Chapter Seven #2
A pained hiss escaped her lips. “I wish I was brave enough to ask follow-up questions on that strangely honest admission.” She jerked her hand out of his and turned to look out into the dark night.
Her jaw was tight, her profile achingly lovely bathed in the moonlight.
When she turned to him, her amber eyes glittered with emotion.
“But alas, apparently I still prefer lies and sweet delusions to the truth.”
It was exactly what he had thought of her all these years, yet her self-deprecation didn’t sit well with him. “What did Noor say to you?” he said, taking a shot in the dark.
He didn’t forget, for one moment, that while outwardly the older woman had been elated at this wedding, it didn’t mean that she was happy with it.
Nor that Noor had always preferred Julian over her daughter—though he didn’t get how any parent could make a choice like that—and that Aliyah had always been vulnerable, seeking approval and affection when none was available.
He knew she was different now—wiser and smarter—but he also knew, better than anyone, that some people would always remain one’s weakness.
“Aliyah?” he said, infusing a little steel into his tone.
His wife shook her head, neither confirming nor denying his suspicions.
Anger sparked in his chest—he would have to warn the older woman away from upsetting his wife needlessly. He hated getting into more drama with Noor, but he would not, could not, tolerate anyone putting Aliyah down.
“Come, let’s get these cleaned up properly. Then you can go to bed, alone,” he added, looking up into her face. “Celebrate successfully denying your husband his wedding night.”
“Don’t condescend to me, Constantine. I will take anything but that.” Aliyah’s voice cut through the air, as if she were right on the edge of something that might break her.
“I’m not,” he said, the words slipping out with more truth than he intended. “It’s clear that you are upset, and while I would like to know who—”
Her reply sliced through him, stopping him short. “You don’t have that right. Not included in the contract you had me sign.”
His jaw tightened at the mention of the contract, but he fought against the urge to bite back.
“Fine,” he said, his voice low. “Just let me walk you to your bedroom. I know this day has been a lot.”
“Finally, something we agree on,” Aliyah replied, pushing herself up from the bench.
The soft rustle of her dress brushed against the floor, but it was the way her hair framed her face—falling like a curtain around them—that stole his attention. The scent of her, subtle and sweaty, coiled around him, bringing with it the heady weight of something that was just beyond his reach.
Her breath, warm against his lips, was a soft sigh, like an invitation he could no longer ignore. She rubbed her nose against his, the simple touch sending a jolt through him, a sharp, desperate hunger stirring low in his stomach.
“It’s been a day, yes, and maybe, I’m feeling bloodthirsty. Or maybe I want my reward, husband.”
His body reacted instantly, his erection already rock-hard. He didn’t want her, not like this. Everything about the moment screamed at him to hold back, to stay in control. But her eyes, those amber depths, pulled him in.
His hand moved, almost instinctively, to clasp her jaw, holding her there, keeping her close, while his body throbbed with need. “I do not like games, pethi mou. Especially of this kind.”
Aliyah’s smile curled into something soft and dangerous, pressing into his palm like a lazy cat seeking touch. Her breath was warm against his lips. “Who said it was a game?”
She leaned in, closing the distance between them. Her lips brushed his, and the moment they made contact, everything snapped into focus.
There was no seduction, no playful challenge—this kiss was raw, immediate, fueled by hunger. Her lips were soft but demanding, her body a pulse of fiery need. It was as if the world had caught fire in her kiss, and Constantine found himself swept into the blaze.
He took over instantly, his tongue tangling with hers, tasting the faint sweetness of her, mingling with the tang of her earlier tears.
Her impatience showed in the quickness of her movements, and he nipped her lower lip, a sharp spark that made her moan into him.
He responded with soft strokes of his tongue, coaxing her back into the kiss as if she were the very thing that could burn him alive, and he was all too ready to let it happen.
Her upper body hovered over him, her form half falling into him, as if she were weightless, unanchored in the madness between them.
His fingers crawled into the curve of her neck, the delicate pulse beneath his fingertips sending a rush of heat to his blood.
His other hand moved to her knee, steadying her, but the feel of her reaching for him was intoxicating.
His touch crept higher, his hand gliding over the silky smoothness of her thigh.
The warmth of her skin was almost too much. Every inch of her burned under his fingers, and he pulled back just enough to give her air—just enough to let his mind catch up with what was happening.
Her breathing was heavy and choppy, the sound loud in the silence of the greenhouse, breaking the tension around them.
Her amber gaze swam with desire, wild and untamed. She reached for his hand, the one on her thigh, and guided it higher, pulling him deeper into the moment.
“Aliyah,” he murmured, his voice low and tight, trying to hold onto common sense. But there was none left.
Aliyah fell from the bench into his lap, forcing him to lean back to catch her, his hands instinctively going to her waist to steady her.
She straddled him, her body pressing against his, the sudden, unexpected shift making him tense with desire.
Her knees pressed against the cool floor, but the heat of her body sent a jolt through him.
She lifted her chin, staring into his eyes with a challenge that matched the hunger in her gaze. “You’ve got me where you want, Constantine,” she said, her voice low, almost a whisper, but the words hit like a charge in the air. “Trapped in this marriage… Now, give me what I need.”
Her hips ground down against him, and Constantine’s breath caught in his throat.
Her soft warmth surrounded him, an ache in his chest growing with every inch of contact.
The hard steel of his erection pressed into her, and the friction made his body tense, his hands involuntarily moving to grip her hips.
This wasn’t just sex; it was something else—something rougher, primal.
Something was definitely wrong, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Aliyah wasn’t just acting out of reckless desire; there was a deeper emotion beneath her movements—something raw, something broken.
And he didn’t want her surrender like this, not when she wasn’t fully herself, when she was skating the edge of some pain. When she was courting self-destruction at his hands.
That wasn’t the petty little revenge he intended to have. But something else.
He clamped his hands down on her hips to stop her from moving.
“Think about what you’re doing,” he rasped, trying to catch his breath. It felt like the air was thick, suffocating him.
She didn’t listen. Instead, she laughed—low and dark—and nipped his lower lip, hard. The sting sent a jolt of heat through his chest.
“That’s exactly what I don’t want to do,” she murmured, breath hot against his skin.
“Think. It’s gotten me nowhere.” She paused, her lips brushing against his as she moved again, pushing down against him.
“I want to escape. I want so much pleasure that my synapses shut down. I want to forget who I am and what I care about.”
Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in with a mixture of need and anger. She sneered at him, the raw intensity in her eyes cutting straight through him.
“You wanted me to beg, remember? You said you’d make me scream. Well, I’m begging now, Constantine. Is it not quite to your taste?” Her eyes glinted with a challenge, a sharp edge in her tone. “If you can’t accommodate me, maybe you should let me go.”
She tried to move off him, but Constantine’s hands shot out, arresting her movement.
He wasn’t about to let her pull away. Not when everything about her now—her messy hair, taunting smile, those eyes filled with fiery desire—was more arousing than anything he’d ever known.
“No, poulaki mou,” Constantine said, the last of his control in shreds. “Your surrender tastes just as sweet and tart as I hoped it would be. And you are right. I do like the sound of my wife begging me. I have waited eons to hear it from your lips.”