Rumours: The Dishonoured Copelands: The Fallen Greek Bride (The Disgraced Copelands) / His Defiant Desert Queen (The Disgraced Copelands) / Her Sinful Secret (The Disgraced Copelands). Jane Porter
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years of trouble.”
“We all make mistakes,” she taunted, deliberately provoking him, but unable to help herself. Drakon Xanthis’s famous icy control was cracking and she wondered what would happen when it shattered completely. “Best thing you can do now is forgive yourself for making such a dreadful mistake and move forward.”
Fire flashed in his eyes and he leaned in, closing the gap between them so that his broad chest just grazed the swell of her breasts and she could feel the tantalizing heat of his hips so close to hers.
“Such an interesting way to view things,” he said, his head dropping, his voice deepening. “With you as my mistake.”
His lips were so close now and her lower back tingled and her belly tightened, and desire coursed through her veins, making her ache everywhere.
She could feel his need, feel the desire and her mouth dried, her heart hammering harder. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted the kiss, craved his kiss, even as a little voice of reason inside her head sounded the alarm….
Stop. Wait. Think.
She had to remember … remember the past … remember what had happened last time … this wasn’t just a kiss, but an inferno. If she gave in to this kiss, it’d be all over. Drakon was so dangerous for her. He did something to her. He, like his name, Drakon, Greek for dragon, was powerful and potent and destructive.
But he was also beautiful and physical and sensual and he made her feel. My God, he made her feel and she wanted that intensity now. Wanted him now.
“My beautiful, expensive mistake,” he murmured, his lips brushing across the shell of her ear, making her breath catch in her throat and sending hot darts of delicious sensation throughout her body, making her aware of every sensitive spot.
“Next time, don’t marry the girl,” she said, trying to sound brazen and cavalier, but failing miserably as just then he pushed his thigh between her legs. The heat of his hard body scalded her, and the unexpected pressure and pleasure was so intense she gasped, making her head spin.
“Would you have been happier just being my mistress?” he asked, his tongue tracing the curve of her ear even as his muscular thigh pressed up, his knee against her core, teasing her senses, making her shiver with need.
She was wet and hot, too hot, and her skin felt too tight. She wanted relief, needed relief, and it didn’t help that she couldn’t catch her breath. She was breathing shallowly, her chest rising and falling while her mouth dried.
“Would you have been able to let go more? Enjoyed the sex without guilt?” he added, biting her tender earlobe, his teeth sharp, even as he wedged his thigh deeper between her knees, parting her thighs wider so that she felt like a butterfly pinned against the wall.
“There was no guilt,” she choked, eyes closing as he worked his thigh against her in a slow maddening circle. He was so warm and she was so wet and she knew it was wrong, but she wanted more, not less.
His teeth scraped across that hollow beneath her ear and she shuddered against him, thinking he remembered how sensitive she was, how her body responded to every little touch and bite and caress.
“Liar.” He leaned in closer, his knee grinding and his hips pressing down against her hips, making her pelvis feel hot and yet hollow, and the muscles inside her womb clench. “You liked it hot. You liked it when I made you fall apart.”
And it was true, she thought, her body so tight and hot and aching that she arched against him, absolutely wanton. There was no satisfaction like this, though, and she wanted satisfaction. Wanted him. Wanted him here and now. Wanted him to lift her tunic and expose her breasts and knead and roll the tight, aching nipples between his fingers. He’d made her come that way before, just by playing with her nipples, and he’d watched her face as she came, watched every flicker of emotion that crossed her face as he broke her control….
If only he’d peel her clothes off now, if only she could feel his skin on her skin, feel him in her, needing the heat and fullness of him inside her, craving the pleasure of being taken, owned, possessed—
Morgan’s eyes flew open.
Owned?
Owned? My God. She was insane.
Visions of her months at McLean Hospital filled her head and it dragged her abruptly back to reality. She had to be smart. Couldn’t destroy herself again. Never wanted to go back to McLean Hospital again.
The very memory of McLean was enough for her to put her hands on his chest and push him back, and she pushed hard, but he didn’t budge and all she felt was the warm dense plane of muscle that banded his ribs, and the softness of his cashmere sweater over the dense carved muscle.
“Get off,” she panted, pushing harder, putting all of her weight into the shove but Drakon was solid, immoveable. “I’m not a toy, Drakon, not here for your amusement.”
His hand snaked into her hair, twisting the dark length around his fist, holding her face up to his. “Good, because I’m not amused.”
“No, you’re just aroused,” she answered coldly, furious with herself for responding to him with such abandon. So typical. So pathetic. No wonder her family had locked her up.
He caught one of her hands and dragged it down his body and between their hips to cup his erection. “Yes,” he drawled, amber gaze burning, “so I am.”
She inhaled sharply, her fingers curving around him, clasping his thick shaft as if measuring the hard length, and it was a terrible seductive pleasure, touching him like this. She remembered how he felt inside her—hot, heavy—and how the satin heat of his body would stretch her, stroke her, hitting nerve endings she hadn’t even known she had.
Curiosity and desire warred with her sense of self-preservation, before overriding her common sense.
Morgan palmed the length of him, slowly, firmly running her hand down his shaft and then, as if unable to stop herself, back up again to cup the thick, rounded head. She’d never thought a man’s body was beautiful before she’d met Drakon, but she loved every muscle and shadow of his body, loved the lines and the planes and the way his cock hung heavy between his muscular legs. He was such a powerfully built man, and yet the skin on his shaft was so smooth and sensitive, like silk, and the contradiction between his great, hard body and that delicate skin fascinated her.
But then he fascinated her. No, it was more than that, more than fascination. It was an obsession. She needed him so much she found it virtually impossible to live without him.
“You want me,” he said. “You want me to peel your trousers and knickers off and take you here, on these steps, don’t you?”
Fire surged through her veins, fire and hunger and shame. Because yes, she did want him and her orgasms were the most intense when he pushed it to the edge, making every touch into something dangerous and erotic. “You do like to dominate,” she answered breathlessly.
He tugged on her hair, and it hurt a little, just as he’d intended, making her nipples harden into tight, aching buds even as she stiffened against him, her body rippling with need.
“And you do like to be dominated,” he rasped in her ear.
SHE SHOVED AWAY from him and this time he let her go and Morgan ran the rest of the way up the stairs, racing back to her room, his voice echoing in her head. And you like to be dominated….
Morgan barely made it to her bed before her legs gave out, the mocking words making her absolutely heartsick, because he wasn’t completely wrong. Part of her did like it. It was sexy … hot … exciting.
But she shouldn’t like it. It wasn’t politically correct. She couldn’t imagine her mother approving. Not that