Chapter Six #2
Compressed lips smothered her moan. But it fed him. Urged his fingers to stroke upwards, against the seam hiding the breasts straining for touch. His touch.
He teased her pebbled nipple.
‘Konstantinos…’
His name was only a breath. A whisper.
He knew what it meant. What she wanted him to do. Where she wanted his hand to go next. But still, he stroked her nipple. Still, he teased with his fingers. His mouth.
And the tease was too much.
He wanted more.
His mind demanded it.
He lifted his head. Found her ear again. ‘Did you miss this, agape?’
Hushed breath stuttered from her lips, but she didn’t reply.
His hand abandoned her breast. It travelled downwards. Stroking all that was in its path, until his fingers lingered where they could not touch—where they so desperately wanted to feel.
His length thrummed inside his trousers.
‘Lift your skirt,’ he commanded, keeping his voice lower than the music on stage. A demand only for her ears. But his voice, it was rough. Wanton.
This pleasure wasn’t for him, he assured himself.
It was only to win.
Only to prove he was in control.
He lifted his head. The atmospheric light from the stage created a barely there light up here. Her skin was little more than of hues of grey. Shadows. In the semi-darkness he couldn’t see his kiss. But he knew where it was. Where his mark would be.
He didn’t care. Her shawl had fallen behind her. She could hide it if she wished. Or she could let them all see his brand. The only fact that was true. She would never know again when this was over—when he sent her away—this song.
Her hips lifted, and slowly she pulled up the silk hiding her from him.
Slowly, she revealed skin covered in sheer tights.
His hand dipped under the fabric of her skirt as she settled it on her thighs. The fabric that would hide his exploration. Keep it secret.
They were not tights.
They were stockings.
His blood roared as he explored the seam of her panties. As he touched the exposed softness of her inner thigh.
‘Please,’ she whispered.
His entire body swelled.
His victory—so close—his for the taking.
He took it.
He swiped his fingers up and down the seam. He stroked the intimate heart of her. Until her breathing was so fast—so deep—he knew it was time. Time to give her what he’d promised.
He swept her panties aside. He didn’t tease. He didn’t caress. He pushed his fingers inside her. And she kept her word. The scream in her mouth. She held it in. But he felt it. The tight grip of its roar holding her flesh captive.
His thumb encircling her engorged nub, he drove into her, curled his fingers. Her intimate muscles squeezed around him. His every thrust, she dragged him deeper. Raised her hips a little. Pushed them down.
He moved with her. Listened to her trapped moans getting faster, and faster, until he knew she was coming.
He pushed, found the secret tangle of muscles inside her.
And he held her there.
Her eyes closed. Tightly.
‘Come, agape,’ he commanded, because she was there. All she needed to do was take what his fingers were giving her—commanding she give to him.
‘Konstantinos!’ It was a choked breath. A fierce whisper after no more than a gulp of air. But it was a scream to his ears.
It was surrender.
It was victory.
Her eyes opened. She didn’t look at him. She looked to the hand still between her thighs—at the fingers still inside her. She reached for him. Withdrew him. His fingers wanted to push against her—find her again. Do it all again. And he knew all she had to do was ask.
He wanted her to ask.
And she would.
He did nothing. He let her hold his hand. Gave her the illusion she was in control of what happened next. What pleasure he’d give to her next.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and she moved, dropped his hand onto his lap, onto the too hard part of himself that did not want his own hand.
It wanted her mouth.
A gift she had offered once before. To take him between her lips.
To kiss him. But it had felt too much like surrender.
It made him feel…vulnerable. In her power.
Her control. And he had not wanted that.
To lose himself between her lips. For her to control…
him. So he had not encouraged it. He’d stopped it.
He did not need that kiss from her.
Slowly, she folded down her skirt. Placed her own hands in her lap and knotted her fingers.
She didn’t look at him.
She looked only to the stage. To the singers now too loud in his ears. Their song was a screech. It made his temples throb.
He turned his head to the stage—to see what held her gaze. It was an explosion of colour now.
His head snapped back to her.
She was in complete control of herself.
He wanted her listless in his arms. Overwhelmed.
But she wasn’t.
‘We are leaving.’
‘Why?’ she asked quietly. And only then did she turn to him. Her eyes…they blazed. Her hand moved. Her fingers stroked the inside of his thigh. And they rose higher. ‘Don’t you want to test how quiet you can be, Konstantinos?’
His blood roared.
She smiled.
His heart stuttered.
‘I will not deviate from the rules,’ she promised.
Just as he had.
His eyes blew wide.
She was outmanoeuvring him? Playing him at his own game?
He—
‘I can help ease the tension from your too tight shoulders, Konstantinos.’ Her hand moved to the centre of his thighs. ‘You need to be touched,’ softly, she teased him. Her fingertips crept up along the seam of his zip. ‘By me.’
The reversal of his seduction. It turned him on. Outraged him. In equal parts.
Once he’d enjoyed her ability to say his words back to him after she’d taken minutes in a meeting, echoing his choices for his employees, or his business. She’d made him hear his words—his choices—differently. Hear what was missing.
He’d found it attractive. Once.
He didn’t find the echo of his words attractive now.
His words on her lips sounded…cold.
He caught her wrist. ‘I do not need anything.’
Or anyone, he added silently.
He released her wrist as if it were a burning ember.
His every muscle was too tight. Twisted.
He wouldn’t let her see how much she affected him. Still.
He stood.
‘We are leaving. Now.’