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“Yes.” His lips brushed her cheekbone, and then near her ear. “And I think it turns you on, too.” And then he reached down and twisted the doorknob, the bedroom door opening so abruptly she nearly fell into the room. He caught her by the elbow, righting her and steering her into the bedroom before closing the door hard behind them, and then locking it.
Her pulse hammered as he locked the door, and then the air left her lungs when he quietly commanded, “Take off your dress. I want to look at you.”
Heat flooded her, and she could feel herself turning pink, the blood rushing from her chest, up her neck to burn her cheeks, but she headed to the windows to draw the curtains.
“What are you doing?” he ground out.
“Closing the curtains.”
“Why?”
“Because someone might see.”
He barked a laugh, the sound low and so husky that it sent a thrilling ripple through her. “Like me?”
“Perhaps,” she answered, her voice quavering. Her voice wasn’t the only thing shaking. She was trembling, but she wasn’t afraid. No, she was aroused and she felt hot and wet and completely needy, but this was all still new to her and she couldn’t help feeling timid and uncertain.
“You weren’t shy the other night. Why be shy now?”
“It was night. The room was dark.”
“All the better to see you clearly now.”
Some of the warmth inside her faded. Air bottled in her chest. She struggled to keep her emotions in check. “I’m not Elexis.”
“No? What a surprise.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Take your dress off, Petra Kassiani. Your husband grows impatient.”
Her eyes burned. Her throat threatened to seal closed. He would see just how plump she was. He’d be impossibly turned off. But collapsing into tears wouldn’t help, nor would they protect her from his scorn. Maybe it was better to get this over with. Let him see just who and what he’d married. Summoning her courage, she reached down, gathered the skirt of her sundress in her hands and lifted it up, drawing the dress up over her head before dropping it on the floor next to her.
She stood in her navy lace bra and panties, the bra straps not dainty, because her breasts weren’t dainty. At least the matching navy lace panties weren’t large. They were cut low on the hip with high legs that tried to make the most of the figure she had.
She kept her head up as he studied her pale form in the sunlight. It was all she could do not to cover herself. Kassiani knew she had too many curves and not enough flat-toned places. Exercise did little to change her shape, too. But she wouldn’t cower, and she wouldn’t let him know how painful this was for her.
She needed their relationship to be successful. Yes, she’d come into an inheritance when she married Damen, her father’s late sister having set up a trust fund for Kassiani when she was a young girl because Kassiani had reminded her aunt Calista so much of herself as a girl. And Aunt Calista had not had a happy life.
Aunt Calista had never married, and had lived trapped with her own family as a single woman, and she hadn’t wanted that future for Kassiani, and so she’d created a trust for Kass, ensuring she’d inherit money at twenty-five, or when she married, so that she’d always have options and not be dependent on her family.
But her aunt Calista didn’t understand that Kass wanted to be married, because she wanted children. She hadn’t married Damen so that she could leave him and live off her trust fund. She’d married Damen to be a wife and mother, and maybe she didn’t know how to be a traditional Greek wife, but she could be a good wife. She was determined to be what Damen needed. After twenty-three years of being shunned and invisible, she was ready to be seen.
“You are beautiful,” Damen said abruptly, his deep, rough voice breaking the silence.
“I’m not—”
“You are. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t say it.” He dropped onto the bed, and leaned back, watching her from beneath heavy lids. “Take off your bra.”
Heat rushed through her, making her skin prickle, and her breasts tighten and peak. She reached behind her and unhooked the bra, peeling it off before discarding it on the floor on top of her dress.
“Now your panties,” he directed.
“You’re not making this very comfortable,” she flashed.
“Good. That makes it even more stimulating.”
“Why do you like dominating?” she asked, stepping out of her panties.
“Why do you like being dominated?”
“I don’t.”
“I think you do, and here is why. You’re smart. You’re smarter than anyone else in your family. They are all predictable. Your life has been predictable. It’s unpredictable now, and you and your interesting brain like that.”
She couldn’t argue with that, and his insight astounded her. “Do you say this to all your women?”
“No. You’re nothing like the women I’ve had in my life. You’re like nothing I’ve ever known.”
“Is that bad?”
“No. It’s good. Now touch yourself,” he interrupted. “Play with your nipples.”
She stiffened, flushing. Her hands wrapped around her middle. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“That’s just...weird. Awkward.”
“But doesn’t it feel good?”
“My breasts are awful. They are so big—”
“They’re perfect. But as it makes you nervous being the only one naked, I’ll disrobe, too, which should level the playing field slightly.” He rose and removed his clothing.
Shirt, pants, snug briefs off, one after the other.
She gulped as his thick erection sprang free. He was big, and the head of his shaft was equally thick and round. He reached down and stroked the length of him, his palm giving extra attention to the smooth head.
She remembered him in her mouth, and remembered how he’d filled her, and how incredibly good it had felt when he’d thrust in and out, finding sensitive spots within her that she hadn’t even known about.
“Now touch yourself,” he said, sitting back down on the bed, his powerful thighs parted, his hand still on his erection.
He was bronze all over. He had no tan lines. Her mouth dried and she felt a wobble in her legs.
“Surely you, brilliant young thing, can follow a few basic instructions,” he said, and yet his tone wasn’t harsh, more amused than anything.
Her cheeks heated. She exhaled hard, her nipples tightening into aching points even as she began to throb between her thighs. “I have. I’m here, and naked.”
“But you’re not touching yourself.”
“I can’t.”
“You could if you knew there were consequences for disobeying me.”
“Like?”
“Tie you up, and leave you there all day, naked—”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Or tie you up and lick you but not let you come.” He paused considering other punishments. “Would you prefer me to spank you? A sharp slap on your pretty ass and then a lovely warm rub?”
She pressed her knees together, growing wetter, feeling positively drenched. “If I touch myself now, will you do what we did the other night? I loved that. I loved being close to you. I’m too far away right now.”
“You should be
proud of your body. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s thick—”
“Why do women assume men want to take scrawny bony sticks to bed? I think you have an astonishing figure.”
“You really do?”
“I’ve been hard all day. I find everything about you incredibly appealing. Maybe too appealing.”
“Is that possible?”
“Yes. I can’t get work done if I’m thinking about you and being in you and making you come.”
She dropped her head, shy, and yet also rather victorious. He’d been thinking about her? It was heady and empowering. “It’s all I thought about yesterday.”
“So my little kitten is a sex fiend.”
Her head shot up and she looked at him, but he was smiling and his expression was warm. Far warmer than she’d ever seen from him.
“Maybe,” she murmured, voice husky. “Because I do want you.”
“Enough talking, then.” He rose and crossed to where she stood, and carried her to the bed, where he half dropped her into the middle of the mattress. He moved over her, his knees parting her thighs, and then spreading them wider so that he could look down at her, and see all of her. “I do like you bare,” he growled.
Her thighs trembled as his fingertip traced her cleft and then between her soft swollen folds.
“So wet,” he said, voice dropping lower.
She closed her eyes as he dipped a finger into her and spread the moisture up over her, teasing the hooded nub. She felt her hips lift, and arch as he did it again. And then he was there at her entrance, and pushing into her, his shaft so warm, instantly making her feel hot, and impossibly connected to him.
Something happened when he was buried in her that made her want to hold on to him, and keep holding on, keeping him with her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down, wanting to feel him against her breasts, wanting to inhale his scent, wanting his warmth all around her.
He said he was awful and didn’t feel, but that wasn’t true. He wasn’t as hard as he said he was, and clearly, he did have feelings. Damen might say he didn’t care, but actions spoke louder than words, and when he kissed her, a deep scorching kiss where his tongue took her mouth just as he took her body, he was warm and protective. All day he’d been attentive and protective, making her feel as if she truly was his.
