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Great sex, hot sex, hard, carnal sex, wasn’t normally an issue for him, but he had rules, and walls, and boundaries and hot, hard carnal sex stayed in the bedroom, and didn’t intrude on the rest of his life, and yet last night, even after leaving the bedroom, he felt her.
He thought of her.
He wanted her.
Even now he wasn’t relaxed. Instead, he’d wanted to return to the bedroom and wake her with his mouth and fingers and cock. He wanted to hear her make those whimpering sounds as she came. He wanted to feel her body arch, her full breasts crushed to his chest, her moisture creating the perfect silken slickness for each of his hard thrusts.
Damen jerked off twice in that damn guest bedroom, his mind and body too aroused and refusing to be soothed.
Feeling so much was disorienting, and distracting. He kept having washes of memory. Memory of home. Memory of olive groves. Memory of a lean tan boy who’d once loved deeply, before becoming a monster.
Damen slammed his hand against the door, slamming away memories, suppressing sensation and emotion. He refused to go there. He refused to get caught up in the past. And if Kassiani was wakening the past, then far better he take control of their relationship now before she let the monster loose.
* * *
In the end, it was a disappointing day for a newly married woman.
Kassiani had tried to keep busy. She’d tried to remain upbeat. She’d tried to fill her hours, which was why she swam in the fitness pool, sunbathed on the sundeck, napped for an hour in the shade, found two books in the library and watched a movie in the theater, with meals and snacks and cold beverages served in between by attentive staff.
Kassiani had successfully kept herself occupied, but as she finished her after-dinner liqueur, and changed for bed without a single appearance by her new husband, she couldn’t help feeling let down. Maybe even betrayed.
Yes, it was a superyacht, but theoretically, it wasn’t that big. He knew she was there. And he hadn’t once sought her out.
Turning out the light, she sat on the foot of the bed in the dark. Her emotions swirled within her, cloudy and confusing. Last night when she had fallen asleep next to him, she felt safe. Secure. There had been no regrets, just relief and surprise...maybe even joy. The lovemaking had been a joy.
She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t expected to feel so good in his arms. She hadn’t expected to relish the sensation of him, in her, filling her.
But now, in the fading light of day, she didn’t feel as calm and content. In fact, she didn’t feel calm at all. She was unsettled, and bewildered.
The lovemaking had been so intimate. They’d explored each other’s bodies and given each other so much pleasure, and yet now Damen had retreated, and she didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but today he’d shut her out, completely.
She drew her knees up to her chest, and sighed, because on second thought, she was sure it was intentional.
Damen Alexopoulos was a man who left nothing to chance. If she hadn’t seen him, it was because he’d avoided her today, not easy on a yacht because they were confined. At sea.
If he hadn’t bothered to find her, and speak to her, and check on her well-being, then it was because he wanted her to understand that he was the boss. Not her. He was teaching her her place. And her place wasn’t with him.
It was deflating, especially after what had taken place last night.
But in a strange way she understood. They had been so intimate, and so open, that it was understandable that today he wanted to take back some of that power, because Greek men were all about power. Her father had been the same. Damen was letting her know that she might be his wife, but she wasn’t an equal, and she most definitely wasn’t his partner.
* * *
He wasn’t going to go to her tonight. He would lay down the routine now, the pattern that they’d live by. The sooner she understood that he had control, and he valued control, the better.
But lying in the guest bedroom he’d taken since his room had become Kassiani’s, he couldn’t relax, instantly hard every time he thought of her. Last night she’d felt so good. Just remembering her soft skin and her soft pants and husky little breaths turned him on even now. He needed relief and he wanted to return to the master bedroom, and take her again, and he was certain she wouldn’t refuse him. No, his little kitten would welcome him, and she’d be ready for him, and he ached, imagining how good it would feel to sink into her creamy satin heat.
But he wasn’t going to just go to her every time he wanted release. She would assume his visits meant that he wanted her—not sex with her. She would imagine, as women did, that there was more to their relationship than a contractual marriage. She would then try to share things with him—thoughts and feelings—and expect him to reciprocate, and that wasn’t going to happen. Ever. Better to disappoint her a little now than to risk greater drama later.
Kassiani had just finished dressing when a light knock sounded on the bedroom door. She opened it to discover one of the ship’s stewards in the hall. “We have just anchored and Mr. Alexopoulos is waiting for you on the deck. He suggests you bring a sweater.” The steward glanced down at her feet. “He also suggested comfortable shoes but I think you’ll be fine in those sandals. I’ll wait for you here to show you the way.”
“I’m ready now,” she answered. “Let me just grab a sweater.”
Kassiani was excited and also curious. She’d thought the yacht had slowed, and maybe stopped, but she hadn’t realized they’d actually dropped anchor. “Where are we?” she asked as she followed the staff member down several flights of stairs to the level where they’d board a smaller boat.
“Paros,” he answered simply.
“I’ve never heard of it,” she answered truthfully.
* * *
As they stepped into the sunlight, Kassiani spotted her husband by the railing, and her stomach dropped amid a sudden flurry of nerves. He was tall and lean and quite devastatingly attractive this morning in a black knit shirt and khaki shorts that hit just above his knee. The shirt wasn’t overly tight and yet even then it clung to his muscular shoulders and outlined the hard planes of his chest, while wrapping firm biceps, biceps that drew her attention.
He was far too handsome for her. She felt even dumpier as she joined him, only then noticing the sleek, white speedboat tethered to the side of the yacht. He extended a hand to her, to assist her into the boat. “We’re having breakfast on shore.”
“Good. I’m desperate for coffee,” she answered, painfully self-conscious as she put her hand in his. In bed with him she’d felt confident, but yesterday had made her insecure again, and yet when his fingers closed around hers, she felt an electric shock and her shyness turned to heat, with disconcerting warmth flooding her limbs.
She wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that the racing boat made it virtually impossible to talk as they zipped across the water toward a whitewashed town flanking a gorgeous little bay. The shimmering buildings rose up on the hill and lined the small bay. “Tell me where we’re going,” she said as the boat slowed, approaching the wharf.
“We’re going to spend the morning on Paros, one of my favorite Greek islands. Most tourists don’t know about it, and yet it’s only several hours by ferry from Athens. First we’ll have breakfast in Naousa, the fishing village in front of us, and then we’ll go explore for a bit before having a glass of ouzo and returning to the yacht.”
She listened to this without comment, butterflies flitting madly in her middle as her gaze settled on his strong, muscular legs, his skin a warm burnished bronze. She’d thought he looked powerful and handsome in his wedding tuxedo, but this casual dress made her think wicked, carnal thoughts, thoughts where he had her naked on the bed, and he was doing the most wonderful things to her.
He took her hand again as they docked, his fingers interlacing with hers, and
kept it as they entered town, traveling through narrow whitewashed alleyways with shutter-framed windows. Flowers spilled from huge glazed terra-cotta pots, and purple bougainvillea bloomed over doorways.
She didn’t know where they were going, but he did, and they traveled through town, up a narrow cobblestone road to a building partway up the hill. It was a café, she discovered as they crossed the threshold, and a waiter came forward to greet them, escorting them to a table on the terrace with a view of the port.
“That was a hike,” she said with a small laugh as they were seated. “Now I know why I needed appropriate shoes.”
“Are your feet sore?”
“No. I’m good.”
“It’s a bit of a climb, but the view, and the food, is worth it.”
