Mediterranean Mavericks: Greeks. Кейт Хьюит
soft curves of her body press against his, all his plans for vengeance were forgotten against the ruthless clamor of his body. For ten years, he’d desired this woman; and now she was half-naked in his arms, willing to surrender everything.
Suddenly, it all came down to two simple facts.
She’d sold herself.
He’d bought her.
So why not take her? Why not enjoy her sensual body as a way to finally excise her memory, once and for all?
She’d lied her way through the evening, pretending it was a romantic date, instead of a commercial transaction. He’d almost been surprised.
Until now.
Naked beneath him, Letty looked up, her eyes luminous in that lovely face he’d never been able to forget.
“Say something,” she said anxiously.
Darius set his jaw. After her heartless betrayal, followed by ten years of silence, she’d just told him out of the blue she loved him. What could he say in response? Go to hell?
Letitia Spencer. So beautiful. So treacherous. So poisonous.
But now, at last, he understood her goal. She wasn’t just playing for a hundred thousand dollars tonight. No. Tonight was just the sample that was supposed to leave him wanting more.
Because he’d seen her face as she left that diner. She was tired. Tired of working. Tired of being poor. Perhaps her father, newly free from prison, had been the one to suggest how to easily change her life—by becoming Darius’s wife.
She must have seen his company’s sale trumpeted in the newspaper today and decided it was time she made a play for his billions. He almost couldn’t blame her. She’d been holding on to her virginity all these years—why not cash in?
She loved him.
Cold, sardonic anger pulsed through him.
She thought he’d learned nothing all these years. She actually thought, if she told him she loved him, he would still swoon at her feet. That he was still the lovesick idiot of long ago.
If Darius had despised her before, it was nothing compared to how he felt about her now.
And yet, he still desired her. Holding himself motionless inside her hot, tight sheath, he was still so hard, he was close to exploding.
That fact enraged him even more.
He wanted to make her pay. Not just for this last insult, but for everything that had gone before. Suddenly, causing her one night of humiliation wasn’t nearly enough.
Darius wanted vengeance.
He wanted to raise her up, give her hope, then bring it crashing down as she’d once done. Fantastical plans coursed through his skull. He wanted to marry her, fill her with his child. He wanted to make her love him, then coldly spurn her. He wanted to take everything, and leave her penniless and alone.
That wouldn’t be revenge. It would be justice.
“Darius?” A shadow of worry had crossed her face as she looked up at him, naked on the bed.
Lowering his head, he kissed her almost tenderly. She trembled in his arms, her plump breasts crushed against his naked chest, her amazing hips spread wide for him. Seeing her stretched out on his bed, with the play of shadows and light on the sexy curves of her tantalizing breasts, stretched the limits of his self-control.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, agape mou,” he said in a low voice. Lie. His lips brushed the sensitive flesh of her cheek. As lightly as a butterfly setting down, he kissed the two tears that had overflowed her lashes. “But the pain won’t last.” Another lie. He would make sure it lasted the rest of her life. He smiled grimly. “Just wait.”
She looked up at him, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. Then sighed, relaxing in surrender.
The kiss he gave her then was anything but tender. It was demanding, rough, fierce. He had experience, and she did not. He knew how to lure her. How to master her.
Unless—she could be feigning her desire?
No, he thought coldly. He would make sure she did not. That would be one insult he’d not allow her to pay. He would make sure every bit of her pleasure was real.
He stroked her soft body, taking his time, caressing her, until, slowly, she started kissing him back.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling his weight back down on her. He shifted his hips, testing her ability to accept him, still rock hard and huge inside her. She whimpered, then exhaled, swaying her hips.
He moved expertly, drawing back slowly, then pushing inside her a second time. She gripped his shoulders, closing her eyes. He suckled a nipple, watching her face carefully. It wasn’t until he saw the glow of ecstasy return to her face, and felt her muscles start to tighten around him, that he knew he’d succeeded. Triumph filled him as he began to ride her.
Filling her so deeply, this woman he’d desired for almost a third of his life, he felt light-headed. His body started to shake with pleasure so intense that it was almost like pain. They were so intertwined it was hard to know where one ended and the other began.
Pleasure and pain.
Hatred and desire.
As he thrust into her, sweat covered his body with the effort of keeping control. Her breasts swayed as he thrust inside her, all the way to the hilt. Gasping, she put her hands against the headboard, bracing against the force of his thrust. Her breathing became shallow as her body twisted beneath him with building need.
Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back, as she panted for breath. She moved her hands to his shoulders. He barely noticed her fingernails digging into his skin. He was lost in the sensation of possessing her, filling her, owning her, the glory of her flesh, the sweetness of her skin.
He felt simultaneously lost and found. Every corner of his soul that had ever felt hollow was miraculously filled. His body was pure light.
From a distance, he heard a low ragged shout and realized the sound was coming from his own mouth, releasing emotion he’d kept locked up for a decade. Her voice joined his as she cried out her own joy and grief and pain.
His body spasmed with a final, violent thrust and he poured himself into her, collapsing over her on the bed, their bodies slick with sweat, fused together.
It was much later when he opened his eyes and discovered Letty was sleeping in his arms. He stared down at her in wonder.
He wondered how he’d ever been satisfied by those pallid, skinny supermodels who had filled his bed till now. Those affairs had been insipid, hollow, dull compared to this fire. Tasting her, feeling her shake, hearing her cry of pleasure had pushed him to the limit.
It’s hatred, he realized.
Hatred had made him utterly lose self-control in a way he’d never done before, in a way he’d never imagined possible. As he’d taken possession of her body, after ten years of frustrated desire, he’d slaked his ache in a dark, twisted fantasy of vengeance.
It had been the single best sexual experience of his life.
But as he pulled away from her, he sucked in his breath.
The condom had broken.
He’d worn one, of course. No matter how he might fantasize about revenge, no matter how much he hated her, the last thing he would want was to actually get her pregnant and drag an innocent child into this.
Now he stared down, unable to believe his own eyes. How could the condom have broken?
Had he been too rough, forgetting everything in his need to possess her, to relieve the savage, unrequited desire of ten years?
He’d wanted to brand her forever with the deepest mark of his possession. Had he actually wanted to fill her with his child?
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