by Maisey Yates
A virgin.
Strangely he found that revelation to be disturbing. A vague and unsettling parallel. Considering that he felt his very touch was a violation of her innocence. Emotional innocence was all he’d been betting on. It seemed especially disturbing, underlining the point, that she was innocent in this way, as well.
He was not. No matter how many years stood between him and those other women, him and that time in his father’s house, he carried the evidence on his soul. Dirt that would never come clean.
And he had tried. He’d expected some sort of feeling of absolution. Sins washed white as snow when he’d helped to destroy the wicked empire his father had built. When he’d helped to free countless women and men from the trade. And yet, even when that was finished, he’d looked inside of himself and he’d still seen the monster.
There was nothing clean in him. Some stains stayed forever. And he had to be mindful of that. Of the fact that no matter how much had changed around him, not enough had changed in him.
But he wouldn’t back out now. He couldn’t. Not when she was looking at him like he was the best present she’d ever got.
Another testament to her innocence. Her naïveté. She didn’t know what she was asking for. Didn’t know the man that she was about to make love with. He should tell her. Who he was, where he was from. About all the life he’d lived before he’d walked through the wrought iron gates of the Holt Manor and became Ajax Kouros, leaving his real name, his life, his connections with Greece’s most notorious drug and human trafficker far behind him.
He should tell her how he hadn’t been a captive of that man, no, he was that man’s son. He shared his genetics. He’d lived in the mansion, worn suits, driven cars, bought with money dripping with the blood of innocents.
No, he hadn’t known better. But it didn’t matter in the end. It was still what had created him.
And that night, he’d come face-to-face with a choice: embrace the monster, or leash him, shoving him down and moving forward, half a man, but a decent human being. He’d chosen to be decent.
But it didn’t mean the monster wasn’t there. It didn’t mean it didn’t prowl inside of him, waiting for a chance to escape and devour everything in its path. The monster who remembered what it was like to live only for yourself, to taste excess. He would kill it if he could. Instead, he’d spent years trying to choke it out, making it weak. Leaving it forgotten. Starving its appetites.
But tonight, it was just beneath his skin. Claws digging in, threatening to tear its way through his flesh. And he didn’t want to put it back in the cage. Tonight he wanted to let the beast free. Wanted to sate that appetite.
No. He would not. It would be unthinkable.
“Do you think you can handle me?” he asked, putting his hands on her cheeks, looking at her eyes.
A smile curved her lips. “I was going to ask you the same question.”
He hesitated, unsure of where she would want him to start. What he should do. Still, a part of him wanted to protect her. Give her something sweet and unchallenging. A few moments in bed to consummate the marriage, dispense with her virginity and his celibacy and move on.
But then there was the beast. And Ajax feared if he made the wrong move he wouldn’t be able to hold that part of himself back any longer.
Leah took the choice from him.
She kissed him, hard, deep, devouring, her tongue sliding against his, teeth scraping his bottom lip. Her fingers were forked through his hair, her body pressed hard against his.
He put one arm around her waist, and with the other he did what he’d been longing to do since...it felt like forever. It felt like a need that had been building in him long before he’d ever recognized it.
He cupped her breast, so soft, so incredibly sexy, sliding his thumb over her nipple. She arched into him, her soft flesh filling his palm. So perfect. So incredibly perfect. A fit he could only find with Leah.
Things were burning hot and fast, her hands creeping beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips skimming over the muscles on his back, his stomach, his chest. This wasn’t the sweet and easy first time he’d imagined.
And it felt like the first time for him, too. The first time he might have had.
But he couldn’t stop to ask for something else. Not when this was what he really wanted. This moment of freedom. This moment of satisfied need in what amounted to a lifetime of self-denial.
She pulled away from him and stood back, her lips swollen, her eyes sultry, tempting. Then she reached behind herself and tugged the zipper on her dress.
“Stop,” he said, his throat tight. “Let me.”
She turned slowly, sweeping her hair to the side, exposing her back. He put his arm around her, his hand resting on her stomach. Then he lowered his head and kissed the back of her neck, resting his forehead there for a moment. He felt a shiver go through her body and she arched back, her bottom coming up against the hard ridge of his erection. He pulled her into his body even tighter, thrusting against her.
A raw sound escaped her lips. Passion. Need. Not fear. Everything he needed to keep going.
Although, he was so far gone now, he feared he was past the point of needing encouragement. He was lost in his desire, lost in the sensations coursing through his body, a body he never let make decisions. A body he denied pleasure on a daily basis.
He lifted his hand and gripped the tab on the zipper, drawing it down slowly, the fabric parting. He slid his hand down over the wedge of pale exposed skin, skimming his knuckles over her silken flesh. Then he lowered his head and kissed her, just between her shoulder blades.
“Oh, yes, Ajax.”
“See? I think we’ll muddle through.”
She nodded, and he laughed. And in that moment, time seemed to freeze. He looked in her eyes, and saw a flash of the past. Not of the past at his father’s house. The past in the offices at Holt. Leah looking at him, smiling, putting a piece of chocolate on his desk.
One he would eat later, though something in him felt it was wrong to do it. That it was wrong to encourage the growing connection between them. A connection that seemed to start at his chest, tendrils weaving through to the rest of him, slowly, unbidden.
Then, he’d turned away from it. He’d had to. But now...now he wouldn’t look away.
He pushed the dress from her shoulders, letting it fall off her body, pooling at her feet. He could only stare. At her curves, highlighted by the black lace bra and panties.
Her small waist, the dramatic flare of her hips, the shape of her buttocks. He couldn’t stop himself from putting his hand on her hip, from inching it around so that he could palm her ass. So perfect.
There was a beauty that radiated from her, so rare, so incredible, that he felt humbled by it. Shamed by it. He was not worthy to put his hands on her, and yet he couldn’t resist the chance to.
“I want to touch you,” he said, his voice so unlike his own. There was no control. There was no civility. There was barely any trace of the man left. It was more of a growl. More like a beast.
“Where?” she asked, her voice soft.
“Everywhere. And then I want to taste you. Everywhere.”
“I like that promise.”
“It’s one I can keep.”
He unhooked her bra and she tugged it down from her shoulders, tossing it aside. He wrapped his arm around her again, cupping her bare breasts, her skin so soft, nipple tight against his palm. His first time touching a woman this way. Need, shocking, hot, and like nothing he’d ever felt before, burst through him.
“I need to see you,” he said, kissing the top of her shoulder. “I have waited for so long.”
She turned to face him, eyes glistening. “So have I. Ajax...you don’t know how long.”
There was no shyness, no timidity in her gaze. And he looke
d his fill. He had never seen anything more beautiful than the sight of Leah, standing there, her breasts bared, raspberry nipples dark against her pale skin. He let his eyes travel farther down, to the little scrap of fabric that covered her most intimate place from his gaze.
“Take them off,” he said, and this time, it was a growl.
She never took her eyes off his as she hooked her fingers in the sides of her panties and dragged them down her legs.
He looked at her, desire, desperation, clawing at his throat. He had just enough breath to issue a warning. “I’m about to skip some steps,” he said.
He dropped to his knees, pressed a kiss to her stomach, just beneath her belly button. And lower. He was shaking, dying for his first taste of her. He wanted, needed, in a way he couldn’t remember ever needing. It was visceral, as necessary as breathing.
He parted her thighs slightly, widening her stance, and covered her with his mouth, sliding his tongue through her slick folds, over the little bundle of her nerves he knew would bring her the most pleasure.
She gasped and bent forward, her hands clinging to his shoulders. And he continued to taste her, deeper, faster. He couldn’t get enough of her. He never would. Her taste, the way she coated his tongue, the way she breathed his name, the way her nails cut into his skin, even with the fabric of his shirt as a buffer.
This was a first for him, something he’d never done. Because he had never cared about the satisfaction of the women in his father’s house. They were prostitutes, and he had been taught to treat them in a certain way. Taught that their pleasure came from whatever they got in trade.
He shoved the thought aside and focused on Leah.
She filled his senses. Sustained him. How had he lived without this?
He gripped her hips and pressed her more firmly against his lips, lost in the act, lost in her.
“Ajax...” She said his name like a plea, like a prayer, and when her release broke over her, almost like a curse, her body trembling as he held her up, he rested his head against her thigh, trying to catch his breath, and she laced her fingers through his hair. The gesture was shockingly sweet, coming on the tail end of something so raw and uncontrolled, and yet it felt right.
His hands were shaking, so much that he found it hard to undo the buttons on his shirt. But Leah took over. Her hands left a trail of fire over his skin, testing him, pushing him to the limit, and when she cupped him, stroked him through his jeans, he caught her wrist and pulled her hand away.
“Careful,” he said.
“What?”
“Too much.”
It certainly hadn’t been eighteen years since he’d had an orgasm, but in that time, he’d only had them alone. He had been convinced that he would have control, much in the same way he did with his own hand. That sex would feel familiar due to years of self-gratification.
But he had left out the variable.
The woman. His partner.
Leah was an active participant, and she wasn’t keeping his pace. Wasn’t letting things go down the path he’d imagined. Wasn’t allowing him to keep to his plan.
She was forging her own, and bringing him with her.
“I like that you’re on edge,” she said, putting her hand against him again. “I like that you want me so much.”
“Leah,” he bit out.
“Yes.” She sighed, squeezing him. “Say it again.”
“Don’t.”
“Not that. My name.”
“Leah,” he said again, on a feral growl.
“I like it.”
And he liked it, too. Too much to stop her, even though he should. Even though he should try to get control of the situation again. Control of his needs. He should be commanding this; he shouldn’t be at her command.
“Stop touching me,” he said. “Now.”
She removed her hand from him, and he reached down and started to work his belt, undoing it and the button and zip on his pants, shoving them down his legs and kicking them aside.
“Not fair,” she said. “I want to touch.”
“No.”
If she touched him it would be over. Not the sex. He wouldn’t come. But he didn’t know what he would do. If the fire got too hot. If the beast slipped its chains.
“Go into the bedroom,” he said. Because he had to assert authority. He had to find his control. Hold it tight.
“Is that how we’re going to play?”
He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and dropped a light kiss on her lips. “If you want to play, agape, then you play by my rules. Now go to the bed and wait for me like a good girl.”
He hadn’t known it would be like this. Hadn’t known he would be like this. But this, the demands, the orders, made for an easy reminder. An easy role to slip into that would help him maintain control.
A smile curved her lips, but he wasn’t fooled. He saw the steel shining through. “Of course, darling.”
She turned and walked away from him, giving her hips an extra sway, a show for his amusement. He reached down and squeezed his erection, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth.
“Hey,” she said, turning and looking over her shoulder, her focus lowering to where his hand was wrapped around his shaft. “Not fair. If I can’t touch, you can’t.”
He lowered his hand, and she continued on to the bed, sweeping the curtain to the room aside and climbing on, leaning back against the pillows, her arms draped to the sides. She was inviting. She was certainly not a shy virgin.
He walked over to the bed and stood at the side, and she rose up onto her knees, her eyes locked with his. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his chest, and he wove his fingers through her hair. She moved lower, lips skimming his abs, blazing a trail farther down. Then her tongue flicked over the head of his arousal. The pleasure, the heat, seared through his skin, rocking him, threatening to destroy him. He tugged her hair, pulling her head backward.
“We’re not playing like that, agape,” he said, his voice strained. “Not tonight.”
“But you did it for me. I want to taste you.”
“No. Not tonight.” He was too close to the edge, his control too tenuous.
And his control was everything.
“What do you want then?”
“This.” He joined her on the bed and dipped his head, sucking one pink nipple deep into his mouth and flicking his tongue over the tightened bud. He ran through the instructions he’d read on how to pleasure a woman this way, text swimming before his closed eyes, the need for concentration the perfect counterbalance for the ache in his body.
And she was the one shaking now, her fingers locked in his hair. This was what he could handle. This was what he wanted.
He turned his attention to the other breast, sucking, licking, until she was panting beneath him, little sounds of pleasure escaping her lips. He raised his head and kissed her, hard, and she returned it.
He could feel her desperation now, her need.
“Are you ready?” he asked. In this he would ask, because he knew for her there would be pain. And he didn’t like that. Didn’t relish it.
“Yes. Oh, yes, please now.”
She parted her thighs and he settled between them taking himself in hand and pressing against the moist entrance to her body. Then he pulled back, replacing his erection with one finger, sliding it in slowly until she sighed.
She was so tight. So wet. And he nearly lost it then and there. He gritted his teeth and moved his finger within her, sliding his thumb over her clitoris.
“Good?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“More?”
“Yes,” she said.
He added a second, stretching her gently, working them in and out of her until he felt her internal muscles tighten around him.
His stomach was so tight he could hardly breathe; he was aching with the need to be in her. To feel her around him there. To be connected to her.
He withdrew his fingers, positioning himself again. He could feel her heat, the slick wetness of her desire against the head of his arousal. She kissed his neck, the corner of his mouth, her hands moving over his back. Touching. Tempting. Testing.
He tightened his hands into fists around the sheet as he slid inside of her, inch by inch, slowly, excruciatingly so, but more for him than for her. He was lost. For one blinding moment his mind was clear of everything. Of his need for restraint, control.
There was only this. Only her body. Only the feeling of her around him.
He pushed in deep, thrusting hard, and she gasped, a little note of pain in the sound that brought him sharply back to the present.
“Okay?” he asked.
She nodded, biting her lip. He bent his head and kissed her. “If you’re going to bite someone’s lip,” he said, “make it mine.”
He didn’t expect her to oblige him, but she did, pinning his lip tightly in her teeth. And the pain was just enough to take the edge off the pleasure, just enough to help him regain some of his control.
He thrust into her again, establishing a rhythm, her nails scraping against the bare skin of his back, his shoulders. Her touch inflaming, the pain anchoring, necessary.
“Harder,” he bit out, gripping her thigh and tugging it up over his hip as he continued to ride her. Her hold on his shoulders deepened, her nails digging in enough that he was sure she had to be drawing blood. “Harder,” he said again. And she obliged.
Every time he entered her, she arched into him until finally he felt her go stiff beneath him, a soundless scream on her lips, her warmth pulsing around him. And he let go. The rhythm forgotten, the steadiness gone. Only a blinding race to the finish remained as his blood roared in his ears, the strength of his release savaging him, tearing him to pieces inside and leaving them scattered, impossible to collect. Impossible to ever be whole again in the way he’d been before this. Before his orgasm.
Before Leah.
Somehow, in one wrenching moment, his wife had changed everything. And he felt nearly desperate to find a way to change it back.
