The Greek's Billion-Dollar Baby. Clare Connelly

       CHAPTER TWO

      PERHAPS SHE’D EXPECTED him to kiss her gently, to explore her slowly, but there was nothing gentle about this, nothing slow. It was a kiss of urgency and it detonated around them.

      She made a groaning noise into his mouth, her desire roaring through her body, taking control of her.

      This was not a warm, comfortable kiss. It was a kiss that redefined everything in her life, pushing new boundaries into place. She clung to his shirt for dear life and he kissed her deeper, his mouth moving over hers, demanding more of her, his tongue duelling with her own, his body cleaved to hers so not a breath of space remained between them.

      It was a kiss of complete domination and she succumbed to it utterly.

      ‘Just this one night.’ He pushed the words into her mouth as he spun her body, tightening his arms around her waist and lifting her in his arms. He sat down on the sofa, pulling her onto his lap, pushing at her dress and making a guttural sound of frustration when he found the cotton of her underpants.

      It was everything she wanted—the impermanence, the perfect treatment. She wanted to lose her virginity—it seemed ridiculous to be twenty-three and not know what sex was all about, yet the idea of a relationship made something inside her shrivel up and die.

      She’d never trust another man, she’d never want love, or believe in love. She’d never be foolish enough to believe she was lovable.

      But sex?

      This?

      This was a balm to her soul.

      She tilted her head back as he pushed her dress higher, over her arms and then from her body altogether, so she wore only her underwear, flimsy cotton, with no care whatsoever that this man she’d met less than an hour ago was seeing her like this.

      If anything, she found her total abandon to this—to him—liberating.

      There was no room for any such rational consideration, though, when he unhooked the bra and discarded it carelessly, then began to trace one of her nipples with his tongue, circling the peach areola lightly at first, so she was trembling on top of him, straddling his lap.

      He moved his mouth closer to the tip of her nipple and, finally, surrounded it completely, sucking on her flesh in a way that burst starlight behind her eyes.

      She swore, uncharacteristically, and he echoed it in his native tongue, reaching between her legs and pushing at the trousers of his designer suit, unzipping them, unbuttoning them so that the arousal she could feel through the material was hard and naked.

      He transferred his mouth to her other breast and the first, so sensitive from his ministrations, felt the sting of the cool, air-conditioned air and she arched her back in response.

      It was completely overwhelming.

      Or, she thought it was. But then, he moved his hand between her legs and through the waistband of her underwear, sliding a finger into her moist core, and she cried his name.

      He stilled for a moment then moved his finger deeper, finding her sensitive cluster of nerves and tormenting it until she was panting, desperate, so desperate, before pulling his finger out, fixing her with a look of wonderment.

      ‘You are so wet.’

      She was, and shaking all over, desire like an electrical current and it was frying her completely.

      ‘I know,’ she groaned as his hands moved to the top of her underpants and began to push at them. She shifted her body, lifting herself up so he could undress her completely, needing to be naked, needing him.

      She had no experience but she had instincts and they were driving her wild, needing her to act, to feel, to do. She groaned as she stood shakily, naked before him, wanting to experience everything. There was a type of madness overtaking her, building within her.

      She reached a hand out for his and he stood, wrapping his arms around her, crushing her to his frame.

      ‘Who are you?’ he groaned into her mouth, the words making no sense.

      ‘Hannah,’ she said unevenly and he laughed, a husky sound.

      ‘Yes. But what kind of mermaid or angel or fairy are you to come here and do this to me?’

      She swallowed his words, kissing him right back, her tongue duelling with his, passion making their breath harsh and loud in the still night air.

      ‘Leonidas,’ she groaned his name and his hands curved around her naked rear, lifting her up, wrapping her legs around his body as he strode through the penthouse towards what turned out to be a bedroom. It was huge with the same view towards Athens. He eased her down without bothering to turn on the lights so every sparkle of fireworks was like a jolt into the room.

      Her hands tugged at his shirt with such desperation a button popped off and flew through the room.

      She cursed softly under her breath, her eyes apologetic when they latched to his.

      He shook his head. ‘Don’t worry.’

      She nodded, but he finished the job, stripping the shirt from his body to reveal a broadly muscled chest that had her pulse ratcheting up yet another gear so she was almost trembling with the force of her own body’s demands.

      ‘Wow.’ She stared at the ridges of his torso, transfixed by the obvious strength there, and lifted her hands to trace his abdominals almost without realising it. ‘Work out much?’

      She didn’t see the way his lips flickered into a smile, nor could she have any idea how rare that smile was. Her hands ran down his chest, finding the waist of his pants and pushing at them, her eyes lifting to his as she sucked her lower lip between her teeth.

      She was completely inexperienced and yet Hannah felt no anxiety, no nervousness, nothing except desire bursting through her, jolting her body as though she’d picked up a bundle of live wires.

      ‘I want you,’ she said, in awe of how true that was. It went beyond needing revenge on Angus, it went beyond anything to do with Angus. There was nothing and no one in Hannah’s mind as she lifted onto the tips of her toes so she could claim Leonidas’s mouth with her own, her kiss curious, questioning and then desperate.

      He kissed her back, their bodies moulded together, desire a flame that was growing bigger than either could control. ‘I want to take this slow,’ he groaned, his hands tangling in her russet hair, curling it up and holding it against her head. He took a step forward, pushing her backwards until Hannah collapsed onto the bed, his body following, the weight and strength of him an impossible pleasure.

      ‘I want this,’ she said again, more to herself than him. ‘Don’t take it slow.’

      He lifted himself up to stare at her, his eyes showing emotions she couldn’t comprehend, or perhaps her ability to comprehend was blunted by the sheer force of her own feelings, which were overwhelming her, robbing her of sense and logic and reason.

      ‘You don’t know…’

      His words were engulfed by her kiss. Hannah was sick of being patient; she was sick of waiting. She’d never known desire like this but that didn’t mean she wasn’t prepared to answer its call. ‘Please,’ she groaned. ‘Make love to me.’

      The words were breathed into his being, sparkling like the light show beyond the window. Explosions of light, intense, glowing, hot. He separated her legs, nudging the tip of his arousal against her womanhood, and Hannah held her breath, she held everything.

      For a split second, she contemplated telling him she was innocent, that she’d never done this before, but there was no time. He thrust into her and with her gasp he stilled,