The Kyriakos Virgin Bride / The Billionaire's Bidding. Barbara DunlopЧитать онлайн книгу.
of his nude chest muscles. Jeez, she’d wanted to touch him. His skin would have been sleek and warm to her touch….
“What else?” she gasped.
“I am throbbing with something—a hunger—that I have never felt in my life before. I’m thirty-one years old and I feel like a damned boy. A boy who wants to grab… and squeeze…and possess. Hell, I’m not hot—I’m on goddamn fire.”
Pandora couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response to Zac’s raw outburst. But she could feel. She could feel the rub of Zac’s fingers as he loosed the tiny buttons, could feel the winnow of air against her naked skin as he peeled back the gown. She could hear the faint hum of the air-conditioning and his harsh breathing in the sudden silence of the vast bedroom.
“Okay, that’s the weather taken care of. Any more small talk you fancy making?”
She stared blindly ahead, her body burning with arousal at the fierce onslaught of his erotic, highly charged words.
“Damn! I’ve shocked you, haven’t I? Shocked you with the reality of my desires for you. Sometimes I forget how young and—”
“Zac—”
“—how innocent you are. All those years in a girls’ boarding school, then helping your father, working in his business… I should be shot.” He’d stopped fiddling with the buttons. “I told myself I’d take it slow, told myself I’d—”
“Zac.”
This time he heard her and broke off.
Unable to see his face, she drew a deep breath. This was difficult, more difficult than she’d ever anticipated. “I wasn’t always at school or with my father. I visited with friends—”
“Your father told me,” he interrupted. “Vacations with school friends, carefully vetted—that’s hardly experience.”
“I’m not a total innocent.”
“What are you saying?” There was a fine shake of tension in the thighs clamped around her hips. She baulked. It was too late for this discussion, a discussion that she’d thought totally irrelevant in today’s day and age. They were married, for goodness’ sake. What difference would it make?
She put it all out of her mind and said throatily, “That I want you.”
He gave a growl. His hands were back on the dress, tugging, fevered with impatience. “Damn these buttons! Pandora, my wife, I want you, too—more than I can tell you.”
“So show me, don’t tell me.”
“I thought you wanted small talk.” He gave a soft, husky laugh. “Perhaps we can talk about flesh…” He lifted more fabric from her back. “Or skin.” A finger slid into the indent of her spine, along the length of the shallow groove. “Shall I tell you how soft your skin is?”
An exquisite sensation rippled down…down…pooling in her abdomen, sliding lower. Pandora shuddered and flexed her toes, anything to slow the pleasure that threatened to consume her. “Talk’s cheap,” she gurgled, struggling for air.
“So you want action?” And then his lips were there placing openmouthed kisses in the hollow of her spine. And his tongue…
Jeez, his tongue! She bit the back of her hand, determined not to let the moans escape. The maddening caresses eased. And she breathed again. The dress gave some more, his hands were working quickly now. Frenzied.
“At last.”
She felt the cool air on her exposed buttocks as he peeled the fabric away, heard his gasp.
“What is this? Is it meant to drive me out of my skull with desire?” His voice was hoarse, his Greek accent pronounced. “Because, I swear to you, it’s succeeding.”
As his fingers hooked under the tiny bits of white Lycra that made up the minuscule thong she wore, the tremors started again. Stronger this time. Tremors that he must feel. She pictured what he saw: a Y made up of three laces of Lycra. Then there was the narrow triangle of delicate white lace in front that he couldn’t see.
She struggled to find her voice. “That’s the something new.”
“What?” He sounded shell-shocked.
“Something old, something new. Remember? The rhyme I told you about? I thought the dress could do double duty and pass as something old as well as something borrowed.”
“Forget the dress.” He tugged it out from under her, dropping it on the floor. “I don’t want to hear another word about that damned old piece of silk. It’s taken up far too much of our time this evening already.” He stroked a long sweep down her back and whispered, “Your skin is living silk. Pandora, wife, you are amazing.”
She didn’t—couldn’t—answer. A blast of desire unlike anything she’d experienced in her life shook her. Then his hands were running over the naked globes of her bottom, a finger tracing the white thread of the thong that laced across the small of her back. And he was kissing the depression at the base of her back. That finger—oh, glory, that finger—traced the last bit of thong down between her legs. She bit down harder in case she started to scream.
The yearning ache between her legs caused her to shift restlessly…she wanted him to touch her there.
“Is this what you want, agapi?”
His hand was under the whisper of white lace now, at the heart of her, his fingertips exploring the wet crease, touching the tight bud.
A moan broke from her.
She wriggled, opening her legs wider. Another stroke. She went rigid as sensation shafted through her.
“More?” he asked. And touched again.
She fought the ache…the desire…all the while craving—
“More,” she panted.
This time he barely touched her, just the lightest teasing brush of his fingertips, and a fierce heat swept that tiny bead of flesh. This time she screamed and came apart in his arms. Then she lay there breathless, spent, feeling as if a firestorm has swept over her and heard Zac’s murmur full of dark delight in her ear.
“There’s much, much more to come. And we have all night long.”
Three
“It is done.”
Pandora tilted her head at the sound of Zac’s beloved voice and paused in midstep on the balcony outside his study. She’d woken to find Zac gone, only a delicate long- stemmed white rose and a note on the pillow beside her. His writing was strong and slanted and told her that something had come up to which he needed to attend and he’d see her at breakfast in the sunroom downstairs.
She’d risen, placed the rose in a glass of water and picked the discarded wedding dress off the carpet and hung it up carefully. A quick shower to freshen up, and she’d pulled the first thing that came to hand—a filmy sundress with splashes of colour that clung in all the right places— out of the large walk-in cupboard where her clothes had been hung. Leaving her long hair loose, she sprayed a dash of fragrance behind her ears and came to find Zac, still dazed and glowing from the incredible lovemaking of the night before.
Her groom was not in the sunroom, so she skipped through the open doors onto the balcony where they’d kissed last night, wondering what people—his family, his friends, his colleagues—had made of their sudden disappearance from the reception.
Oh, jeez. She shut her eyes. They hadn’t even stuck around long enough to cut the cake. Soon she’d have to face the knowing stares of Zac’s family at lunch. She shuddered at the discomfiting idea.
The sound of voices halted her embarrassing thoughts. From where she lurked on the balcony