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If he noticed her obvious arousal, he ignored it, moving with a certain briskness up the outside of her thighs. Then over her mound, ignoring the way she jolted as he made sure to rub lotion to cover all she kept bare, save for a tiny strip. Surely now he would shift everything over into a sexual place. Surely now he would make some kind of claim.
But instead, he sat forward. And took another age to move his slick palms over her belly, below and then above her navel. Eventually he made his way to her rib cage, where he climbed the length of her torso as if he could do so all day, and only stopped when he reached the under slope of her breasts.
Now her breath was coming in shallow little pants, and Molly should have been ashamed. Deeply ashamed. She should have held her breath until she passed out rather than show him how he affected her.
But it was as if her body was going to do as it wished. Or maybe he was simply that talented, even when it was something as small and seemingly nonsexual as the application of sunscreen.
It had never crossed Molly’s mind that the man might actually have earned his reputation.
Constantine took his time putting more lotion on his hands, and then he moved again, standing once more so he could slick his hard palms over her breasts.
And then...he played with her.
Either that, or he was under the impression it took a remarkable level of detailed touching and caressing to protect her breasts from the sun. Not that Molly could really remember the sun or her usual aversion to it at this point or the world they both lived in.
There was only Constantine. There was only his touch.
He massaged her breasts with his palms, teasing her nipples into even stiffer points. Until she could do nothing but arch her back, let her head fall as it would, and press herself into his hands.
She’d never felt anything so delicious her life.
And somehow, without any idea how it happened, Molly found herself closer to Constantine. Had he pulled her there? Or had she simply drifted there of her own accord until she might as well have been in his arms.
Then his thigh was between hers and she found herself pressing the place she ached the most against his brutally hard, deliciously tough thigh. Then rocking herself there, lost in the rhythm of his hands on her breasts and her own movement on his thigh.
And then everything was slick heat and astonishment, and that coiling, shuddering, shimmering tension inside of her.
In the distance, or at her ear, she heard his gruff, dark voice muttering something she didn’t understand. Greek, maybe. Or another incantation. It was too hard to tell.
And then she came apart.
Molly was a thousand shards of glass and still she came apart. Still the shattering went on and on.
She was dimly aware that she was still riding his thigh, that his palms were still working a rough magic against her nipples. And the connection between those two things was so intense, such a bright and impossible shine, that she felt as if all that light and wild heat was inside her. Then shattering outwards like all of that glass.
And then, for a time, she knew nothing at all.
It was only when she felt his hands on her shoulders, turning her and then guiding her down into the chair he vacated, that what she’d let happen here impressed itself upon her.
What she’d let happen and worse, what she’d done.
It took one breath, and then the shock of that realization hit her. Hard.
And right behind it came a wallop of shame. Liberally infused with the kind of self-recrimination she had last felt quite this keenly right here in Skiathos. And back then, she had never been naked in this man’s presence, much less flung herself into his hands with so much heedless abandon.
Had she really been thinking about happy maidens scampering up mountainsides to fling themselves, breasts first, at the nearest scary thing they found?
It cost her more than she wanted to consider to lift her gaze again, then to do her best to regard him coolly. Because it was all she could do.
And he was waiting.
“You come so prettily,” Constantine told her, standing there before her with a little half smile on his perfect mouth and the glittering roar of heat in his gaze. “I hope you enjoyed a little taste of what awaits us on this little journey of ours. And the next time, Molly, you will have to beg me for your release.”
“I think I can promise you that will never happen,” she said, scraping up a truly miraculous tone of voice considering what was happening inside her, all scorn and haughty amusement.
But it was lost on him. All he did was let that half smile grow a bit deeper.
“Don’t make promises you cannot keep,hetaira,” he advised her in a low voice. “You will not like how I correct a broken promise, I assure you.”
