Chapter Eight
FINALLY, FINALLY, HE WAS touching her like she needed him to. The second he lost his battle with his so-called honor and took over, she could sense the shift in the very air around them.
Relief poured into her, washing away the cold remnants of self-doubt. She wasn’t sure she could survive intact if he rejected her now.
She lifted to her knees, and his hands instantly dug under her dress, rucking it up her thighs, pushing away the flimsy fabric. A cold draft hit the places pulsing with heat and need. And finally, he was there, where she needed him—where she had needed him for years. His touch was there.
His clever fingers pushed her thong aside, teasing her folds, moving up and down, in circles, with a rhythm that coiled her tighter. Her breath caught in her throat.
She gasped, her skin humming as his thumb circled her entrance in a slow, wicked tease. But never dipping fully inside.
His mouth brushed her temple, the heat of his breath making her pulse race even faster.
“Ahh…all you had to do when I walked in was show me this, wife. How wet you are for me. No begging needed.”
His chuckle rang with satisfaction and arrogance, but Aliyah didn’t care.
All she wanted was the release she had been dying for ever since she’d laid eyes on him again.
Ever since she had accepted that fate had brought her to him, no matter how far she had tried to run.
She wanted escape and passion and pleasure to scorch her regrets, to keep her levelheaded again near him.
Just because he hadn’t thrown her away back then didn’t mean Constantine was the same boy now.
Now, he’d changed. Enough to use her vulnerability to trap her into a marriage. Enough to use whatever she handed him now. And she couldn’t give or take anything from him except this passion. This blinding heat that could devour all her regrets and fears and vulnerabilities.
Here, she could be true to herself and to him.
Her heart pounded as she sneaked her hands under his shirt to feel the hot, hard skin beneath.
It felt like touching heated marble—his muscles flexing under her touch, the warmth of his skin seeping into hers. He smelled like wood, smoke and something that was all him—a scent that made her dizzy with desire. She could feel every inch of him—how solid he was, how alive he made her feel.
His fingers stroked her, pushing in and out, not touching the one spot where she needed it the most. The ache built higher, the hunger in her body growing with every pulse of need.
Against her knees, the floor was hard, grainy, but it barely registered. She thrust into his touch with abandon, chasing the release she craved.
“Please, Constantine,” she breathed, catching his lips with hers in a desperate kiss. “Push me off. I want out of this skin. I want to forget who I am.” Her words wrenched out of her on a sob, one that she hadn’t felt break through her in years. In more than a decade.
His mouth took over the kiss, claiming her in a way that sent fire racing through her. It was rough, possessive, the way his tongue stroked against hers, how he nipped and bit at her lower lip. She could taste the salt of his skin, the sharpness of desire, as he ravaged her.
“No, not yet, pethi mou,” he murmured between kisses. “You’re not coming until I’m inside you. And you’re not escaping your skin either. You’re here with me, wife, and this is our wedding night.”
Her body stilled, the weight of his words sinking in. For a brief moment, her mind screamed at her to pull away, to run, but the truth hit her all the same—she should have known Constantine wouldn’t let her escape. He wouldn’t let her hide from him or herself. Not then and definitely not now.
But if he knew what a coward she had been, if he knew how she had ruined their lives, their future with one fear-driven action…would he ever want her like this?
Did it even matter anymore? another voice whispered.
He made you his wife, locked you into this marriage. He wants you…isn’t that enough?
To hope for anything more was dangerous, delusional. Once, when they had both been different people, love had been possible between them. But not now. Not ever again.
Her gaze locked with his, sharp and defiant. “Then it’s on you to keep me here, Constantine,” she bit out, in a daring bait. “To make me feel so much that my mind and my fears disappear. That I’m nothing but pleasure.”
“As you wish, fterouga,” he said with a dark smirk. “All you have to do, as my wife, is ask for what you need, and I will deliver every single time.”
With that arrogant declaration, he unzipped his trousers with one hand firmly on her shoulder, his gaze never leaving hers.
Aliyah trembled, every inch of her body reacting to his words. It had been so long, but she needed this—needed him like this. Without reason or restraint.
The air between them was thick with heat, the faint scent of sweat mixing with the earthy, faintly musty smell of the greenhouse, which had never felt so alive with desire.
Her hands clamped onto his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin as he cupped her hip, pulling her down onto him in one swift, powerful thrust.
The sudden intrusion sent a shock wave through her, skewering her body with an intensity that shot straight to her heart. It hurt—good, raw and real—but it lasted only a moment. He was everywhere, inside her, stretching her, and she could feel every part of him as he filled her completely.
She threw her head back and groaned, a guttural sound joining his own. Their bodies met in a symphony of need, the sound of flesh against flesh mingling with the hot, damp air that surrounded them. The warmth of his skin against hers was intoxicating, drowning her in sensation.
She sensed the hesitation in him, felt it in the slight pause of his movements, but she was too far gone to be stopped by a moment’s pain.
She rotated her hips slowly, and a line of fire shot up her spine. She pulled up, only to slam down again, her body moving with reckless abandon, the cool floor against her knees contrasting with the heat of her skin. His hand gripped her hip tighter, his breath ragged in her ear.
“Slow, Aliyah. You’ll hurt yourself,” he warned, his voice tight with restraint. But she shook her head, sweat plopping onto his skin, her body desperate for release.
“No, get me there, Constantine. Please. Faster, rougher, however you have to.”
He cursed under his breath, his fingers finding her swollen clit, pinching it gently, and that was it. The orgasm ripped through her, quick and sharp. She felt herself unraveling around him, her body slamming down as he thrust up into her in perfect rhythm.
Constantine’s breath hitched, his reaction immediate as he felt her clenching around him. “You take me so well. After all these years, your body still knows me, ne?” he groaned, his voice rough with desire.
Her mind was mostly blank, consumed by sensation, the pleasure so deep it bordered on pain. But she needed more, craved complete ruin—in body and mind.
She rubbed her chest against his, desperate for fresh friction, even as he pumped into her.
The sounds they made—the wet, slick sounds of their bodies moving together—were filthy, primal.
As if he understood her unspoken, ravenous need, Constantine ripped the neckline of her dress. Her breasts spilled into his rough hands. Without hesitation, he took one plump nipple into his mouth.
Aliyah arched into his touch with a mewling groan.
The sensation of him sucking on her, the heat of his mouth was another assault on her parched senses. The constant pounding he gave her with his hips on top of it sent shock waves through her, pulling her, screaming as he’d promised her, into another orgasm.
This one was slow, long and fiery, washing over her like a wave, going on and on, turning her into a mass of pleasure points.
With a ragged groan, he shifted them, moving until she was on her back. Pinned under him.
Her knee was pushed into her chest, her breasts jostling with every movement, her back scraping against the cool wood floor as he thrust into her roughly. As he needed.
Above her, Constantine’s face was suspended, his features etched in concentration.
Sweat beaded on his brow, the weight of his dark features intensified by the raw, unrelenting lust that stamped his face.
It was a face that had haunted her, no matter how far she ran, no matter how long she tried to escape.
In this moment, there was no trace of the man bent on revenge, no remnants of the sweet boy struggling to rise out of poverty.
There was nothing left but the truth of him—a man who wanted her, as she wanted him, his desire as genuine and intense as hers. Even after all these years.
Tears filled her eyes and flew down her cheeks as the ruin of the past became dust under this moment.
His breath came fast, his body pressing down on hers with an urgency that mirrored the urgency in her own heart.
The air was thick now with the scent of body fluids, sweat and the faint trace of the musty wood around them. His dark face hovered above hers, his hard body arching over her, and she felt the weight of him pressing down, both physically and emotionally.
Then he pinned her with his hips, thrusting faster, deeper, the rhythm of his movements now frenzied.
She felt him push into her, each thrust harder than the last, and her body responded in an arc, desperate to meet him halfway. Desperate to give him everything he needed, to be his completely at least in this moment.
She couldn’t escape him—didn’t want to. And then, with a final thrust, he found his release, burying himself deep inside her as she trembled beneath him, their bodies locked in a heated, messy climax.