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In the last five minutes, he’d made statements on which he didn’t have sufficient information to make. And yet each time, her soul had leapt. The insane cravings in her heart had lapped them up like starved soil receiving rain.
And within those cravings, Imogen recognised her old self, the child who’d desperately wanted that lavish, healing rain. Wanted so much for her father toseeher, acknowledge her.Loveher. The same way this new, oblivious Zeph seemed intent on convincing her she could have the impossible.
Yes, he’d been thrust into an old world he didn’t remember, but not once had he struck her as helpless. And yet...last night he’dneededher. He’d listened to her. Was perhaps even reluctant to let her out of his sight. As much as she wanted to cite feminism and independence, she’d never felt anything like this before. Never craved this feeling with this much desperation. So, while terrifying, was it wrong to bask in it for just a little...?
Yes.
She accepted the shrieked internal warning and forced a laugh, a desperate attempt to lighten the mood thickening around them, threatening tsunami-sized waves of sensation she wasn’t sure she was ready for. ‘Put yourself in my shoes. Tell me how you would’ve reacted to that.’
‘If it makes you feel better, I would’ve been positively incandescent. I would’ve thrown you over my shoulder and carried you away like a caveman. Then I would’ve spent the next month locked in this bedroom with you beneath me, reminding you who you belonged to,’ he stated with a voice coated in pure, unadulterated erotic promise.
Her jaw sagged. Her pulse leaped. Her breath shortened.
He laughed, a rich, decadent sound that tunnelled deep, heating her core, dragging even more sensation to the surface until she feared she would drown in it.
‘But since the shoe is on the other foot and my wife seems to be skittish about our reacquaintance, I’ll endeavour to take it slow.’
She moved a little too late, her limbs rebelling against denying her body what it craved. She’d only made it to the end of the bed when he huffed out a breath.
‘There you go, running away again.’ The words were tinged with frustration.
Imogen stilled, knowing she should absolutelynotrise to the bait. And yet, God, he drove her beyond rational thought.
She crawled back onto the bed and glared him down. ‘Fine. Here I am, staying right here. Do your worst.’
The moment the impetuous words were out of her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back. Because they were as blatant as dangling a juicy chunk of meat under a lion’s nose and expecting him not to bite her hand off with it.
And when that infernal, wickedly devastating smile started to unravel over his sinful face, she knew she was well and truly trapped. ‘My worst? No,glikia mou. What you’ll be receiving from me won’t be my worst but my very best.’
Before she could stop shivering long enough to ask what he meant, he was curling a firm arm around her waist, drawing her close until their bodies were plastered together.
He didn’t immediately dive in for the kiss she realised every cell in her body was anticipating. His gaze raked her face, the pulse leaping at her throat, the frantic rise and fall of her chest. Savouring the reaction he drew so effortlessly from her.
That was all the warning she received before he drew her even closer, and sealed his lips over hers.
It started off as a replay of that fizzle of electricity she’d felt when they’d kissed back in the apartment in Athens. Then almost immediately it escalated in sensation, growing wild and untamed when his tongue breached the seams of lips she’d parted willingly, her resistance crumbling almost as soon as she felt that erotic probe.
And... God...it was sublime.
A moan slipped free before she could stop it, her hands rising to trail up his bare, thick, hot arms to rest at his nape, a willing companion on this insane ride that had her straining onto her tiptoes, eager for more even before she’d taken her first, desperate breath.
He kissed like a man forged for lovemaking. And yes, her own experiences weren’t nearly adequate enough to know a good kisser from a mediocre one. All she knew was that Zeph, herhusband, kissed like a maestro. And she was a willing, eager pupil.
That tongue swept in deeper and shamelessly caressed hers. A cracked moan ended in a whimper and when he tightened his hold, she trembled at the overwhelming pleasure that swept through her.
If it makes you feel better, I would’ve been positively incandescent.
Absurdly, it did make her feel better, which probably also made her a cavewoman. But she chose to keep that to herself. Choosing instead to glide her hands up and over his shoulders, caressing the skin and muscle she’d touched in a different capacity last night, scouring lightly with her nails and revelling in the shudder that went through him.
‘Ne, just like that.’
His throaty encouragement spurred her on to greater madness. She nipped at his bottom lip, revelling in the hiss that broke free before he grunted in approval and returned the favour in erotic bites that had her knees sagging as pleasure weakened her limbs.
In the next moment, he was turning her, urging her backwards. When the pillows met her back, she welcomed it, her thighs parting eagerly to accommodate the man who stared down at her with ferocious hunger and single-minded intent before bearing down on her, accepting the space she made for him.
The kiss that followed was even more decadent, wetter, hungrier, their tongues duelling for supremacy in pleasure granting and receiving.
‘Theós, you taste sublime,’ he muttered hoarsely, his lips freeing hers to explore her jaw and neck, inhaling deeply before catching one earlobe between his teeth. ‘I’m barely holding myself back from devouring you.’
