Chapter Twelve
ANDIE WOKE UP FEELING like her old self.
No more hot flashes that she had the misfortune of experiencing even in her late teens. No heaviness in her belly. No brain fog. She was almost afraid to hope, but when a quick dash to the en-suite confirmed the good news—
Oh, finally!
She showered and took her time applying a bit of lotion and perfume, heart racing throughout it while her mind raced with the kind of thoughts that made her blush.
Behave, Andie, behave!
Memories of how her husband had stoically refused her shy, awkward offer to touch him had her turning even redder even as her toes curled.
She still couldn’t believe she had made such an offer in the first place, but at the same time, she just couldn’t believe he had been so patient all this time, and when she recalled just how many cold showers he had subjected himself to in a day. ..
How was it possible that a man like Paul Mitropoulos could have such great desire for someone ordinary like her?
Andie felt like running and running away the moment she returned to the bedroom, with her husband still asleep in bed. She had obviously never done anything like what she was planning—well, ‘hoping’ would probably be more accurate.
She knew what she had to do. She had read about it countless times. But knowledge was a lot different from execution, and so...
You can do him, I mean, do this! Just...just take it one inch, I mean, one step at a time, and will you please stop panicking, Andromeda Jackson—I mean, Mitropoulos!
Her gorgeous husband lay on his back, one arm thrown above his head, the sheets pooled low around his hips.
The early morning light caught the copper in his hair, turned his skin to gold.
Even in sleep, there was something almost unbearably beautiful about him—the sharp line of his jaw, the sweep of his lashes against his cheeks, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Her husband.
This impossible, infuriating, secretly tender man was her husband.
And she was done waiting.
Andie climbed onto the bed, her movements careful and deliberate. The mattress dipped beneath her weight, but Paul didn’t stir. She positioned herself between his legs, her heart hammering so loud she was certain it would wake him.
It didn’t.
She reached for the waistband of his sleep pants, easing them down with trembling fingers. He wore nothing beneath, and the sight of him—already half-hard, even in sleep—made her mouth go dry.
Reading was nothing compared to this.
Nothing compared to the reality of him, thick and heavy and right there, close enough to touch.
Close enough to taste.
Andie lowered her head.
And took him into her mouth.
The sound Paul made—a sharp intake of breath, a groan that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest—sent a thrill racing down her spine. His hips jerked involuntarily, and she felt him swell against her tongue, hardening fully in a matter of seconds.
“Wha—” His voice was rough with sleep, confused. “Andromeda?”
She didn’t answer.
Couldn’t answer, not with her mouth full of him.
Instead, she hollowed her cheeks and sucked, and the sound he made this time was closer to a growl.
“You...”
His hand found her hair, fingers threading through the damp strands, but he didn’t push or guide. Just held on, like he needed something to anchor himself to reality.
“You don’t have to—” The words came out strangled. “Koukla mou, you don’t—”
She took him deeper in response, and whatever protest he’d been forming dissolved into a groan.
She had no idea what she was doing.
No technique, no skill, nothing but instinct and enthusiasm and a desperate desire to make him feel even a fraction of what he’d made her feel. She let her tongue explore the length of him, tracing ridges and veins, learning the taste of him—salt and musk and something uniquely Paul.
His breathing had gone ragged.
His grip on her hair tightened.
“Andromeda.” His voice was rough now, terrifyingly so...and strangely enough, that made her feel hotter and wetter. “If you don’t stop—”
She didn’t stop.
She increased her pace instead, taking him as deep as she could manage, her hand wrapping around what her mouth couldn’t reach. The sounds filling the room were obscene—wet and desperate and utterly intoxicating—and she could feel him starting to lose control.
His hips moved now, shallow thrusts that he was clearly trying to restrain. His other hand fisted in the sheets, knuckles white. Every muscle in his body had gone taut, straining, trembling on the edge of something he couldn’t hold back much longer.
“Andromeda.” His voice was wrecked. Shattered. “You...”
She sucked harder, and he finally came with a groan that seemed to tear itself from somewhere deep in his soul, his whole body shuddering as he spilled himself in her mouth.
Andie swallowed instinctively, tasting the hot rush of him, feeling the way his hand spasmed in her hair and his hips jerked helplessly beneath her.
Wave after wave.
She took all of it.
Every last drop.
When it was finally over, she released him gently, pressing a soft kiss to his hip before lifting her head to look at him.
Paul.
The look on his beautiful face...
Oh Paul.
She didn’t want to put a name on it.
Couldn’t.
Because Paul was suddenly moving—
One moment, she was still kneeling between his legs.
The next, the world had turned upside down, with Andie flat on her back, Paul looming over her like a primitive conqueror, his weight pinning her to the mattress, his hands braced on either side of her head.
Gulp.
The look on her husband’s face...had changed.
It was still terrifying, but...in a completely different way.
His gray eyes had gone dark, almost black, and Andie...couldn’t even manage to gulp this time when his lips curved into a smile that was more wolf than man.
“It’s been three days, koukla mou. Can you imagine how badly I’m starving for dessert?”