15. Tia
I stirred slowly from sleep, consciousness returning in the darkness of Chrys’s room. Last night after dinner, we went for a drive, talking about everything and nothing until the stars blanketed the sky. We’d returned to his room, not mine, and simply held each other until sleep claimed us both.
I reached across the bed, expecting to find Chrys sleeping beside me, but his side was empty. Blinking away the last traces of sleep, I pushed myself up on my elbows, scanning the shadowy room.
That’s when I spotted him in the corner, shirtless, illuminated by a single lamp. He sat behind what appeared to be an easel, completely absorbed in whatever he was doing, unaware I was awake. His brow furrowed in concentration as his hand moved with confident strokes.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice still husky from sleep.
Chrys startled, then smiled when our eyes met. “You’re awake, aggelé mou. I’m drawing.”
“Drawing?” I pulled the sheet up instinctively, though I was still wearing my clothes from yesterday. “Since when do you draw? And at two in the morning?”
“I couldn’t sleep. And I’m not a professional or anything. Just something I’ve done since I was a kid.”
Curiosity piqued, I slid out of bed. “Can I see?”
“Sure, but remember, I’m not finished.” His warning held a note of uncertainty. “It’s just a rough sketch.”
I padded across the floor to where he sat, moving behind him to peer over his shoulder. What I saw made me freeze, my breath catching.
The drawing depicted me lying in the sand at Thalassía, completely nude, my body relaxed and satisfied, curls splayed around my head like a halo.
The detail was exquisite—the texture of my hair, the curves of my body, even the small birthmark on my hip. Most striking was how he’d captured my languid, peaceful, completely vulnerable expression in the aftermath of our lovemaking.
“Chrys... this is...” Words failed me. “You lied,” I finally managed, finding my voice. “You’re not just not a professional , you’re phenomenal.”
He chuckled, setting down his charcoal pencil and turning to face me. “I don’t share this side of myself.”
“Why hide this talent?” I reached past him to touch the edge of the paper, still stunned by what I was seeing.
“Because it’s mine,” he said simply. “Not for sponsors or fans. Just for me.” His eyes met mine, vulnerable in a way I rarely saw him. “And now for you.”
He stood, his hands finding my waist. “I have to leave in a few hours,” he murmured, his lips brushing my neck. “Milan awaits.”
I tilted my head, giving him better access as his kisses traced a path to my collarbone. “I wish you weren’t going.”
“Then come with me,” he whispered.
“I can’t,” I reminded him. “I have work to do here.”
His sigh was warm against my neck. “I know. I respect it, even if I don’t like it.”
His hands slid down from my waist, gripping my hips and pulling me against him. I could feel his hardness pressing into me, sending a wave of heat through my body .
We kissed, our tongues dancing and exploring each other’s mouths. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, my body aching for his touch.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down my jaw, nipping at my earlobe. His hands roamed my body, sliding under my shirt to caress my breasts. I moaned softly as his thumbs circled my nipples, drawing out a moan from deep within me.
Chrys lifted my shirt over my head, tossing it aside. “I want to taste you,” he murmured.
Dropping to his knees, his hands slid down my body, taking my shorts and underwear with them. I stepped out of them, baring myself before him.
Chrys looked up at me. “You’re exquisite, aggelé mou,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin.
His mouth. Oh God. His tongue moved like he knew exactly what I needed. I didn’t even recognize the sounds coming out of me.
My body responded to the pressure of his tongue, the curl of his fingers finding that perfect spot within me. When release came, it crashed through me completely, leaving me trembling and breathless .
Chrys stood, his body pressing against mine. I could feel his erection. I reached for him, wrapping my hand around his penis. He groaned, thrusting into my touch.
He lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist. He carried me to bed, laying me down. He positioned himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine.
“I’ll miss you,” I whispered.
Chrys pushed into me, his gaze never leaving mine. I felt every inch of him as he filled me slowly, his thickness stretching me deliciously. I let out a soft sigh. He leaned down, capturing my lips in a deep, languid kiss, his tongue mimicking the slow thrusts of his hips.
He broke the kiss, his lips moving to my neck, before capturing one of my nipples. He sucked gently, his tongue swirling around the taut peak.
I undulated against him, the movement heightening my pleasure. He moved to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, his body maintaining its slow, torturous pace.
My pleasure was increasing, my body responding to his deliberate movements. Our lips met again, hungry and sloppy. I dug my fingers into his backside, urging him deeper.
He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent. I matched his rhythm, my hips rising to meet his. The friction was exquisite, the sensation of him sliding in and out of me, pushed me closer to the edge.
“Chrys,” I gasped, my body trembling as I came. He swallowed my cries, his body continuing to hammer mine.
I didn’t know I could feel this much. Like my body had been waiting for this exact moment to wake up.
As the last waves of my orgasm subsided, Chrys gripped my hips tightly. Without pulling out, he flipped us until he was beneath me.
“Ride me, aggelé mou,” he commanded.
I placed my hands on his chest for support. I began to move, my hips rising and falling as I took him deep inside me. He laid back, watching me with his hands behind his head.
“That’s it, aggelé mou,” he murmured, his voice filled with lust. “Take what you need.”
I increased my pace, my body moving with confidence, my breasts bouncing with each movement. He reached out to cup my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples. I threw my head back, my body on fire with sensation.
Suddenly, Chrys gripped my hips tightly, taking control. He thrust upwards, his pace relentless. I could feel his desperation, his need for release. I met his thrusts, our bodies moving in sync, our breaths ragged .
Our faces were inches apart, our eyes locked onto each other. The intensity of our connection was overwhelming. I leaned down, capturing his mouth in a sloppy, passionate kiss. Our teeth clashed, our tongues clashed, mimicking the wild rhythm of our bodies.
“Angel,” he groaned. “I’m close.”
“Come with me, baby,” I gasped, my body on the brink of a third orgasm. Our kiss deepened, becoming even more frantic and messy. The taste of him, the feel of his body against mine, sent me spiraling.
With a final, deep thrust, we both came undone. Our bodies convulsed, our cries of pleasure muffled by our desperate kiss. I collapsed onto his chest, our bodies slick with sweat, our hearts pounding wildly. We lay like that for a moment, our breaths ragged, our bodies entwined.
Slowly, our kiss softened, becoming tender. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. “I’ll miss you, aggelé mou,” he whispered, his voice soft and filled with emotion.
I arrived at Chloros Construction precisely fifteen minutes early, my portfolio tucked under my arm. The receptionist directed me to a waiting area that smelled of industrial carpet cleaner and stale coffee.
“Mr. Chloros will be with you shortly,” she said with a smile.
When the door finally opened, it wasn’t Mr. Chloros who appeared but a man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and the permanent scowl of someone perpetually inconvenienced.
“Ms. Massey?” He barely glanced up from his phone, fingers still tapping away. “Mr. Papadopoulos. I assist Mr. Chloros and translate. This way.”
He led me to a conference room where my conceptual drawings had already been spread across the table. I noticed he’d rearranged them out of sequence.
“Mr. Chloros is running late. We can begin the preliminary review.” He finally pocketed his phone and picked up a clipboard, eyes scanning my designs with the enthusiasm of someone reading tax regulations.
“I’m excited to walk you through my vision for the restoration,” I said, extending my hand. “The historical elements combined with modern updates create a unique opportunity to—”
“You’re the architect?” His eyebrows shot up as he finally looked at me properly. A small, amused smile played at his lips. “You look like you should still be at university. ”
My hand dropped back to my side. “I graduated from NYU two months ago. Top of my class.”
The words sounded desperate even to me. No internships to boast about, no years of experience. Just theory and classroom projects backing me up.
He made a dismissive sound and gestured at my drawings. “And the Christakis family entrusted this project to you? Interesting choice.”
The way he said it made it clear what he thought of that choice.
“Mr. Christakis values innovation alongside tradition,” I said.
“Innovation requires experience.” He tapped my drawing with his pen. “This restoration of the eastern wing with the glass-enclosed courtyard—unnecessarily complex.”
I forced myself to take a few breaths. I wouldn’t crumble here.
“The balance of historical preservation and modern elements is central to the design concept,” I said, flipping to my renderings. “Mr. Christakis specifically requested—”
“I’ve worked with the Christakis family for fifteen years, Ms. Massey,” he interrupted, his tone suggesting I’d been alive for about as long. “I know what typically suits their properties.”
Something in me snapped. “Is it the design you find impractical, or just the fact that I created it?”
His eyes widened .
“I’m sorry,” I backpedaled instantly, mortified. “That was unprofessional.”
He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “It was honest. And in Greece, we value honesty, even when it’s... impolite.”
I swallowed hard. “Look, I know I’m new. I’m not asking you to treat me like I have twenty years of experience. Just to respect that I’m here doing the job I was hired for.”
“Very well, Ms. Massey. Let’s start from the beginning. Show me what you have.”
I opened my laptop and began again.