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CHAPTER TEN
HE’DTAKENTHEhelicopter ride from Athens to Porto Heli thousands of times, but never quite like this. The tension in the helicopter could have been cut with a knife. She sat opposite him without talking, her hands fidgeting in her lap so her anxiety became all he could focus on. Not her anxiety so much as how he could alleviate it, show her that her body knew what it wanted and could be trusted to guide her. He knew that once they were home he could take charge, pleasuring her until all doubts fell from her mind.
There were no familiar landmarks beneath—it was too dark to see anything properly, but he knew—to the minute—the time it should take to arrive. He checked his watch, relief spreading through him when they reached single digits and then, finally, his home came into view. Her eyes were on him, watching, appraising, and anticipation spread through him. He ached to touch her, to feel her warm softness beneath his palm, her silky hair in his fingers, entangled in his grip, her beautiful body beneath his, welcoming him, losing herself to the heady rush of sensual euphoria.
The fact that he would be her first tightened his arousal to the point of pain. Now that he knew there was no risk of emotional entanglement, he could simply enjoy the pleasure of Beatrice Jones. The helicopter had barely touched down before he was moving, unclipping his own belt before attending to hers. Bea’s fingers were shaking when he took her hand in his, but when she looked at him he didn’t see what he’d expected to. There was no hesitation in her face, only the same blinding urgency that was exploding in his chest.
The night was cool and he held her close as they moved to the door, partly to keep her warm and partly because he was selfish and simply wanted to touch her, to feel her. Her body was slender but curved; he hungered to feel her in his hands. At the stairs, he dropped his arm, taking her hand in his as he led the way, pausing only briefly at the bottom, waiting for her to take the last step before he strode down the corridor, towards his bedroom.
Bea was right there with him. Until he opened the door and drew her through it, shutting them in his room, he didn’t realise he’d been half terrified she’d change her mind. He turned to face her in the dimly lit space, just a lamp near the window casting the room in a gentle glow, and every rush of need that had been tormenting him since they’d left the restaurant burst through him now. His chest rocked with the torturous act of breathing, his body tense. He stared down at her and she looked up at him, and then he moved.
He’d kissed her twice before and this was like the second time, full of urgency, a kiss that overtook him with need, that seemed to happen almost without his control—something Ares would ordinarily despise. But anything that could bring his body to hers like this and have her dissolving against him in a soft, whimpering form of surrender had his approval. He took a step forward, pressing her against the back of the door, his tongue duelling with hers, demanding her supplication. Over and over she said his name, moaning it into his mouth as best she could, her hands pulling his shirt from his trousers, pushing at the buttons until her fingertips could touch bare flesh.
Her need to explore and touch was as real as his own. Despite her inexperience, she was guided by instincts and they were strong, so that if she hadn’t told him she’d never been with a man he wouldn’t have guessed it. Bea made a growling sound as she yanked at his shirt, separating it finally, removing it from his body as though she couldn’t live another second without seeing him naked. He understood.
His hands completed the same task, removing the unsophisticated clothes she wore, stripping her down to her underwear and then dispensing with them so she was naked against him, her body warm and soft, just as he’d fantasised. Her hair was still up in a topknot; he pulled it loose as he kissed her, spilling her hair over her shoulders and down her back, before stepping back to admire her. The sound of their harsh breathing filled the bedroom, loud and demanding. He needed a moment though to commit her to his memory banks just as she was. Her cheeks pink, her chest too from his stubble, her pert breasts with peach nipples tautened by desire, her flat stomach and gently curved thighs.
He swore under his breath, holding out a hand. She put hers in it and he drew her to the bed, knowing he had to curb all his own selfish impulses—the desire to simply drive himself into her sweet sex and lose himself there, to take her hard and fast until they were both incandescent with pleasure. There’d be time for that—a month, in fact. A month to enjoy her sweetness and to teach her how great sex could be.
Tonight was about being gentle. Gradually introducing her to lovemaking without overwhelming her and, hell, without hurting her.
He scooped her up without warning, laying her down in the middle of the bed, kissing her as he moved his body over hers, still kissing as he extended an arm and lifted a condom from the bedside table. He discarded it near them on the bed—for later. First, he wanted to taste.
The sensation of his mouth on her breasts sent sharp arrows of pleasure-pain spiralling through Bea so she lifted her hips in a sudden, jerky movement. It was almost too much. Too intimate—too personal. He took one nipple between his teeth, rolling it there a moment before flicking it with his tongue, while his hand moved between her legs, brushing her femininity lightly at first, so she didn’t know what to focus on, nor which feeling was more overwhelming. She knew only that she was coming apart at the seams in some vital, unmistakable way.
His hand between her legs was heaven-sent, but also not enough. She bucked her hips again, silently begging him for something she couldn’t explain. He understood though; she felt him smile against her breast as he kissed his way downwards, his tongue swirling invisible circles around her belly button, over the plane of her stomach and low, teasing her hipbone before moving between her legs.
She groaned as his tongue touched her there, lightly at first and then with more intensity, more speed, more everything, delivering her towards a destination she’d never heard of, never even known about. She dug her nails into the bed first, then his shoulders, as her moans grew louder and louder and eventually she was tipping off the edge of the earth, pleasure swallowing her whole, changing her for ever.
But before she could recover she was dimly aware of the sound of foil and then his knee was parting her legs, his body over hers, his mouth kissing her softly as he pushed the tip of his arousal against her sex.
Despite the heavenly pleasure he’d already delivered, tension filled her. She whimpered, fear widening her eyes so she stared up at him for reassurance. His response was to speak in Greek, his words gentle and soft, words she didn’t understand but which succeeded in reassuring her.
He wasn’t gentle now. At least, not so gentle. He pushed into her, watching her the whole time as his arousal stretched parts of her previously untouched, his body possessing hers for the first time, breaking through an invisible barrier so that briefly she felt a sting of pain, a sharp, visceral response to his presence. It abated almost immediately, and she nodded, a silent encouragement to a question he hadn’t asked.
It was then that he began to move. Then that Bea realised whatever pleasure she’d felt a moment ago, it was nothing to the overwhelming, all-consuming delight of this. His body mastering hers, his weight on top of her, the roughness of his chest hairs against her breasts, his hard erection deep inside her, being squeezed by muscles that were trembling in pleasure. Stars danced against the lids of her eyes; she was falling from heaven, or perhaps flying through it? She tilted her head back, capitulating to this madness completely, utterly lost and completely found all at once.
‘How do you feel?’
It was a question with no answer. How could she describe how she felt in words? She turned her head to face him, her hooded eyes roaming his features with renewed speculation and interest. She felt a primal claim to him—as though he were hers in some vital, unchangeable way, and always would be.
Oh, it was a stupid way to feel. She recognised that almost immediately. No one person could belong to another and, even if they could, sex wasn’t a gateway to possession. For someone like Ares, this had probably been a perfectly run-of-the-mill bout of sex. Just because the very parameters of Bea’s world had been significantly redefined didn’t mean it had meant anything to Ares.
He frowned, his finger lifting to trace her lips. She sucked in a breath, the small act somehow seeming intimate despite what they’d just shared.
‘Fine.’ She cleared her throat. The word was banal and inaccurate. She felt so much better than fine. She felt shiny and new. She felt desirable and sensual. She felt wanted.
The realisation had her smile dropping, just by a fraction.
Careful, Bea.
She knew the inherent risks of that feeling. Being wanted was something she’d never experienced; it was a loss she’d had to accept in her life. She couldn’t start looking to someone like Ares Lykaios to fill that vital void within her.
Sex was sex. Nothing more. They’d agreed on that.
The bath water was the perfect temperature and, as she sank into it, Bea acknowledged that she was a little sore. Parts of her body that had never been used made themselves known, so she winced a little.
He was watching, and a small grimace appeared on his own features in response.
