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She ran to him, clinging to him, joy surging through her. His body was strong and hard against her as she wrapped herself to him, hugging him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder.
His hands slid along her cheeks and tilted her face up to look at him.
‘Miss me?’ he asked softly.
Anguish flared in her eyes. ‘It’s been awful without you!’
He gave a low laugh, pleased with her answer. He closed her against him more tightly yet, and she felt, with a sudden spur of both shock and excitement, that he was fully aroused.
His mouth came down on hers. Hungry, sensual, demanding. She opened to him instantly, letting his tongue forge inside, his kiss deepen, his fingers spearing into her hair. Excitement leapt in her again, raw and primitive.
For ten long, agonising days she had been without him, and now, out of the blue, he had walked in from the bleak winter’s night and turned it instantly into pulsing heat.
‘Thee mou, but I want you!’
His voice was husky, and it sent a million shivers through her. Her breasts pressed against his hard body, their ripened peaks straining beneath the fine wool of her sweater. His hand slid from her hair, curving luxuriatingly down the length of her back to fasten over her rounded bottom, moulding her into him so that she could feel the full strength of just how much he wanted her.
He was guiding her towards the bedroom, his mouth still devouring hers, and excitement was splintering through her.
She felt herself tumble down on the bed, his weight coming on top of her. Clothes were shed—she didn’t know how, didn’t care, only felt the rabid, greedy hunger for him coursing through her, unstoppably. He was pressing her down, his bare, hair-roughened thigh parting hers, his hips positioning himself over her, one hand closing over hers and lifting them high over her head, so that she was splayed out for him while the other hand palmed her straining breast. His eyes were pinpoints of hunger.
She felt her back arch, her hips pressing against him, feeling the full, delicious length of him. In one swift, decisive movement he lifted away from her, then, with a slicing action, he plunged into her, right to the hilt.
She cried out, spine arching even more, arms straining where he pressed down upon her hands, and he filled her.
He sliced again, and again, and each time she cried out, more, and more breathlessly, the raw, greedy sensation of what he was making her feel buckling through her, shock after shock.
Excitement surged, and surged again, driving through her, unstoppable, feeding on itself, thrust after thrust, as every nerve and cell in her body started to fire.
‘Oh, God, Markos—Markos!’
Sensation exploded through her. Buckling her body, sheeting through her flesh. It was unbearable. It was incredible. It was—Markos.
He came the moment she did, as if he had only been waiting for her to ignite before he gave free rein to his own demands. His body convulsed into hers, surging in its explosive release.
For one long, endless moment they writhed in unison, their bodies in tumult.
Then, with slow, absolute exhaustion, he lowered himself down on her, his body slick with sweat. His hold on her hands slackened and she felt his weight press her down.
Exhaustion drained through her. She felt as if she had run a mile at a sprint, her whole body trembling and sweating. Her mind was blown, and she was incapable of doing anything but simply lying there, eyes closed, as her breathing slowly became less ragged. Against her breasts she could feel his chest rising and falling in panting breaths.
She felt his mouth on hers, moving with dying possession.
‘Now, that,’ he said, his voice rough with repletion, ‘was worth coming back for.’
His mouth slid from her, his head nestling into the pillow. She felt his dead weight over her, felt his breathing slow, his hold on her slacken. His breathing deepened, his body cooling.
He slept.
Beneath him, Vanessa lay, limbs inert and splayed, hands around Markos’s smooth back. Heaviness filled her, and repletion, and a deep, deep flood of gratitude.
Markos stood under the shower, needles of water pounding over his skin. He felt fantastic. The sex had completely restored his good mood, and it had been fantastic. He tried to think of a woman he’d enjoyed more, and failed. He put the search aside. Who cared whether previous women had been as good? The one he had now was exactly what he wanted—and exactly what he had.
On top of being such a knockout, such a novelty to teach the art of pleasure to, and so openly adoring of him, she was the easiest mistress he’d ever had. She made no demands on him. She didn’t ask for clothes, jewels, gifts. She didn’t drop subtle-as-lead hints, didn’t pester him, didn’t phone him, didn’t ask him where he was going or what he was doing. As for other men—well, they simply didn’t exist. He could see that, and it pleased him considerably. Even Leo, whose allure for women was infamous, had no appeal for her. He’d asked her outright once whether she didn’t consider his older cousin had sex appeal, and Vanessa had just looked at him as if he was mad.
His eyes shadowed briefly. An exchange he’d had with Leo at his ostentatious Schloss Edelstein fleeted back in his memory.
‘Watch yourself, little cousin,’ Leo had murmured caustically. ‘A devoted woman can be most dangerous of all—even to someone as paranoid about marriage as you! You’d do better sticking with the ones who are open about wanting your money—you know where you are with them.’
