Greek Mavericks: Giving Her Heart To The Greek. Jennifer Taylor
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off her skin.
Behind him, the lamps cast amber reflections against the black windows. The pool glowed a ghostly blue on the deck beyond. It made radiance seem to emanate from him, but maybe that was her foolish, dampening eyes.
Painful yearning rose in her. It was familiar, yet held a searing twist. For a long time she had wanted a man in her life. She wanted a confidant, someone she could kiss and touch and sleep beside. She wanted intimacy, physical and emotional.
She had never expected this kind of corporeal desire. She hadn’t believed it existed, definitely hadn’t known it could overwhelm her like this.
How could she feel so attracted and needy toward a man who was so ambivalent toward her? It was excruciating.
But when he took her glass and set it aside, she didn’t resist. She kept holding his gaze as his hands came up to frame her face. And waited.
His gaze lowered to her lips.
They felt like they plumped with anticipation.
She looked at his mouth, not thinking about anything except how much she wanted his kiss. His lips were so beautifully shaped, full, but undeniably masculine. The tip of his tongue wet them, then he lowered his head, came closer.
The first brush of his damp lips against hers made her shudder in release of tension while tightening with anticipation. She gasped in surrender as his hands whispered down to warm her upper arms, then grazed over the fabric of her dress.
Then his mouth opened wider on hers and it was like a straight shot of ouzo, burning down her center and warming her through, making her drunk. Long, dragging kisses made her more and more lethargic by degrees, until he drew back and she realized her hand was at the back of his head, the other curled into the fabric of his shirt beneath his jacket.
He released her long enough to shrug out of his jacket, loosened his tie, then pulled her close again.
Her head felt too heavy for her neck, easily falling into the fingers that combed through her hair and splayed against her scalp. He kissed her again, harder this time, revealing the depth of passion in him. The aggression. It was scary in the way thunder and high winds and landslides were both terrifying and awe-inspiring. She clung to him, moaning in submission. Not just to him, but to her own desire.
They shuffled their feet closer, sealing themselves one against the other, trying to press through clothing and skin so their cells would weave into a single being.
The thrust of his aroused flesh pressed into her stomach and a wrench of conflict went through her. This moment was too perfect. It felt too good to be held like this, to ruin it with humiliating confessions about her defect and entreaties for special treatment. She felt too much toward him, not least gratitude and wonder and a regard that was tied to his compliments and his protection and his hand dragging her to the surface of the water before he’d even known her name.
She ached to share something with him, had since almost the first moment she’d seen him. Be careful, she told herself. Sex was powerful. She was already very susceptible to him.
But she couldn’t make herself stop touching him. Her hands strayed to feel his shape, tracing him through his pants. It was a bold move for her, but she was entranced. Curious and enthralled. There was a part of her that desperately wanted to know she could please a man, this man in particular.
His breath hissed in and his whole body hardened. He gathered his muscles as if he was preparing to dip and lift her against his chest.
She drew back.
His arms twitched in protest, but he let her look at where his erection pressed against the front of his suit pants. He was really aroused. She licked her lips, not superconfident in what she wanted to do, but she wanted to do it.
She unbuckled his belt.
His hands searched under the fall of her hair. His touch ran down her spine, releasing the back of her dress.
As the cool air swirled from her waist around to her belly, her stomach fluttered with nerves. She swallowed, aware of her breasts as her bodice loosened and shifted against her bare nipples. She shivered as his fingertips stroked her bare back. Her hands shook as she pulled his shirt free and clumsily opened his buttons, then spread the edges wide so she could admire his chest.
Pressing her face to his taut skin, she rubbed back and forth and back again, absorbing the feel of him with her brow and lips, drawing in his scent, too moved to smile when he said something in a tight voice and slid his palm under her dress to brand her bottom with his hot palm.
Her mouth opened of its own accord, painting a wet path to his nipple. She explored the shape with her tongue, earned another tight curse, then hit the other one with a draw of her mouth. Foreplay and foreshadowing, she thought with a private smile.
“Bedroom,” he growled, bringing his hands out of her dress and setting them on her waist, thumbs against her hip bones as he pressed her back a step.
Dazed at how her own arousal was climbing, Viveka smiled, pleased to see the glitter in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks. It increased her tentative confidence. She placed her hands on his chest and let her gaze stray past him to the armchair, silently urging him toward it.
* * *
Mikolas let her have her way out of sheer fascination. He refused to call it weakness, even though he was definitely under a spell of some kind. He had known there was a sensual woman inside Viveka screaming to get out. He hadn’t expected this, though.
It wasn’t manipulation, either. There were no sly smiles or knowing looks as she slid to her knees between his, kissing his neck, stroking down his front so his abdominals contracted under her tickling fingertips. She was focused and enthralled, timid but genuinely excited. It was erotic to be wanted like this. Beyond exciting.
As she finished opening his pants, his brain shorted out. He was vaguely aware of lifting his hips so she could better expose him. The sob of want that left her was the kind of siren call that had been the downfall of ancient seamen. He nearly exploded on the spot.
He was thick and aching, so hot he wanted to rip his clothes from his body, but he was transfixed. He gripped the armrest in his aching hand and the back of the chair over his shoulder with the other, trying to hold on to his control.
He shouldn’t let her do this, he thought distantly. His discipline was in shreds. But therein lay her power. He couldn’t make himself stop her. That was the naked truth.
She took him in hand, her touch light, her pale hands pretty against the dark strain of his flesh. He was so hard he thought he’d break, so aroused he couldn’t breathe, and so captivated, he could only hold still and watch through slitted eyes as her head dipped.
He groaned aloud as her hair slid against his exposed skin and her wet mouth took him in, narrowing his world to the tip of his sex. It was the most exquisite sensation, nearly undoing him between one breath and the next. She kept up the tender, lascivious act until he was panting, barely able to speak.
“I can’t hold back,” he managed to grit out.
Slowly her head lifted, pupils huge as pansies in the dim light, mouth swollen and shiny like he’d been kissing her for hours.
“I don’t want you to.” Her hot breath teased his wet flesh, tightening all his nerve endings, pulling him to a point that ended where her tongue flicked out and stole what little remained of his willpower.
He gave himself up to her. This was for both of them, he told himself. He would have staying power after this. He’d make it good for her, as good as this. Nothing could be better, but at least this good—
The universe exploded and he shouted his release to the ceiling.
VIVEKA HUGGED THE front of her gaping dress to her breasts and could barely meet her own glassy