as they drove into Manhattan.
