Irresistible Greeks: Unsuitable and Unforgettable. Jane PorterЧитать онлайн книгу.
her, and that fear wasn’t rooted in the fear of physical pain, but over how complete the loss of control might be. Over whether or not she would be able to hold onto her defenses.
He smoothed his thumb over her cheek. “Tell me, is there a specific act that causes worse pain?”
She nodded, finding that focusing on the physical was helpful. “Orgasm can cause pain, which … sucks.” She breathed the last word with a shaky laugh. “The worst of it always came from … penetration. In the end at least.”
He nodded slowly. “No sex. Not now. I want to take your dress off. I want to touch your breasts. Taste them, too. Nothing more. Nothing more until you’re ready.”
She could hardly breathe. His promises, so husky and sensual and perfect, had her body wound so tight she was certain she would break. “You really do have a way with words.”
“Funny you should say that. My speechwriters usually handle my words. I pride myself on being a man of action. What are words if you can’t back them up?” He slid his hands down to the first button on her dress and slowly slid the little fabric-covered bead through the hole, letting the neck of the dress gap.
She wished she could capture the bravado she’d felt last night. But then, last night had been her game. She’d been in control, in her element. She’d been giving pleasure and feeding off of the residual. Here and now, Stavros had command of her. A reverse on last night, and she found she actually liked it.
He moved to the next button, then the next, pressing a kiss to her neck for each button. When he reached the button just beneath her breasts, he slid his tongue along the line of her collarbone, then down a fraction. He paused at her belt, sliding it through the buckle slowly, then letting it drop. He continued down, until her dress hung open, until his tongue was curving around the line of her bra, teasing her sensitive flesh.
She shivered as he pushed the dress from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in her white pumps and matching bra and panties.
“You are amazing,” he said, dropping to his knees to press a kiss to her stomach. Tears filled her eyes and she couldn’t stop them. She didn’t want him to take her panties off, not this time. He would see her scars and she wasn’t ready. Not yet.
She tugged on his shoulders, urging him up, and he complied, his hand on her back, toying with the catch on her bra, teasing them both. He took a step, his arms wrapped around her still. She stepped backward. They made a slow, smooth dance to the bed and he undid her bra as he laid her down, pulling it off and casting it aside.
He was half over her, his breathing harsh, his eyes on her bare breasts. Thankfully, she knew they were one of her best features, so this was the easy part. It was made even easier when she caught the feral light in his dark eyes. “You are so much more beautiful than I imagined. Much more beautiful than I could have imagined. I have never seen a woman as exquisite as you.” He cupped her, slid his fingers gently over her tightened nipples.
She arched into him, pleasure making her breath catch.
“Tell me if I do something you don’t like,” he said. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”
She didn’t want him to stop. Not ever. She reveled in his touch, in the feel of his rough, masculine hands on her tender skin. And when he replaced his fingers with his mouth, with the slick friction of his tongue, she felt a sharp tightening in her core, waves of pleasure, of pending release, rippling through her.
She gripped his hair, arched her body. She was close. She’d never been so close, so fast. She couldn’t remember ever wanting anyone this badly, either.
“Oh, yes.” She sighed, letting her head fall back.
He raised his head. “More?”
She nodded, biting her bottom lip. “Yes.”
He moved his hand down her stomach and she was certain he would feel the line of scar tissue that ran just below the waistband of her underwear, but she was past caring. Past caring about anything. About the future. About possible pain. Even about the loss of control.
How could something that felt so amazing end in pain? Any kind of pain was worth it, surely.
He slipped his fingers beneath her panties, grazed the scar and continued down to where she was wet and ready for him. He teased the entrance to her body with his fingers, before sliding them over her clitoris. The sensation was like fire, burning heat from there throughout her body.
She gritted her teeth, her breath getting sharper, uneven. She curled her fingers into the sheets as he continued to touch her there. Soft, even strokes that brought her closer and closer to the edge.
He leaned in and kissed her mouth as he increased the pressure of his touch, and everything in her seemed to release at once, a flood of pleasure roaring through her, drowning out thought and sound. She cried out, not caring if she was loud, not caring that it was daylight, not caring that their relationship would only last a month.
Because there was nothing else. Not in that moment. There was Stavros. And there was what he made her feel.
Only when reality started piecing itself back together, did fear assault her. But there hadn’t been any pain yet. Still, she waited. Waited for the low, dragging sensation that rivaled stories she’d heard about childbirth to begin.
And there was nothing. Nothing but a feeling of being replete. Nothing but a feeling of total bliss and satisfaction. She didn’t feel as though she’d given her body away, didn’t feel as though she was lost. She felt as though she’d gained a part of herself back.
A sob shook her body and she felt a tear slide down her cheek. The tears she couldn’t find earlier. Tears she hadn’t been able to find for a long time. Something in her shifted, changed. Like a dam had been broken inside of her, one she’d walled up to protect herself. One she felt she didn’t need. Not now.
Stavros cupped her face, his expression fierce. “Did I hurt you?”
She bit her lip and shook her head. “No. You didn’t. I can’t … I can’t remember the last time … Thank you.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him so that her head was rested on his chest. “Don’t thank me.
I can’t accept thanks for that. I took far too much pleasure from it for that.”
“Realistically,” she said, trying to escape from some of the moment’s intimacy, impossible when she was mostly naked and cradled in his arms, but worth a try, “you have to see Victoria a couple more times before you propose.”
He nodded. “All right.”
“I know that will run during our … relationship. But I suppose as long as you don’t …”
“I will be faithful to you, you don’t have to worry about that. And I will be faithful when I am married,” he said.
She swallowed. It was the right thing for him to say, the right thing for him to do. He should keep his vows. She believed in marriage, respected it. For all that she and Gil had screwed up their marriage, neither of them had cheated.
Still, a part of her died when he said it. “I’m glad. For all of that.”
“This might not be the best idea. But I don’t regret it.”
“I can’t, either,” she said. It was the absolute truth. How could she regret what had passed between them? How could she regret the loss of a fear? There were others, of course. But she was free of one, too. And that wasn’t a small thing.
“So, tell me,” she said, attempting a subject change, in a bid keep things from getting too heavy, “what does a woman expect when she signs on to be your temporary companion?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never had a relationship quite like this. Of course, I’ve never met a woman quite like you.”
“What do you normally do?”