Chapter Twenty-Four-Cecilia
The revelation about Dimitri is bothering him.
Like he’s not quite in his body.
Like the betrayal scraped something primal and private, and now he’s running on pure instinct.
We make it back to our suite in silence. Atlas doesn’t speak except to nod at the men who accompany us in.
But when his hand tightens on my arm, I understand.
I stop moving.
I wait quietly by the door while the room is swept.
I’ve done this before—going through motions like these with my father, my uncles.
Security checks, silent protocols, quiet commands.
This isn’t new.
But doing it with a man I am definitely falling in love with?
That’s terrifying.
After a few minutes, the guards finish and file out.
Atlas speaks low, sharp Greek to his men as they shut the door behind them.
I don’t ask for a translation. His body language tells me enough.
Tense. Controlled. Barely.
“We should go back to the yacht,” he mutters, his voice rough and distant.
I step behind him and place my hands gently on his shoulders.
His whole body stiffens at first, then slowly melts into my touch when I run my nails through his hair, down his neck.
He sighs, head tilting back.
“That feels good,” he rumbles.
“Does it?” I whisper, leaning in. “You’re so tense. You weren’t expecting to hear that about your uncle?”
“No.” His jaw clenches. “He’s always been selfish, but harmless until now. But the idea of him trying to strong arm my business from me? Makes me fucking homicidal.”
“I get it. I do.” I press a kiss to the curve of his neck. “So, what happens next?”
“Next?” His voice tightens. “We go back to Mykonos. I have to make sure the General stops interfering with the mine. To do that, I need to cut off Dimitri’s influence.”
“Is your uncle in Mykonos?”
“He has a home there. Lavish. He likes to play Prince of the People. Pretends he’s the benevolent Stavros while gutting my legacy behind closed doors.”
“I see.” I circle to face him. “When do we leave?”
“After breakfast with Li. I need him to formally agree to use his influence with the general.”
I nod slowly, tilting my head.
“So, are we in for the night then, husband?”
His eyes lock on mine.
The storm is still there, swirling deep, but now it’s tempered by heat.
Hunger. Possession.
“Yes,” he hisses.
“Perfect. Because I’ve been dying to do something since dinner.”
He raises an eyebrow, sensing the shift in my tone.
“And what’s that, Cece?”
“Have dessert,” I say as I slowly lower myself to my knees.
The air crackles between us. My fingers move to his belt, and I pull down his zipper, freeing him from his slacks.
His breath catches.
My eyes widen.
Moisture floods my panties, heat spreading everywhere.
He’s so beautiful.
Dicks normally aren’t. I mean, let’s face it, they’re a little peculiar looking to be honest.
But his? His cock is fucking gorgeous. Long, curved, thick, uncut with a powerful vein running along the underside.
My mouth is watering to taste him.
He’s already hard. Already waiting.
For me.
He growls low in his throat, hands fisting at his sides.
“Gods,” I whisper. “You really are a prince, aren’t you?”
His lips curl into a dangerous smile.
“Only for you, Wife.”
Hearing him say that? Christ, it makes me so hot for him.
I need him. Right now. But first, I plan to worship every inch of him. To ease his tension and bring him some of what he gave me last night.
“What did I give you last night?” he whispers.
Shit, I said that out loud, didn’t I?
I lick my lips.
“Peace. You gave me peace.”
Then I wrap my hand around the thick weight of him, feeling him pulse in my palm. Atlas sucks in a sharp breath, and I look up—just to see that look on his face.
The one that makes me feel powerful and cherished all at once.
His head is tilted back, his mouth parted, the muscle in his jaw jumping.
“You don’t have to—”
I silence him with a slow stroke.
“I know I don’t have to. Maybe that’s why I want to.”
His hands hover at his sides. Like he doesn’t know whether to pull me or push me away, but the second I swirl my tongue over the flushed tip of him, he moans—a low, broken sound like it was torn from his chest.
God, that sound.
I do it again, and again, because I want to memorize the taste of him.
Salty. Spicy. Heady.
The way he grits my name like it’s the only anchor he has. The way his body trembles under my hands.
He’s trying to stay still for me. I can tell.
The tension is brutal in his thighs, in his fists, in his breath.
But when I hollow my cheeks and take more of him, that control snaps.
He groans and threads his fingers through my hair, cradling the back of my head with surprising gentleness.
“Christ, Cece,” he growls, flexing his hips.
I gag at first, then I try again. And this time he sinks deeper into my throat.
I hum around him, and that seems to do it.
His hips jerk, not hard, but insistent, like he’s chasing the edge of restraint and barely holding back.
“You’re going to ruin me,” he rasps, his accent thick and rough.
Maybe I already have. I fucking hope so.
Because the truth is, this isn’t just about pleasure.
It’s about claiming him in my own way. Tasting him. Making him tremble. Knowing that this man—the fierce, possessive, brilliant Atlas Stavros—is mine. At least for tonight.
His grip tightens in my hair. “Stop,” he groans. “Fuck, if you don’t stop—”
But I don’t. Not yet. Not until his whole body locks up and a curse slips from his lips in Greek.
Not until I feel him fall apart in my hands, with a kind of reverence I’ve never felt from anyone before.
Atlas roars as he fills my mouth with his release. Thick, hot jets of cum slide down my throat, and I swallow it. All of it.
When I finally pull back, his chest is heaving and his eyes are wild, molten, stunned.
I lick my lips and smile up at him.
“That was—” Atlas shakes his head, tugging me up, pulling me into his arms. “No one’s ever—” he doesn’t finish.
He doesn’t have to. He kisses me instead, not minding the taste of himself on my tongue.
And, oh God, that kiss says it all.
It undoes me.
And when he lifts me into his arms and carries me like I weigh nothing at all, I know the night is far from over.
Because now it’s his turn to worship me.
And this time, it’s not just sex.
It’s something more.
Something dangerous.
Something that feels a hell of a lot like maybe he’s falling in love, too.
Please let him love me.