The Secret Beneath the Veil

by Dani Collins

  It hurt. So much. She fought her instinctive tension, tried to make herself relax, tried not to resist, but the sting became more and more intense. He seemed huge. Tears came into her eyes. She couldn’t hold back a throaty noise of anxiety.

  He stilled, shuddering. The sting subsided a little.

  “Viveka.” His voice was ragged. “That’s just the tip—” He hung his head against her shoulder, forehead damp with perspiration, big body shaking.

  “Don’t stop.” She caught her foot behind his thigh and tried to press him forward.

  “Glykia mou, I don’t want to hurt you.” He lifted his face and wore a tortured expression.

  “That’s why it’s okay if you do.” Her mouth quivered, barely able to form words. It still hurt, but she didn’t care. “I trust you. Please don’t make me do this with someone else.”

  He bit out a string of confounded curses, looking into the shadows for a moment. Then he met her gaze and carefully pressed again.

  She couldn’t help flinching. Tensing. The stretch hurt a lot. He paused again, looked at her with as much frustration as she felt.

  “Don’t try to be gentle. Just do it,” she told him.

  He wavered, then made a tight noise of angst, covered her mouth, gathered himself and thrust deep.

  She arched at the flash of pain, crying out into his mouth.

  They both stayed motionless for a few hissing breaths.

  Slowly the pain eased to a tolerable sting. She moved her lips against his and he kissed her gently. Sweetly.

  “Do you hate me?” His voice was thick, his brow tense as he set it against hers. His expression was strained.

  He didn’t move, letting her get used to the feel of a man inside her for the first time. And he held her in such protective arms, her eyes grew wet from the complete opposite of pain: happiness.

  She returned his healing kiss with one that was a little more inciting.

  “No,” she answered, smiling shakily, feeling intensely close to him. She let her arms settle across his back and traced the indent of his spine, enjoying the way he reacted with a shiver.

  “Want to stop?” he asked.

  “No.” Her voice was barely there. Tentatively she moved a little, settling herself more comfortably beneath him. “I’m not sure I want you to move at all,” she admitted wryly. “Ever.”

  His breath released on a jagged chuckle. “You are going to be the death of me.”

  Very carefully, he shifted so he was angled on his elbow, then he made a gentling noise and touched where they were joined.

  “You feel so good,” he crooned in Greek, gently soothing and stimulating as he murmured compliments. “I thought nothing could be better than the way you took me apart with your mouth, but this feels incredible. You’re so perfect, Viveka. So lovely.”

  The noise that escaped her then was pure pleasure. He was leading her down the road of stirred desire to real excitement. It felt strange to have him lodged inside her while her arousal intensified. Part of her wanted him to move, but she was still wary of the pain and this felt so good. The way he stretched her accentuated the sensations. She grew taut and deeply aroused. Restless and—

  “Oh, Mikolas. Please. Oh—” A powerful climax rocked her. Her sheath clenched and shivered around his hard shape with such power she could hardly breath. Stars imploded behind her eyes and she clung to him, crying out with ecstasy. It was beautiful and selfish and heavenly.

  As the spasms faded, he began to pull away. The friction felt good, except sharp. She wasn’t sure she could take that in a prolonged way, but then he was gone from her body and she was bereft.

  “You didn’t, did you?” She reached to find his thick shaft, so hard and hot, obviously unsatisfied.

  He folded his hand over hers and pumped into her fist. Two, three times, then he pressed a harsh groan into her shoulder, mouth opening so his teeth sat against her skin, not quite biting while he shuddered and pulsed against her palm.

  Shocked, but pleased, she continued to pleasure him until he relaxed and released her. He removed the condom with a practiced twist, then rolled away and sat up to discard it. Before he came back, he dragged the covers down and pulled her with him as he slid under them.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked as he molded her to his front, stomach to stomach.

  “So we won’t be cold while we sleep.” He adjusted the edge of the sheet away from her face.

  “You know what I mean.” She pinched his chest, unable to lie still when it felt so good to rub her naked legs against his and nuzzle his collarbone with her lips.

  “Learn to speak plainly when we’re in bed,” he ordered.

  “Or what?” She was giddy, so happy with being his lover she felt like the sun was lodged inside her.

  “Or I may not give you what you want.”

  They were both silent a moment, bodies quieting.

  “You did,” she said softly, adjusting her head against his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t say anything, but his hand moved thoughtfully in her hair.

  A frozen spike of insecurity pierced her. “Did you like it?”

  He snorted. “I have just finessed my way through initiating a particularly delicate virgin. My ego is so enormous right now, it’s a wonder you fit in the bed.”

  * * *

  Viveka woke to an empty bed, couldn’t find Mikolas in the penthouse, realized she was late for the gym and decided she was entitled to a bath. She was climbing out of it, a thick white towel loosely clutched around her middle, when he strolled in wearing his gym shorts and nothing else.

  “Lazy,” he stated, pausing to give her a long, appreciative look.

  “Seriously?” Before that bath, she had ached everywhere.

  His mouth twitched and he came closer, gaze skimming down her front. “Sore?”

  She shrugged a shoulder, instantly so shy she nearly couldn’t bear it. The things they’d done!

  She blushed, aware that her gaze was coveting the hard planes of his body, and instantly wanted to be close to him. Touch, feel, kiss...more.

  She wasn’t sure how to issue the invitation across the expanse of the spa-like bathroom, but he wasn’t the novice she was. He took the last few laconic steps to reach her, spiky lashes lowering as he stared at her mouth. When his head dipped, she lifted her chin to meet his kiss. Her free hand found his stubbled cheek while her other kept her towel in place.

  “Mmm...” she murmured, liking the way he didn’t rush, but kissed her slowly and thoroughly.

  He drew back and tried taking the towel in his two hands.

  She hesitated.

  “I only want a peek,” he cajoled.

  “It’s daylight,” she argued.

  “Exactly.”

  If she had feared that having sex would weaken her will around him, the fear was justified. She wanted to please him. She wanted to offer her whole self and plead with him to cherish her. Her fingers relaxed under the knowledge she was giving up more than control of a towel.

  As he opened it, however, and took a long eyeful of her sucked-in stomach and thrust-out breasts, she saw desire grip him with the same lack of mercy it showed her. He swallowed, body hardening, jaw clenched like he was under some kind of deep stress.

  “I was only going to kiss you,” he said, lifting lust-filled eyes to hers. “But if you—”

  “I do,” she assured him.

  He let the towel drop and she met him midway, moaning with acquiescence as he pressed her onto the daybed. Her inhibitions about the daylight quickly burned up as his stubble slid down her neck to her breast where he sucked and made her writhe. When he slid even lower, scraping her stomach then her thighs as he knelt on the floor, she threw her arm across her eyes and let him do whatever he wanted.


  Because it was what she wanted. Oh, that felt exquisite.

  “Don’t stop,” she pleaded when he lifted his head.

  “Can you take me?” he growled, scraping his teeth with mock threat along her inner thigh.

  She nodded, little echoes of wariness threatening, but she couldn’t take her eyes off his form as he rose and moved to the mirror over his sink, found a condom and covered himself.

  When he came back and stood over her, she stayed exactly as he’d left her, splayed weakly with desire, like some harem girl offered for his pleasure.

  His hands flexed like he was struggling against some kind of internal pain.

  “Mikolas,” she pleaded, holding out her arms.

  He made a noise of agony and came down over her, heavy and confident, thighs pressing hers wide as he positioned himself. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His hand tangled in her hair. “But I want you so damned much. Stop me if it hurts.”

  “It’s okay,” she told him, not caring about the burn as she arched, inviting him to press all the way in. It hurt, but his first careful thrusts felt good at the same time. The friction of him moving inside her made the connection that much more intense. She rose to the brink very quickly, climaxing with a sudden gasp, clinging to him, shocked at her reaction.

  He shuddered, lips pressed into her neck, and hurried to finish with her, groaning fulfillment against her skin.

  She was disappointed when he carefully disengaged and sat up, his back to her.

  She started to protest that it was okay, holding him in her didn’t hurt anymore, but she was distracted by the marks on his back. They were pocked scars that were visible only because the light was so bright. She’d seen his back on the yacht, but in lamplight she hadn’t noticed the scars. They weren’t raised, but there were more than a dozen.

  “What happened to your back?” she asked, puzzled.

  Mikolas rose and walked first to his side of the room, where he scanned around his sinks, then went across to her vanity, where he found the remote for the shower.

  “We should set some ground rules,” he said.

  “Leave the remote on your side?” she guessed as she rose. She walked past her discarded towel for her white robe, wondering why she bothered when she was thinking of joining him in the shower. She wanted to touch him, to close this distance that had arisen so abruptly between them.

  “That,” he agreed. “And we’ll only be together for a short time. Call me your lover if you want to, but do not expect us to fall in love. Keep your expectations low.”

  She fell back a step as she tied her robe, giving it a firm yank like the action could tie off the wound he’d just inflicted.

  But what did she think they were doing? Like fine weather, they were enjoying each other because they were here. That was all.

  “I wasn’t fishing for a marriage proposal,” she defended.

  “So long as we’re clear.” He aimed the remote and started the shower jets.

  Scanning his stiff shoulders, she said, “Is this because I asked about your back? I’m sorry if that was too personal, but I’ve told you some really personal things about me.”

  “Talk to me about whatever you want. If I don’t want to tell you something, I won’t.” He spoke with aloof confidence, but his expression faltered briefly, mouth quirking with self-deprecation.

  Because he had already shared more than made him comfortable?

  “There’s nothing wrong with being friends, is there?”

  He glanced at her, his expression patient, but resolute.

  “You don’t have friends,” she recalled from the other night, thinking, I can see why. “What’s wrong with friendship? Don’t you want someone you can confide in? Share jokes with?”

  His rebuff was making her feel like a houseguest who had to be tolerated. Surely they were past that! He’d just enjoyed her hospitality, hadn’t he?

  “They’re cigar burns,” he said abruptly, rattling the remote control onto the space behind the sink. “I have more on the bottoms of my feet. My captors used to make me scream so my grandfather could hear it over the phone. There was more than one call. Is that the sort of confiding you’re looking for, Viveka?” he challenged with antagonism.

  “Mikolas.” Her breath stung like acid against the back of her throat. She unconsciously clutched the robe across her shattered heart.

  “That’s why I don’t want to share more than our bodies. There’s nothing else worth sharing.”

  * * *

  Mikolas had been hard on Viveka this morning, he knew that. But he’d been the victim of forces greater than himself once before and already felt too powerless around her. The way she had infiltrated his life, the changes he was making for her, were unprecedented.

  Earlier that day, he had risen while she slept and spent the morning sparring, trying to work his libido into exhaustion. She had to be sore. He wasn’t an animal.

  But one glance at her rising from the bath and all his command over himself had evaporated. At one point, he’d been quite sure he was prepared to beg.

  Begging was futile. He knew that.

  But so was thinking he could treat Viveka like every other woman he’d slept with. Many of them had asked about his back. He’d always lied, claiming chicken pox had caused the scars. For some reason, he didn’t want to lie to Viveka.

  When he had finally blurted out the ugly truth, he’d seen something in her expression that he outwardly rejected, but inwardly craved: agony on his behalf. Sadness for that dark time that had stolen his innocence and left him with even bigger scars that no one would ever see.

  Damn it, he was self-aware enough to know he used denial as a coping strategy, but there was no point in raking over the coals of what had been done to him. Nothing would change it. Viveka wanted a jocular companion to share opinions and anecdotes with. He was never going to be that person. There was too much gravity and anger in him.

  So he had schooled her on what to expect, and it left him sullen through the rest of the day.

  She wasn’t much better. In another woman, he would have called her subdued mood passive-aggressive, but he already knew how sensitive Viveka was under all that bravado. His churlish behavior had tamped down her natural cheerfulness. That made him feel even more disgusted with himself.

  Then his grandfather asked her to play backgammon and she brightened, disappearing for a couple of hours, coming back to the penthouse only to change for the gym.

  Why did that annoy him? He wanted her to be self-sufficient and not look to him to keep her amused. Later that evening, however, when he found her plumping cushions in the lounge, he had to ask, “What are you doing?”

  “Tidying up.” She carried a teacup and plate to the dumbwaiter and left it there.

  “I pay people to do that.”

  “I carry my weight,” she said neutrally.

  He pushed his hands into his pockets, watching her click on a lamp and turn off the overhead light, then lift a houseplant—honest to God, she checked a plant to see if it needed water rather than look at him.

  “You’re angry with me for what I said this morning.”

  “I’m not.” She sounded truthful and folded her arms defensively, but she finally turned and gave him her attention. “I just never wanted to be in this position again.”

  The bruised look in her eye made him feel like a heel.

  “What position?” he asked warily.

  “Being forced on someone who doesn’t really want me around.” Her tight smile came up, brave, but fatalistic.

  “It’s not like that,” he ground out. “I told you I want you.” Admitting it still made him feel like he was being hung by his feet over a ledge.

  “Physically,” she clarified.

  Before the talons of a d
eeper truth had finished digging into his chest, she looked down, voice so low he almost didn’t hear her.

  “So do I. That’s what worries me,” she continued.

  “What do you mean?”

  She hugged herself, shrugging. Troubled. “Not something worth sharing,” she mumbled.

  Share, he wanted to demand, but that would be hypocritical. Regret and apology buzzed around him like biting mosquitoes, annoying him.

  It had taken him years to come to this point of being completely sure in himself. A few days with this woman, and he was second-guessing everything he was or had or did.

  “Can we just go to bed?” Her doe eyes were so vulnerable, it took a moment for him to comprehend what she was saying. He had thought they were fighting.

  “Yes,” he growled, opening his arms. “Come here.”

  She pressed into him, her lips touching his throat. He sighed as the turmoil inside him subsided.

  * * *

  Every night, they made love until Viveka didn’t even remember falling asleep, but she always woke alone.

  Was it personal? she couldn’t help wondering. Did Mikolas not see anything in her to like? Or was he simply that removed from the normal needs of humanity that he genuinely didn’t want any closer connections? Did he realize his behavior was hurtful? Did he know and not care?

  Whenever she had dreamed of being in an intimate relationship with a man, it had been intimacy across the board, not this heart-wrenching openness during sex and a deliberate distance outside of it. Was she saying too much? Asking too much?

  She became hypersensitive to every word she spoke, trying to refrain from getting too personal. The constant weighing and worrying was exhausting.

  It was harder when they traveled. At least with his grandfather at the table, the conversation flowed more naturally. As Mikolas dragged her to various events across Europe, she had to find ways to talk to him without putting herself out there too much.

  “I might go to the art gallery while you’re in meetings this morning. Unless you want to come? I could wait until this afternoon,” was a typical, neutral approach. She loved spending time with him, but couldn’t say that.