Mediterranean Seduction. Кэрол Мортимер
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growing confidence.
He put his arms around her, keeping her still. ‘I think we’d better stop now,’ he murmured, and she felt his warm breath on her head.
‘Are you sure?’ Charlotte whispered, staring up at him.
‘Quite sure,’ Iannis confirmed, taking the sponge out of her hand. ‘Now, shall I have to seduce you all over again?’ he suggested, kissing the top of her head.
‘Oh, I think so,’ Charlotte murmured happily, snuggling into him.
He wrapped her from head to foot in towels so that she could hardly move, and then swept her into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom. Laying her down on the soft pile of cushions, Iannis stretched out next to her. ‘Shall I unwrap you?’ he suggested wickedly, running one hand very lightly and tantalisingly down the length of her towel-covered form.
Please, Charlotte thought, seeing his eyes were bright with humour. ‘Am I a gift?’ she challenged provocatively.
Iannis frowned briefly—just a shadow, then it passed. But that look set a doubt in Charlotte’s mind. She sensed he had pulled away from her in some way she couldn’t grasp. But then he began kissing her, and her senses took over, and nothing mattered other than how much she wanted him, how much he had come to mean to her—however dangerous that was—and how soon she had to leave…
‘Crying?’ Iannis murmured, pulling away to stare into her face. ‘What’s this, Charlotte?’
Her name sounded so soft and tender on his lips—she should have been called something harsh-sounding to reflect her duplicity, Charlotte thought, stemming her tears by sheer force of will. At that moment she wished she had never embarked upon the article, never heard of Iskos, never visited the island—but then she would never have met Iannis, she realised, gazing up at him in confusion.
‘Make love to me, Iannis,’ she whispered. ‘Make love to me so that I forget everything.’
Iannis felt himself sucked deep into a vortex of emotion which he didn’t care to analyse. He only knew that he wanted to kiss all the tears from her cheeks and make her smile again. They tasted salty on his tongue, and the scent of a wildflower rocked his senses as he buried his face into her soft neck and kissed her there. As she moved beneath him and her arms wound around his neck, he returned to kiss her mouth, deepening the kiss until he thought he must surely taste her soul.
Charlotte gave herself completely, yielding to sensation, knowing she was in the hands of a master, trusting and loving and giving until all the doubts and questions in her mind were obliterated in a constant stream of sensation.
Iannis kept on kissing her until she was all hunger, all passion, all need, and then he brought her beneath him, using one strong hand to ease her buttocks apart while he lodged a powerful thigh between her legs. He brought her legs up and over his shoulders until she was completely open, completely his. And even then he made her wait, allowing just a whisper of his erection to tantalise her senses, drawing it slowly and steadily down between her legs.
When she begged him he only shook his head in stern refusal, dropping kisses on her mouth to still her cries. But Charlotte called his name until finally he submitted to her will and allowed the tip to catch inside her. When he pulled away again she railed at him, not caring what he must think of her as she berated him with words she hardly recognised.
‘What is it you want Charlotte?’ Iannis demanded softly, cruelly repeating the exercise, holding her with a firm hand when she attempted to capture him. ‘You must wait…you must learn control,’ he husked in her ear. ‘You proved yourself ignorant in the ways of love before, and now you must be taught. You will thank me for teaching you restraint…’
‘No. I. Won’t!’ Charlotte managed hoarsely. ‘I don’t have time to learn!’
He laughed, a short and very masculine laugh. ‘We will make time,’ he promised, and, making another tantalising pass, he rested inside her a moment longer.
‘Don’t tease me,’ Charlotte warned in a husky gasp. ‘I can’t bear it, Iannis.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be an admirable student.’
‘Ah—’ She let out a long, ragged sigh as he sank deep within her, taking possession of her completely and stretching her beyond anything she would have imagined possible. The feeling was so far beyond any pleasure she had known that Charlotte couldn’t move, couldn’t participate, couldn’t urge him on as she had intended. Instead she could only lie beneath him motionless, and let him take her with firm, deep strokes until he had worked her all the way up the bed to the wall. She only surfaced briefly when with a harsh, accepting laugh Iannis was forced to drag her back down the bed to begin again.
‘Don’t…don’t stop,’ Charlotte begged weakly, hardly conscious of what was happening to her, only that she had never been suspended so high or for so long on such an incredible plateau of sensation.
‘Don’t worry, agape mou, I have no intention of stopping —not until this night is over,’ he added under his breath.
His last comment drove through the fog in Charlotte’s mind, and, focusing, she saw something hard glittering behind his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t talk,’ Iannis commanded, cutting across her. ‘Just feel.’
Charlotte succumbed to the temptation without a fight. She had been starved too long to refuse. And Iannis made love to her in a way that made her feel strong, confident.
‘I want to ride you,’ she said at last, capturing him between her thighs.
‘Who am I to refuse?’ Iannis murmured, his hard mouth curving in a smile of contentment as he brought her on top of him.
But as their gazes clashed something flared between them, a warning that the battle wasn’t over—it had only just begun.
‘SHOULDN’T you put some clothes on?’
‘Complaining?’ Iannis demanded, carrying a tray of fruit juice over to the bed.
‘Certainly not,’ Charlotte assured him. ‘Should this be called service with a smile?’ she murmured, gazing up at him.
The more she came to know him, the more confidence she had using colloquial phrases. After all, his command of English was almost as good as her own, Charlotte reflected, drinking in every desirable inch of him as he settled the tray on the bedside table.
‘There’s no point in wearing clothes when I’m coming back to bed,’ he pointed out with unarguable logic.
Surely no man could have such stamina, Charlotte mused. She was barely able to move with exhaustion, but Iannis seemed unaffected by constant lovemaking. Maybe he was one of the mythical gods, fallen from a cloud—her good luck, she thought, holding his gaze as he held the beaker for her to drink. In that moment she would have done anything for him if it meant he would come back to bed.
‘So, what are you waiting for? Come back to me, Iannis. I need you.’
‘Again?’ he murmured, taking the juice away from her.
‘Yes, again. And don’t keep me waiting,’ Charlotte teased, rolling onto her back. Kicking down the covers, she spread her limbs across the silken sheets.
‘What if I said you have exhausted me?’ Iannis murmured, stretching out beside her.
‘I would call you a liar,’ Charlotte countered, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. ‘And, fortunately for me, you cannot pretend not to be aroused.’
‘Why should I wish to pretend—?’ He broke off, and there was a silence.
The moment’s tension was just that—an instant, a subtle change of vibration