AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He was already hard enough to hurt. But that catch in her voice really took him over the edge.
“Quiet,hetaira,” he ordered her, dark and low. “This is not a time for talking.”
Then he leaned down and set his mouth to her breast. He toyed with her hard nipple with his tongue while his hand busied itself with its twin.
Molly arched up against him and cried out, and so he kept going. Back and forth between each of her lovely, perfect breasts as she writhed and bucked and then, to his delight, shuddered into her first release since long, long ago in Skiathos.
She was so responsive it made his chest feel tight.
She was so responsive heachedto thrust himself deep within her, now.
But he didn’t. Notright now, anyway.
He took her mouth again and settled himself over her, aware on some level that he was rushing things. That he had wanted, badly, to lay her out like a feast and take his time with each and every course.
But he couldn’t seem to do it. He couldn’t seem to wait another moment.
He fished around for his trousers, pulling out protection and sheathing himself with one hand. Molly’s arms moved around his back to hold him, and Constantine had never been aware before of how good it felt to have a woman grip him like that. While her eyes were so wide, her face was still flushed, and she was already looking at him as if he performed miracles.
Just wait, he thought with dark pleasure.
But the waiting, at last, was over.
He settled the broad head of his sex at her entrance, reveling in her softness. Her sweet molten heat.
Below him, Molly pulled her lip between her teeth and nearly undid him with that alone, then gazed at him as if she was close to overwhelmed already.
When they hadn’t even started.
“Hold on,” Constantine advised her.
And then, finally, he began to thrust deep inside her—
Except he didn’t.
Because he felt what could only be the innocence he had thought was a fine joke she’d made. A game she wanted to play.
But it was no joke.
Molly Payne—Magda, for all that was holy—lay beneath him, wincing slightly. Her nails were digging into his back, she was holding herself taut, and she was a virgin.
A virgin.
Constantine knew that this could not be. It could not.
Because if she was a virgin, that meant that he did not know her at all. And more, that every single thing he had thought about her as he’d plotted out his revenge was wrong. That he’d been completely and utterly off course.
And if he was wrong about something he had long since accepted as an incontrovertible fact, what else was he wrong about?
Something in him pitched, then rolled.
“Molly...” he gritted out, in genuine pain.
But she scowled at him, this impossible woman. Thisvirginin the body of ahetaira, the ancient Greek term for a courtesan.
How could he have been so wrong about her?
“Don’t you dare, Constantine,” she gritted out at him, her scowl deepening. “Don’t you dare stop now.”
