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He murmured something she didn’t catch that sounded like relief, and when she flexed her hips against his, pressing even harder, he said roughly, ‘Ah, God...you’re killing me.’
She loved his roughness. Loved that her own desperation was somehow fuelling his, and that she wasn’t alone with it. That they were both feverish and wanting, and unafraid to show it.
Keeping her wrists pinned in one hand, he dropped the other to the fastenings of his jeans, pulling them open, and she felt heat against her stomach, making her breath catch hard. Then his hand was sliding down the back of her thigh, catching her behind the knee and lifting her leg up around one lean hip, tilting her back against the mirrors. She trembled helplessly as she felt the press of his hard length against her bare sex, steel covered in velvet, rubbing gently against the sensitive place between her thighs.
A moan escaped her as that length slid through her slick folds, pushing against the entrance to her body, teasing her. When he thrust in, she groaned, feeling herself stretch impossibly around him, her body giving way to his.
It hurt, but pain was something she was used to and so she barely registered it beyond tensing slightly. The next instant it was gone and then there was only him pushing deep inside her, filling her. It was a strange feeling, an invasion almost, and yet so good. Who knew surrender would be quite so pleasurable?
He’d lifted his mouth from hers and was staring down at her, and she stared back, astonished at the intimacy of being so close to another person. She could feel him inside her, hot and powerful, could see the deep gold flecks in his eyes. Could see the pleasure darkening them, pleasure that she felt, too, pleasure that they shared.
There was astonishment in his fascinating eyes, too, as if he was just as shocked as she was. But surely that couldn’t be? He’d done this so many times, after all.
The thought was a fleeting one, because then his hips moved, drawing back, pulling away before sliding inside her once again, a delicious rhythm that had her gasping.
She tugged against his imprisoning hands, but he didn’t let her go, holding her pinned with that delicious strength and the brilliant gold of his eyes, as the pleasure deepened, widened, coiling tighter and tighter.
She couldn’t look away from him.
There was something between then, something familiar and real. A connection she’d never allowed herself, not since her mother had turned her back on her. This man felt like someone she knew, someone she liked. Someone she could trust.
This man would never betray her, she knew that in her heart of hearts.
His free hand cupped her cheek, a moment of gentleness. He smiled, so natural and so warm it made her throat close. It was as if he knew exactly what was going on in her head. As if he felt exactly the same way.
Then his hand dropped to her hips, guiding her to follow the rhythm of his, the movement allowing a friction that made her shudder every time he thrust, and she couldn’t stop the helpless sounds he drew from her, couldn’t stem the rush of feeling that overwhelmed her when he made the same kinds of sounds, only deeper, rougher. Male pleasure.
He liked what she was doing to him.
This prince could bring you to your knees.
Oh, he could. And that made some part of her suddenly afraid. But her body was greedy and she could feel the tight knot of sensation beginning to build beyond her power to contain it. She gave a desperate sob, and then his hand was sliding between them, down between her thighs to where she needed it most, stroking her. At the same time, he gave one hard thrust and her armour shattered completely, leaving her soul naked and flying free.
‘Xerxes...’ Her head went back against the mirror, lights bursting behind her eyes, her mouth opening on a scream of pleasure. Only to have his mouth cover hers, quietening the sounds she made, his hold on her hard as she convulsed around him.
She had a dim awareness of him moving harder, deeper, and then his own low roar of release as he came.
And all she could do was stand there, deliciously crushed between the mirrors and his powerful body, with the inescapable knowledge that he’d changed her on some fundamental level. That he had wrecked her.
He’d given her a taste of freedom and she would never be the same again.
CHAPTER FOUR
THELIMOSTOPPEDoutside the huge stone palace, the home of the Lion of Axios. A red carpet had been laid on the imposing stone staircase that led up to the massive double doors, and already the assembled news media were waiting with their cameras and phones at the ready, taking pictures of the glittering array of European aristocracy, politicians, movie stars and a smattering of internet celebrities that were making their way up the steps.
Xerxes surveyed the scene without pleasure.
The engagement party had been delayed and delayed due to various issues with Eleni and her schedule, and Xerxes had begun to think that she was delaying now just for the hell of it.
He understood she wasn’t happy with the match. But he’d accepted his fate and now she needed to accept hers so they could both get this over and done with.
At least she’d managed to get herself to Axios for the party, sitting beside him now, fussing with the blue silk gown Calista had modelled for him weeks ago. She probably would have preferred the gold, but Xerxes hadn’t even shown it to her. He’d told himself that it was because the gown wasn’t right for the occasion, but, of course, that wasn’t the case.
It was because every time he looked at it, all he could see was Calista. Not that Eleni wearing the blue was much better. He could still see Calista’s golden skin and the warm amber of her eyes. Hear the gasps she’d made as he’d pushed inside her. Feel her thighs wrapping tightly around his waist as her sex clenched around his.
The sound of his name in her sweet voice, husky with pleasure, and the way she’d looked up at him in astonishment and wonder as he’d paused deep inside her, as if she’d never seen anything as amazing as him.
He’d forgotten how it felt to have a woman look at him like that. To haveanyonelook at him like that. The women he’d been with in Europe had all been experienced, and although they’d appreciated his passion and his expertise, they hadn’t looked at him the way Calista had. Perhaps no one had ever looked at him the way Calista had.
