Chapter Eleven #2
Okay, why did he not look pleased to see her?
‘I figured out how to work the sauna,’ she announced as he approached. ‘Thanks to the… Humph!’
The air expelled from her lungs as he bent and scooped her onto his shoulder, then swung round to march back towards the house.
It took her a moment to get her breath back, and orientate herself, the upside-down view of his backside covered in the heavy snowsuit not helping.
‘Theo! Stop. The sauna…’ she managed, her breath sawing out as she bounced on his shoulder. The wave of excitement at seeing him turned brittle when he muttered something in Greek.
She wriggled against his hold, her chest imploding, the validation from two days ago becoming breakable, too. ‘Put me down. Where are we going?’
‘Where the hell do you think?’ he said, his voice low with fury. ‘You ran out on me, after you promised not to. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you.’
‘Wh-what?’ The accusation made no sense. She hadn’t run off, all she’d done was leave the house—the house they’d been trapped in for two whole days by the storm…
Why had he given her the code, if he didn’t trust her with it? And she hadn’t promised him she wouldn’t use it. In fact, she had made a point of not promising him.
But right behind her confusion was the crippling feeling of inadequacy. He was treating her like a disobedient child, instead of the bold woman she had become. The bold woman whose sexual awakening they had both revelled in. Hadn’t they?
He shouted something in Greek and the door to the garage swished open.
She began to struggle in earnest. She was angry now herself, and humiliated.
But it wasn’t until they got inside that he finally deposited her on her feet.
‘Why are you behaving like a jerk?’ she questioned, furiously stripping off the snowsuit, and the layers beneath, the heat in the garage making sweat drip down her temples and slide down her back.
He said nothing—no explanation, no apology, nothing—as he stripped off his own snowsuit.
By the time she’d kicked off her last outer layer and stood before him in her yoga pants and T-shirt she had channelled her anger to cover the hurt.
She’d thought he saw her as a woman… That was the way he’d treated her—every time he’d touched her, caressed her, had driven her mad with hunger and need…
But now she felt like that girl again, being bullied and chastised.
The charismatic playboy was gone, to be replaced by a glaring autocrat, a man she didn’t recognise.
‘I wanted to surprise you for Christmas and now you’ve ruined…’ she began, but then he grasped her arms and dragged her towards him, to press his forehead to hers.
‘Just stop talking…’ He groaned, his hands roaming over her.
The swift shot of arousal as his palms cupped her buttocks, and she became aware of the familiar ridge in his sweats, only added insult to injury.
She slapped her palms against his chest, wrenched herself out of his embrace.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she said, blinking rapidly to stop the tears already clogging her throat from spilling over her lids. ‘What right do you have to—?’
‘You shouldn’t have left the house. I told you not to. I woke up and I didn’t know where you were.’ She saw it then, the anguish in his eyes, and heard the panic in his voice… His skin had gone pale, the thick stubble on his jaw doing nothing to disguise the muscles tensing in his cheek.
And just like that, the caustic anger at the way he’d treated her, the way he’d disregarded her wishes and her autonomy, imploded.
Because he didn’t look angry, he looked broken, haunted, the mask of the reckless playboy ripped away, to reveal a very different man beneath.
Someone who cared, someone who could be hurt.
A man she hadn’t glimpsed even while they had been making love.
But before she could ask him what was wrong, he had swung around and marched across the space to punch the concrete wall. She flinched.
He cursed in Greek and English. Then placed his palms on the wall, leaning against it, as if he needed to be propped up.
Her own legs felt like jelly as she walked towards him, her heart punching her ribs.
He’d always kept a crucial part of himself back, even in the height of passion. A part he hadn’t let her see. A part she hadn’t even realised existed until this moment.
She placed her hand on his back.
The vicious shudder that wracked his body shocked her even more. But she kept her hand on him, desperate to soothe the tension, and to calm his ragged breathing, as his head dropped forward until his forehead was resting against the concrete wall.
Was this a panic attack? Where had it come from?
‘I was safe, Theo…’ she whispered. ‘I was only fifty yards from the house.’
He swore again, and she stroked both hands down his back to circle his waist and hug him. She pressed her cheek into his spine, the tears welling as she realised how cold he was.
He’d run out to search for her, with only a few layers on—in minus-thirty degrees.
She had no idea what might have triggered his reaction to waking up and finding her gone, but she could feel it flowing through him now, in the tight muscles that refused to relax, the hoarse breathing. She began to talk, trying to soothe herself now as much as him.
‘I found the instruction manual for the sauna. I-I know you don’t like the cold. I wanted to do something…’ For you. She bit off the thought, because it sounded too sentimental. ‘To celebrate.’
‘Celebrate what?’ he said, his voice rough, his hands still braced against the wall, his harsh breaths suggesting he was still struggling to get enough air into his lungs.
‘It’s Christmas, Theo. Today is Christmas.’
He shifted round at last. Grasping her hips, he pulled her into his body. Cradling her head, he pressed her face into his shoulder, holding her too tightly.
‘I told you. I don’t celebrate,’ he murmured into her hair.
‘I know but…’ she said, trying to gather her fractured thoughts as his fingers sank into her hair and he massaged her scalp, almost as if he were testing to make sure she was real, solid. ‘I thought we could share a sauna to keep you warm…’
Before she could finish the thought, he clasped her cheeks to tilt her head back, and his lips found hers. He thrust his tongue deep, the kiss forceful, frantic—so much more raw and urgent than the way he had always kissed her before.
She opened for him instinctively, the yearning in her sex nothing compared to the yearning in her heart. Whatever had caused his panic attack, he needed her to anchor him.
He tore his mouth away, his gaze searching her face. ‘I only need one damn thing to keep me warm…’ he managed, before boosting her into his arms.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding onto his strength as he marched across the garage and headed up the interior stairs.
She rained kisses on his face as those urgent hands sank beneath the waistband of her pants to cup her bare bottom.
She was panting hard, her heart ramming her ribs when they reached the lounge.
He dropped her onto one of the low couches, the glitter of the Christmas tree lights sparkling in his dark hair.
She barely had a chance to catch her breath before he had dragged off her yoga pants and panties and released the huge erection from his sweats.
He found a condom in the pocket, ripped the foil packet with his teeth before sheathing himself with clumsy fingers.
She watched him as her heart got wedged under in her throat—and pulsed between her naked thighs.
‘I can’t wait,’ he rasped, grabbing her legs to draw her to the edge of the couch and position himself between her thighs. The thick head of his erection butted the place where she ached for that brutal thrust that would drive him deep.
‘Don’t wait, you don’t have to…’ she whispered, her arms wrapping around his shoulders to draw him closer.
He grunted but dragged his fingers through her slick folds to test her readiness. Then his gaze locked on hers as he held her hips and plunged to the hilt.
Her tight flesh struggled to adjust to his girth, even though she had taken him so many times before.
His forehead met hers as he began to rock. In. Out. Deep. Deeper. Giving her every pulsating inch. Pleasure spread, tightening her nipples, making her chest ache, her skin sparkle and glow.
The relentless thrusts—harder, faster—robbed her of breath, the pleasure rising, twisting, holding her in its coils, suspended.
She moaned, her sobs matching his grunts, the slap of flesh on flesh visceral, basic, brutal in its intensity. The scent of him—salty sweat, male musk, the hint of bergamot and orange—invaded her senses, clogging her lungs.
She clasped his cheeks in unsteady hands, threaded her fingers through the silky strands of hair, holding on for dear life now. Her lungs hurt, her back ached, her core pulsed with exquisite pain, the orgasm so close.
He shifted, to brush his thumb over her aching clit, the thick thrusts becoming jerky, desperate. And then he found the heart of her at last.
She screamed, the coil bursting like a dam, the emotion rushing through her—brutal and overwhelming. She held him, the only safe place in the hurricane consuming them both.
As she plunged into oblivion, he thrust deep one last time and shouted out as he crashed over, too.
Theo groaned, the last waves of the brutal orgasm finally receding, his cock still wedged inside her.
Damn, he’d taken her like a man possessed. He felt her shiver as he eased himself free, the tight clasp of her sex releasing him with difficulty.
Had he hurt her? He must have done. The shame washed over him as he tugged up his sweats, rearranged the long T-shirt she wore to cover her nakedness, then pulled her into his arms.
They lay like that, together on the couch, for what felt like an eternity. The feel of her in his arms—soft, sated—the only thing that would settle his thundering heartbeat.
What did he say to make this right?
‘I’m sorry…’ he murmured.