The Fallen Greek Bride\At the Greek Boss's Bidding (10 page)

“I hope you’ll want me to. I love how you taste, and how soft
you are in my mouth...so sweet. But is that too risky for you? Pushing the
limits too much?”

“You love to torment me.”

“Yes, I do,” he agreed, circling her slowly, enjoying just
looking at her, and watching the color come and go in her exquisite porcelain
complexion, and listening to her soft desperate gasps of air. “But this is
nothing, Morgan. I haven’t even gotten started.” He stopped in front of her,
gazed down at her, thinking she looked very young and very uncertain and very
shy, much like his virgin bride. “Now tell me, what should I do to you
first?”

Morgan’s heart was pounding so fast she couldn’t catch her
breath, and she opened her mouth, lips parting, to gulp in shallow gasps of air.
She felt as if she were balancing on the edge of a volcano while little voices
inside her head demanded she throw herself in.

She needed to leave, to escape the villa, to summon the
helicopter and fly far, far away. Remaining here with Drakon was stupid and
destructive. She might as well fling herself into that volcano...the outcome
would be the same.

And yet, wasn’t she already there, in the fiery pit? Because
molten lava seemed to be seeping through her veins, melting her bones and
muscles into mindless puddles of want and need.

She actually felt sick with need right now. But could she do
this...go through with this...knowing it would be just sex, not love? Knowing
Drakon wanted her body but not her heart?

“Are you crying?” he asked, his voice dropping, deepening with
concern, as his hands wrapped around her arms, holding her up.

She shook her head, unable to look him in the eye.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She swallowed hard, tried to speak, but no sound would come
out. Not when her throat ached and her heart was still thundering in her
chest.

He reached up to smooth a dark tendril of hair back from her
face. “Have I frightened you?” His deep voice was suddenly gentle, almost
painfully tender.

Hot tears scalded the back of her eyes. She bit hard into her
lower lip so that it wouldn’t quiver.

“I would never hurt you, Morgan,” he murmured, drawing her
against him, holding her in his arms, holding her securely against his
chest.

She closed her eyes as the heat of his body seeped into her
hands, warming her. He felt good. Too good. It was so confusing. This was
confusing.

She didn’t push him away, and yet she couldn’t relax, waiting
for the moment he’d let her go. But she didn’t want him to let her go. She
wanted him closer. Wanted to press her face to his chest and breathe him in. She
could smell a hint of his spicy fragrance and loved that fragrance—his own
scent, formulated just for him—and what it did to his skin. He smelled like
heaven. Delicious and warm and good and intoxicating. He smelled like everything
she wanted. He smelled like home. He
was
home. He
was everything to her, but wasn’t that the problem? With him, she lost herself.
With him, she lost her mind.

With a strangled cry, Morgan slid a hand up across his chest,
to push him back, and just like before, once she touched him, she couldn’t take
her hand away. She stroked across the hard plane of muscle of his chest,
learning again the shape of his body and how the dense smooth pectoral muscle
curved and sloped beneath her palm. God, he was beautiful. And without his
shirt, his skin would feel so good against hers. She loved the way his bare
chest felt against her bare breasts, loved the friction and the heat and the
delicious, addictive energy—

“Can’t do this,” she choked, shaking her head. “We can’t, we
can’t.”

“Ssshh,” he murmured, cupping her face, his thumbs stroking
lightly over her cheekbones, sweeping from the curve of the bone to her
earlobes. “Nothing bad will happen—”

“Everything bad will happen,” she protested, shivering with
pleasure from the caress. She loved the way he touched her. He made her feel
beautiful, inside and out, and she struggled to remember what bad things would
happen if he touched her....

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, hands slipping from her
face to tangle in her hair.

“And mad, Drakon, certifiably insane—”

“That’s okay.”

“Drakon, I’m serious!”

“I am, too.” His head dipped lower and his lips brushed hers,
lightly, slowly, and she shuddered, pressed closer, a stinging sensation behind
her eyes. One kiss...could it be so bad? One kiss...surely she could be forgiven
that?

His lips found hers again and the kiss was surprisingly gentle,
the pressure of his mouth just enough to tease her, send shivers of desire
racing up and down her spine. This was all so impossible. They couldn’t do this,
couldn’t give in to this, it’s all they had and while the chemistry was intense,
chemistry wasn’t enough. Sex wasn’t enough. She needed more. She needed a
relationship, love, intimacy, commitment, but right now, she also needed
this.

She’d missed him so much. Missed his skin and his scent, his
warmth and his strength, and her defenses caved as his hands framed her face,
and he held her face to his, deepening the kiss, drinking her in.

She could feel him and smell him and taste him now and she was
lost. Nothing felt better than this. Nothing felt better than him. He wasn’t
just her husband, he was home and happiness—

No. No, no, no. Couldn’t think that way, couldn’t lose sight of
reality. He wasn’t home or happiness. And he’d finally agreed to let her go.
After five years of wanting out, and she
did
want
out, she was free.

And yet when his tongue stroked the seam of her lips, she
arched and gasped, opening her mouth to him. Drakon deepened the kiss, his
tongue flicking the inside of her lip, making every little nerve dance. One of
his hands slid from the back of her head, down over her shoulders to her waist
before settling in the small of her spine, urging her closer, shaping her
against his powerful body.

She shuddered with pleasure as his tongue filled her mouth and
the fingers of his hand splayed wider on her back, making her lower belly throb,
ache, just like her thighs ached.

Every thrust of his tongue shot another bright arc of sensation
through her, sensation that surged to the tips of her breasts, tightening them
into hard, sensitive peaks, and then deep into her belly and even deeper to her
innermost place, and yet it wasn’t enough, not even close. Morgan dug her nails
into his shoulders, pressing her breasts to his chest, practically grinding
herself against his hips to feel the ridge of his erection rub against her
sensitive spot at the junction of her thighs and the heat of his palm against
her lower back.

It was still so electric between them, still fierce and wild,
and she felt overwhelmed by desire, overwhelmed by the memory of such dizzying,
maddening pleasure and the knowledge that he was here, and there could be more.
And right now, she wanted more. She literally ached for him and could feel her
body soften and warm for him, her body also clearly remembering that nothing in
the world felt better than him in her. Him with her.

And then his hand was slipping slowly across the curve of her
hip, to cup the roundness of her butt, and she nearly popped out of her skin.
“Drakon,” she groaned against his mouth, feeling as if he were spreading fire
through her, fire and such fierce, consuming need.

She trembled as he stroked the length of her, from her hip to
her breast and down again. His hands were everywhere now, pinching a nipple,
stroking the cleft of her buttocks, shaping her thighs. She wanted his hand
between her thighs, wanted him to touch her, fill her, wanted him more than
she’d wanted anything—

Wait.

Wait.

She struggled to focus, clear her head, which was impossible
with Drakon’s amazing hands on her body and his mouth taking hers, promising her
endless pleasure.

She had to move back, away, had to, now.

But then his hands were up, under her tunic, his skin so warm
against hers, and when he unhooked her bra to cup her breasts, his thumbs
grazing her tight, swollen nipples, she gave up resisting, gave up thinking and
gave in to him.

He stripped off her clothes while kissing her, his hands never
leaving her body as the clothes fell away, giving her no time to panic or
reconsider.

Once naked, he carried her to the bed, and set her on her back
in the middle of the enormous bed. The room’s windows and doors were open and
the sunlight spilled across the floor, splashing on the walls while the heady
sweet scent of wisteria filled the room.

Morgan watched Drakon’s face as he moved over her, his hard,
powerful body warm, his skin a burnished gold, his strong features taut with
passion. But it was his eyes that once again captivated her, and the burning
intensity of his gaze. When he looked at her he made her feel
extraordinary...desirable...rare...impossibly valuable. She knew he didn’t feel
that way about her, not anymore, but with him stretched out over her, his skin
covering her, warming her, it didn’t seem to matter.

She lifted her face to his, and his mouth met hers in a
blistering kiss that melted everything within her. There was nothing she
wouldn’t give him. And as he settled his weight between her thighs, his hips
pressing down against hers, she shivered with pleasure.

He was resting his weight on his forearms, but she wanted more
pressure, not less, and Morgan arched up, pressing her breasts to his bare
chest, loving the friction of his nipples on hers even as she opened her thighs
wider, letting him settle deeper into her.

“I want you,” she whispered against his mouth, her arms
circling his shoulders, her hands sliding into his thick hair, fingers curling
into the crisp strands at his nape. He felt good and smelled good and in this
moment, everything was right in the world...at least, everything was right in
her world. “I want you in me. I need you in me.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“Too long,” she said, lifting her hips, grinding up against
him, not wanting any more foreplay, not wanting anything but him, and his body
meshed deeply with hers.

“Patience,” he answered, kissing the corner of her mouth and
the line of her jaw, smoothing her hair back from her face. “There’s no need to
rush—”

But there was. She didn’t want to wait, had enough teasing and
words and thinking, had enough of everything but him. And right now she just
wanted him. She reached between them, caught his hard shaft and gripped it
firmly, the way she knew he liked it, and rubbed his head up and down her, the
warm, rigid shaft sliding across her damp opening, making him slick, and then
bringing the silken head up to her sensitive nub, drawing moisture up over her
clit.

She heard him groan deep in his throat, a hoarse, guttural
sound of pleasure, and it gave her a perverse thrill, knowing she could make
Drakon feel something so strong that he’d groan aloud.

His hands stroked the outsides of her thighs and then down the
inside and she shifted her hips, positioning him at her wet, slick core. “Do you
want me?” she whispered, her lips at his ear.

“Yes,” he groaned, his voice so low that it rumbled through
her. “Yes, always.”

And then he took control, lowering his weight, forearms pressed
to the bed, and kissed her, deeply, his tongue plunging into her mouth even as
he entered her body, thrusting all the way until they were one, and for a nearly
a minute he remained still, kissing her, filling her, until she felt him swell
inside her, stretching her, throbbing inside her, making her throb, too. Her
pulse raced and her body tingled and burned, her inner muscles clenching and
rippling with exquisite sensation. He was big and hard and warm and she could
come like this, with her body gripping him, holding him, and Drakon knew it,
knew how just being inside her could shatter her.

“Not yet,” she gasped, hands stroking over his broad shoulders
and down the smooth, hard, warm planes of his back, savoring the curve and
hollow of every thick, sinewy muscle. Men were so beautiful compared to women,
and no man was more beautiful than Drakon. “Don’t let me come, not yet. I want
more. I want everything.”

And maybe this was just the plain old missionary position, but
it felt amazing, felt hot and fierce and intense and emotional and physical and
everything that was good. Sex like this was mind-blowingly good, especially with
Drakon taking his time, thrusting into her in long smooth strokes that hit all
the right places, that made her feel all the right things. Morgan wished it
could last forever, but she was already responding, the muscles inside her womb
were coiling tighter and tighter, bringing her ever closer to that point of no
return. Morgan’s head spun with the exquisite sensation, the tension so
consuming that it was difficult to know in that moment if it was pleasure or
pain, and then with one more deep thrust, Drakon sent her over the edge and her
senses exploded, her body rippling and shuddering beneath his.

Drakon came while she was still climaxing and he ground out her
name as he buried himself deeply within her. She could feel him come, feel the
heat and liquid of him surging within her, and it hit her—they hadn’t used a
condom. On their honeymoon they had never used protection. Drakon wanted
children and she wanted to please him and so they had never used birth control,
but this was different. They were divorcing. She’d soon be single. There was
absolutely no way she could cope with getting pregnant now.

“What have we done?” she cried, struggling to push him off of
her. “What did we do?”

Drakon shifted his weight and allowed her to roll away from
him, even as a small muscle jumped in his jaw. “I think you know what we just
did.”

“We shouldn’t have. It was wrong.”

“Doesn’t feel wrong to me,” he said tersely, watching her slide
to the edge of the bed and search for her tunic, or something to cover up
with.