The Most Powerful Of Kings (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Royal House of Axios, Book 2)

by Jackie Ashenden

  He had been angry—no, more like furious—with himself. Because it was no one’s fault but his that this had happened. He was the one with the experience and he was the one who knew that even with condoms there was a small failure rate. And there was nothing to be done about it. It had happened and the fierce protectiveness that had rushed through him, as strong as the possessiveness, wouldn’t be denied, no matter what justifications he gave himself.

  He knew what he must do. Nothing was certain until after the twelve-week mark and it was still early days, but that didn’t matter. There was Ione to consider, and what Anna had said to him at the celebration, about how Ione wasn’t happy, had stuck in his head.

  Happiness was a feeling he didn’t need, but, no matter his father’s training, he found he couldn’t bear the thought that his daughter didn’t need it either. He knew what the expectations were of an heir and how heavily they had sat on his shoulders. How sometimes he’d wanted his parents to be normal parents, who put him first and not the crown. Yet they never had. Even in those last moments, his mother had been acting to protect her husband, not him.

  He could do that for Ione, though. He could give her someone who would put her first. Someone loving and loyal, someone who could perhaps provide him with some physical relief too. A wife, in other words. He hadn’t planned on marrying again, not wanting to put a potential partner through the misery Sophia had endured. But perhaps it would be different this time with Anna. He would set it out plainly for her, like a job. And she could also choose to view it that way if that was preferable to her.

  She wasn’t from an aristocratic family, but his kingship was secure. It didn’t matter who he married, and Anna was the logical choice, even if her pregnancy didn’t go ahead.

  After all, it wasn’t as if she loved him.

  You thought that about Sophia. And Anna is passionate; she feels things deeply. You can’t possibly expect her to remain unengaged.

  But he refused that thought, just as he’d refused it as she’d flung her accusation about the lack of attention he gave the one child he already had. She’d stood straight and tall, blazing, not like a little nun, but like steel tempered in fire, becoming stronger and sharper.

  He hadn’t been able to stop himself as she’d spoken his name, the blaze in her eyes changing into passion as he felt his own desire rise. He didn’t want to stop though. He’d been dreaming of her, of her mouth under his, of the sweet heat between her thighs and the soft curves of her breasts, for weeks, and he was hungry. So very, very hungry. And it was a sharp, raw thing that clawed at his insides with a deep, insistent ache.

  He shouldn’t give in to the intensity of his need and he knew it. He knew, too, that his detachment was already compromised from their previous encounter.

  But he hadn’t been able to resist.

  She’d awoken the lion and this lion was ravenous.

  His grip tightened on her wrists and, though she made an attempt to pull away, he didn’t let her, pushing her wrists behind her back and holding them there. She groaned as her mouth opened beneath his and he tasted her, the hot sweetness of her like summer wine.

  And just like that night in his office, there was no shyness in her and she held nothing back, her kiss that of a starving woman and he a feast brought before her.

  She made an insistent, demanding sound, pushing herself against him, her soft curves pressed to his body, and his hunger sharpened further, gaining a possessive edge which was choking in its intensity.

  He should have resisted that too, but he didn’t. Because as her teeth sank into his lower lip, the lion escaped its cage entirely.

  Adonis growled, gripping her wrists hard in one hand and jerking down the bodice of her gown with the other, baring her to the waist. Then he cupped one breast, squeezing gently, testing the weight of it. Her skin was silky and warm in his palm, and she gasped against his mouth, arching into him.

  He kissed her harder, deeper, teasing her hard nipple with his thumb, then pinching it lightly. She shuddered, a low moan escaping her. Her soft curves were crushed against him, the heat of her skin burning through the black wool of his tuxedo, and suddenly the clothing separating them was too much.

  He wanted her naked, wanted skin on skin with nothing between them.

  She is yours now.

  Yes, she was.

  He let go of her straining wrists, found her zip and tugged it down. Then he peeled the gown away from her, leaving her naked but for her plain white knickers.

  ‘Adonis,’ she gasped, reaching for him, but he pushed her down onto the couch.

  ‘Stay there,’ he ordered harshly as she tried to get up, shrugging off his jacket and dropping it carelessly onto the floor.

  She stilled, watching him, her breasts rising and falling fast and hard with her quickened breathing. She was a beautiful sight, all white skin and luscious curves and rosy nipples. Her pretty hair was still piled on top of her head, but he would take that down. He would ruin it. He would ruin her for anyone but him.

  Ripping open the buttons of his shirt, he tore it off, then reached for his belt.

  She moved on the couch as if to go to him, but he shook his head. She ignored him, lioness that she was, coming to stand before him then dropping to her knees.

  ‘Please,’ she said hoarsely, tipping her head back and looking up at him. ‘Let me.’

  His hunger turned savage. ‘Are you sure you want to do that?’ He didn’t bother to hide the growl in his voice. ‘I am in no mood to be kind.’

  Silver gleamed in her eyes, as though the sharp edge of the blade she had become was glinting. ‘Neither am I.’

  This woman was dangerous. She would make a good match for him.

  He bared his teeth in a lion’s smile. ‘Are you hungry for me, little nun? Are you desperate for a taste?’

  ‘Yes.’ She lifted her hands, shaking, to his belt buckle. ‘So much.’

  Dimly, he could feel the king inside him try to take back some control, try to put some distance between him and his hunger. But the king wasn’t in charge now.

  He was a man and he would have what he wanted.

  So he stood there while she undid his belt and then the fastenings of his trousers, pulling down the zip and opening the two sides. And when she reached inside his boxers to grip the hard length of his shaft, he didn’t stop her. Sensation rippled through him as her fingers circled him. She drew him out, sparks of pleasure igniting along all his nerve endings, and another growl was torn from him.

  She looked up at him, stroking him, her eyes like moonlight. ‘I don’t know how to do this. Show me.’

  He didn’t need to be asked twice. Reaching down, he speared his fingers into the delicate confection of curls on her head, destroying its perfection, and her gasp intensified the pleasure inside him.

  ‘Take me in your mouth,’ he ordered.

  And she did.

  Heat exploded through him, the catch of his breath echoing through the room, fire leaping in her eyes in response. Oh, she liked that. She liked giving him pleasure.

  It made him even harder and as her lips closed around him, heat enveloping him, he was trapped by the intensity of her silver gaze, caught in an endless loop of pleasure. She gave him pleasure, and his reaction sparked pleasure in her, which then gave it back to him; it was a constant cycle, an unbreakable current.

  She wasn’t a nun any longer. She was a lioness, a sword. A goddess kneeling at his feet. And he wanted more, which made his decision to take her for himself the best decision. The only decision.

  The man cannot have anything, you know this.

  But he discarded that thought as he’d discarded the golden lion pin on his jacket. Tonight, the king was forgotten. There was only the man, and the man had been denied too long.

  He told her what to do, but soon she didn’t need much in the way of guidance, findin
g her own way, licking him, tasting him, exploring him, giving little hums of satisfaction every time she drew a growl of pleasure from him, driving him to the brink of insanity.

  He pulled her head away from him, ignoring her cry of protest. ‘On the couch,’ he ordered. And as she did what she was told, he got rid of the rest of his clothes. Then, finally naked, he joined her on the cushions, pushing her rounded thighs wide apart so he could kneel between them.

  She was panting, her eyes dark, her skin like silk as he ran his hands all over it.

  ‘Oh... Adonis...please...’

  ‘Beg for me, little nun,’ he murmured, his voice nothing but gravel and sand. ‘Again.’

  And she did, and when he buried his face between her legs, she begged again and again as he tasted her, licking her, exploring all her hidden valleys, all the places she was most sensitive, all the places that gave her the most pleasure, using her cries and sobs as his guide.

  Then, when he felt her muscles lock, he slid his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her higher, drinking from her, using his tongue to drive her straight to the edge and then over it.

  She arched, convulsing, a cry of ecstasy breaking from her, but he didn’t stop, tasting the wild, sweet flavour of her orgasm. Then he slipped one hand between her thighs, stroking through her slippery folds, driving her straight towards another. A choked gasp escaped her, and he shifted, pushing himself up and leaning over her, bending to take one stiff pink nipple in his mouth, sucking hard as he eased one finger inside her, then another, setting up an insistent rhythm of sensation that had her twisting on the sheets and screaming his name yet again as another climax hit her.

  He eased her down after that, stroking her as she shuddered through the aftershocks. Strands of hair clung to her damp forehead, her skin gleaming with perspiration, and she looked thoroughly ruined.

  But he wasn’t done.

  You’ll never be done.

  The thought whispered through his head as he picked her up from the couch cushions, heading for the stairs and the upstairs bedroom, the truth of it settling down into him. No, possibly he wouldn’t. But that didn’t matter.

  She was his now and he’d have all the time in the world to test that theory.

  The bed upstairs that faced the windows with the dark sea beyond was wide, the sheets cool, and when he laid her down on it he scanned her face, looking for any signs that she’d had enough.

  But when he settled himself between her thighs, her warmth and softness beneath him, she slid her hand into his hair and pulled his head down, her mouth hot and sweet and open under his.

  She was so generous. She would never turn him away and he felt the truth of that deep inside him. He could come to her and she would take him in, and she would hold him. He could pour himself into her and she would take it all.

  She will put you first.

  Something in his chest shifted, something tight. Something he wasn’t comfortable with. The embers in the dead hearth of his heart glowed as if someone had breathed air on them.

  He ignored it. Instead, he embraced the pleasure as he lifted his head from her mouth and looked into her eyes, thrusting inside her, sheathing himself in her slick heat.

  She gasped, his name a prayer on her lips. And when he drew back and thrust again she cried out, her legs closing around his waist, her hips rising to meet his.

  And he kept on staring into the silver darkness of her eyes as he drove them both to the edge of oblivion.

  And over it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ANNA WOKE TO sunlight pressing against her closed lids. She sighed and shifted, conscious that her body ached as if she’d had a hard workout, which was strange, since she wasn’t a fan of exercise at the best of times.

  Perhaps she’d done too much running around with Ione yesterday?

  She shifted again, only to have the large, heavy arm wrapped around her waist tighten, drawing her against something hard and very, very hot.

  Her breath caught, shock rippling through her, closely followed by flickers of memory.

  Memories of fainting at a ball. Of the king catching her. The king kissing her.

  The king inside her, moving with a savage, relentless rhythm, and the cries he’d drawn from her. The pleasure that had coursed through her.

  Of looking up into blue eyes gone the colour of midnight, his gaze fierce as it held hers. Moonlight had caught his brutally handsome features, limning them in silver, and her heart had kicked hard in her chest.

  He’d been strong and beautiful and hungry. And he’d kept her awake, demanding more and more of her as the night had gone on. But she hadn’t cared. She’d given him everything she had and more, because she was hungry too.

  For him and only him.

  She kept her eyes closed for a second longer, not wanting to move because there were other memories there apart from pleasure: him telling her that she was pregnant and the future she’d always imagined for herself burning to ashes.

  They hadn’t discussed anything last night, too caught up in sating the desire that had blazed so intensely between them. She still didn’t even know where he’d taken her or why.

  Cautiously, she opened her eyes.

  They were lying in a big, wide bed, white sheets tumbled and tangled all around them. The bed faced big windows that looked out onto a deep blue ocean, flooding the room with bright sunlight that made the whitewashed stone walls glow.

  The dark wood of the floor was covered in bright silk rugs, another rug pinned to the wall above the bed. It was a simple, bare room, the only furniture the bed, two bedside tables in heavy, dark wood and a carved wooden dresser against one wall.

  Clearly, it was the king’s house but...where was it? And why had he brought her here?

  Moving slowly, she managed to wiggle out from underneath his arm and sat up, turning to look down at him. He was still asleep, the hard lines of his face relaxed, making him seem younger. She stared at the way his mouth curled slightly, as if he was on the verge of a smile.

  That would never happen. Adonis didn’t smile, or if he did, she’d never seen it.

  Her heartbeat gave another kick. She wanted to see it. And she wanted to be the one who made him smile, too, wanted that very much. In fact, there were a lot of things she wanted when it came to him, and it wasn’t all about sex, either.

  She reached out to touch one heavily muscled shoulder, loving the velvety feel of his warm skin. The lines of his royal tattoo, a crowned lion, stalked across his back, the colours deep and rich, red and gold and black. It was beautiful. She traced the lion’s roaring mouth and the edges of its mane, yet another sign that it wasn’t just a man lying next to her, but a king.

  A king who won’t let himself be a man.

  ‘You like that?’ The sound of his voice, roughened by the night they’d spent together, took her by surprise, sending a pleasant shock through her.

  She almost snatched her hand away, unsure whether she should be taking such liberties. Then again, after last night, surely everything was allowed?

  ‘Yes, it’s beautiful.’ She touched the gold crown on the lion’s head. ‘Is it only kings who are allowed the tattoo?’

  ‘Only the crowned lion. Xerxes has one, but his lion doesn’t have a crown.’

  ‘When did you get it?’

  ‘When I was eighteen. The royal tattooist is the only one permitted to use this design and only on the royal family. The inks are special too.’

  ‘Will Ione have one?’ she asked, curious. ‘Or is it only men who have it?’

  ‘Not only men. Ione will have hers when she turns eighteen.’ His gaze was clear and cold as a winter sky, focusing intently on her. ‘Don’t you want to know where we are and why?’

  She slid a finger along one of the lion’s big paws. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘This was my mother’s house. My
father gave her this island as a wedding present.’

  A dark current of emotion threaded through the words and Anna paused in her tracing of the lion on his shoulder, glancing down into his eyes.

  His mother. Who’d died in a car accident, according to the history books.

  ‘It seems lovely,’ she said carefully.

  ‘It is. She didn’t come here much.’ He reached suddenly for her hand and took it in his, turning her palm over and studying it intently. ‘She preferred the palace. I had a nanny who used to bring me here for holidays.’

  Anna shivered as he ran a finger lightly over the centre of her palm, her whole body reacting to his touch. ‘A nanny?’

  ‘I didn’t spend much time with my parents.’ He circled her palm gently, his attention on her hand. ‘They were always busy.’

  Again there was a dark edge threading through his tone, and it made her throat close in sudden foreboding. The queen had died when he was young... Was this part of his unhappy childhood?

  ‘Your mother died in a car accident, didn’t she?’ Anna asked hesitantly.

  ‘No,’ he said without any discernible emotion. ‘It was not a car accident.’

  ‘But wasn’t that—’

  ‘A story the media were told. There was no accident. Our car was ambushed by an enemy faction when I was seven. They wanted my father, but he never rode in the same car with us for safety reasons. They overcame our guards, dragged us from the car, and tried to make my mother tell them where he was. But she wouldn’t, so they hurt her.’

  Anna stared at him, shocked. ‘Hurt her?’

  ‘They tortured her, but she wouldn’t give away my father’s position.’ He paused, the icy blue of his eyes fathomless. ‘I was desperate to stop them hurting her, so I told them instead.’

  Anna’s breath caught. ‘Oh, Adonis...’

  ‘Even after I’d betrayed the king, she tried to stop them, grabbing one of their guns. But they shot her. My father was injured in the subsequent attack, but luckily his bodyguards were able to save him. My mother died of her injuries.’ His voice was so cold, as if it were someone else’s mother who’d died, and not his own.