Consequence Of The Greek's Revenge. Trish MoreyЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      SO MUCH MORE than a mere kiss! His scent, his taste and the feel of him combined into one powerful cocktail and she wanted more. She parted her lips and he accepted her invitation, his tongue tasting, testing, before engaging hers in a sensual dance of passion and need. She was already lost in sensation, blood fizzing in her veins, when she felt the brush of his thumb against one sensitive nipple, and she gasped into his mouth with the sheer electricity of it.

      He growled, liking her response, his hands growing bolder, sweeping from her shoulders to the cheeks of her behind, squeezing, her muscles clenching and tightening in response as his fingertips ventured dangerously close to her cleft.

      ‘Theos,’ he said, wrenching his mouth from hers. ‘Stay, and make love with me, Athena.’

      She answered him with her mouth and her body, pulling his head back to hers, pressing her full length against his body, her plumping breasts hard against his chest, her hips pushed against his. She encountered the evidence of his own arousal and felt a rush of heat hard on the heels of a bloom of delight.

      For so long, it seemed, she’d felt numb. Too long. Ever since she’d heard the news of her father’s death and been sideswiped by the impact it had on her. By the knowledge that now she had lost both her mother and, even if their relationship had been difficult at times, or maybe because of it, her father.

      She’d been operating in a vacuum ever since.

      Numb. Emotionless.

      But Alexios had awakened something deep inside her and it unfurled and blossomed like a flower that had been buried under a winter snow. It was so good to feel again.

      And now, all she wanted to do was feel.

      Her feet went from underneath her, as he swept her up into his arms, his lips still on hers. He turned and kicked open a door, before spinning around and kicking it shut behind them. She had an impression of space, of high ceiling and billowing curtains on windows opening to the caldera, before she felt softness at her back as he laid her down in a bed hung with silken drapes of red and gold, the colours of the sunset.

      Then he drew back, one knee on the bed, and looked at her in the half-light. ‘So beautiful,’ he said, and his words gave her hope that her life had turned a corner, and that the bleakness of the last few weeks might be at an end.

      He tugged at the buttons on his shirt, pulled it from his shoulders and sent it fluttering to the floor. Her eyes drank him in. Wide shoulders. Sculpted chest and abdomen and arms where muscles rippled with every movement. Arms whose hands were working at his waistband, sliding down the zipper, before they too joined his shirt on the floor.

      And all the while, his dark eyes didn’t leave hers, their intensity leaving her breathless and giddy, making way for one brief moment of indecision, a sudden bubble of nerves that this was happening too fast. A sudden bubble of rational thought that sprang up unbidden.

      As if sensing her momentary panic, he surprised her by reaching down to kiss her again, soothing her, and already it seemed too long that he’d been away, while his hand slid beneath her to ease down the zipper at her back. With every parted tooth she felt her desire intensify and coalesce, until need was at the very essence of her. He was still kissing her as he eased the shoulder straps down her arms, still kissing her as she eased up her hips and let him peel her sundress away, until she was lying on the bed with nothing but a few scraps of lace to shield her from his view, and never, it seemed, had she felt more vulnerable.

      Only then did his lips leave hers, leaving her breathless and wanting, as he drew himself back on his heels. ‘Magnificent,’ he said, and she let go a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, before he returned to her, running his strong hands up the outside of her legs, her hips, her waist and shoulders and her breathing ratcheted up another notch as he came closer, scooping her into his arms and rolling her against him.

      Skin against skin. His legs tangling with hers, rough versus smooth, corded muscles against toned flesh. His abdomen against hers. Locked from head to toe. An electric connection only heightened by the places still hidden, the places still to be revealed, the places that now ached with potent need.

      His hand cupped one breast and she whimpered, arching her back into his touch, while her hands roamed the glory of his sculpted back, muscles shifting with every movement, fascinating and thrilling her in equal measure, her hands drinking in the perfection of his skin-scape.

      And then the lace covering her breasts was gone and she wanted to cry with relief, but when he dipped his head to take one peaked nipple into his mouth, it was a cry of ecstasy she gave as spears of pleasure shot straight to her aching core.

      She was already burning up when he turned his attention to her other breast, his seeking hand now free to roam downwards, his fingertips toying with the lace edging of her underwear before inching slowly beneath the lace to cup her mound, before venturing closer to that place where her need pooled and coalesced into a living beast, demanding to be sated. She was breathing hard now, alight with the passion he’d unfurled in her, perspiration beading on her skin as, stoked by his every touch, the flames built up inside.

      She was already teetering on the edge, anticipation acting like accelerant on a fire, so when his fingers parted her, finding her slick with want, her nerve endings all but screaming for his touch, she was already primed.

      One gliding caress, one gentle pass by no more than a fingertip, and she climaxed against his hand. Hard. The shudders reverberating through her, wave after wave of pleasure rocking her world, until it felt as if he were the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

      He kissed her as she came down, raining kisses on her mouth, on her eyes, on her sweat-slickened breasts. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, suddenly embarrassed and feeling gauche, her inexperience clearly on display.

      ‘Shh...’ he soothed. ‘Don’t be.’

      ‘But...’

      ‘We are just getting started.’

      She blinked up at him, still catching her breath, to see him sliding down the band of black underwear at his hips. Her eyes widened in appreciation. Even bigger than she’d imagined when she’d felt the hard press of him against her belly. Even more magnificent. And despite just climaxing, despite thinking she was spent, she felt desire curl upwards inside her like tendrils of fragrance from a scented candle.

      He reached across into a drawer beside the bed, ripping open the foil without taking his eyes from hers, rolling the condom down his long length, his eyes daring hers to watch his progress. ‘You see what you do to me, mikro peristeri? You see how much I burn for you?’

      The endearment was sweet, but... ‘Why do you call me your little dove?’

      ‘Because since we met,’ he said, positioning himself between her legs, leaning on one elbow to slowly sweep the other hand from her hair to her shoulder, over one breast and her belly, and lower, his fingers curving between her thighs, ‘you are always on edge. Always looking to fly away.’

      She swallowed. It was hard to hold a conversation when a man had his hand—there. ‘I’m not flying away now.’

      ‘No,’ he said with a smile, his fingers traversing her still-sensitive flesh, gently exploring, caressing, circling her tender core. ‘You are a gift straight from the gods. How blessed am I that I should have stumbled into your orbit?’

      Why