He looked out towards the stage. The audience below it.
He stiffened.
Casual scandal he couldn’t allow.
He couldn’t risk it. Poppy… She’d been through enough.They both had. Thanks to the paparazzi. But—he inhaled silently.Deeply.The scent of her trickled inside him. His nostrils flared.
Their private box was situated high on the left, behind the audience. Those down below couldn’t see them. They would have to twist their necks, try to see beyond the column of marble obscuring them from their field of vision. Stand up and use binoculars.
They could do this.
Ifthey were careful not to be heard.
He leaned in, moved his mouth to the sensitive patch of flesh beneath her ear.
‘Can you be quiet,agape?’ He breathed the question onto her skin.
‘I can,’ she confirmed, but he felt the strain in each word presenting itself in her too tight lips.
He knew how she liked to sing for him. How he caused her vocal cords to make sounds that were primal.Primitive. He wouldn’t hear them tonight. She would be quiet. Keep her release a secret. But she would know who had given it to her.Him.
‘And now?’ Feather-light, he brushed his lips against her skin. ‘Can you be quiet when I do this?’ He applied pressure. Pressed his lips into her skin.
She shivered.
‘Yes,’ she said.
Slowly, he dragged his mouth down the taught tendons of her throat. He kissed it.Licked it.He sucked the flesh between neck and shoulder into his mouth.Hard.
‘Oh!’
Compressed lips smothered her moan. But it fed him. Urged his fingers to stroke upwards, against the seam hiding the breasts straining for touch.His touch.
He teased her pebbled nipple.
‘Konstantinos…’
His name was only a breath.A whisper.
He knew what it meant. What she wanted him to do. Where she wanted his hand to go next. But still, he stroked her nipple. Still, he teased with his fingers. His mouth.
And the tease was too much.
He wanted more.
His mind demanded it.
He lifted his head. Found her ear again. ‘Did you miss this,agape?’
Hushed breath stuttered from her lips, but she didn’t reply.
His hand abandoned her breast. It travelled downwards. Stroking all that was in its path, until his fingers lingered where they could not touch—where they so desperately wanted to feel.
His length thrummed inside his trousers.
‘Lift your skirt,’ he commanded, keeping his voice lower than the music on stage. A demand only for her ears. But his voice, it was rough.Wanton.
This pleasure wasn’t for him, he assured himself.
