Page 63 of After-Hours Heir

It was like he heard her, because he was watching. Because he was giving himself over to this, and never taking his eyes off her.

She swallowed him down, luxuriated in the taste of him. The feel of him. She moved her hand down between her thighs and began to stroke herself as she continued to pleasure him.

His hand went back to grip her hair, and he pulled hard, drawing her head away. “Careful,” he said.

“Are you afraid to lose control?”

“You don’t want me to lose control.”

She lowered her head again and took him in deep, keeping her eyes locked on his.

He growled, but he didn’t pull her away again. She kept on pleasuring him. Pushing him until he was shaking.

And when she finally pushed him over that edge, she swallowed him down.

He was breathing raggedly. He pulled her to her feet. “You are…extraordinary.”

He looked truly undone. He looked truly at a loss. And she relished that.

Because he was at a loss for her. Because he was undone for her.

He picked her up, cradling her in his arms.

“I’m too heavy,” she said, even as he made a mockery of the statement by carrying her easily out of the room.

She clung to him. And he brought her into the bedroom, laying her down on the bed.

“Surely you can’t do anything yet.”

He growled again, completely feral now, and he stripped her of her shirt. Her bra. Her panties. Everything.

Then he forced her thighs apart and lowered his head between her thighs. She wrapped her arm around the back of his head, pushing her fingers through his hair as he pleasured her.

As he took her to the heights, he brought her crashing back down. He tortured her, over and over again. But this time she could see him. It was like that first night, but now she knew who it was.

Now she really knew what it meant to love him. With all of his difficulties. With all of his hard angles and lines.

But the inconvenient truth was that the man who had captured her body and soul was Christos Onassis.

She didn’t know the details about who he was. She didn’t have his entire life story. But she knew that she loved him. And that they had time to get to know each other. That she had time to help him change. He was her husband.

It was that thought that pushed her over the edge.

Breathing hard, he moved up and kissed her on the mouth. Turning her onto her side, with her rear pressed snugly against him. She could feel that he was hard again. He positioned himself at her slick entrance and entered her from behind, holding her with his arm wrapped around her midsection, his hand on her belly as he moved inside of her. Deep and sure.

She began to tremble. She began to shake apart.

He took her slowly. Thoroughly. Until they were both out of breath. Until they were both at the end of themselves.

And when it was done, she lay with him, listening to his harsh breath in her ear.

She could feel him withdraw. She could feel him putting distance between them.

She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”

But he got up anyway. He left. And she realized that he had carried her into a room she could stay in, not into his.

She lay there, staring at the ceiling, tears sliding down her cheek.