by Olivia Gates
They’d arrived in Crete three weeks ago. And this time, Andreas had left it up to her to pick the house that would be their home for when they were in his homeland. He’d insisted she was the one who knew real estate, and that even without her expertise, he would have given her carte blanche to choose whatever house she wanted. He had given her the same with his whole life, anyway.
Though she wasn’t about to take advantage of that total offer, she was touched beyond expression that he’d made it. She sometimes wanted to tell him to take it easy on her. It wasn’t advisable to make her love him more than she already did.
But she’d eagerly taken him up on his offer to pick their home. There’d been one specific villa she’d dreamed of sharing with him from the moment she’d seen it.
It was in the Réthymno region, Crete’s smallest prefecture. It was an area synonymous with gorgeous mountainscapes and beaches, legendary caves, historic monasteries and monuments, traditional mountain villages and luxurious holiday resorts. She’d been captured by the essence of mythical Crete in this remote and self-sufficient region from the first time she’d set foot in it.
The villa, which had felt like home the first time Andreas had set foot in it with her, was dominated at its back by the Lefká Ori, what the impressive White Mountains were called locally. Overlooking the crystalline waters of the Sea of Crete, it was nestled on a glorious stretch of white-gold beach. It was big enough to accommodate all the family who would come visiting, yet secluded enough for the two of them to forget an outside world existed.
And today, an hour from now, at the magical sunset hour, they would have their wedding there.
It would be nothing elaborate, since they couldn’t even think of it with their recent losses. Just a relatively small ceremony with their family and close friends present, where they’d exchange their vows. Their first vows.
“You better be ready.” Caliope walked into the room where Naomi was dressing. Andreas’s sister was starting to waddle in her eighth month, her turquoise chiffon bridesmaid dress reflecting the color of her eyes and the waters surrounding the villa.
Accompanying her, Selene smirked at Naomi as she helped Caliope into a seat. She was wearing a similar dress, albeit one that hugged her trim figure.
“Andreas seems about to start tossing everyone in that gorgeous infinity pool you’re having the ceremony around,” Selene explained.
Naomi blinked, her heart starting to hammer. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Caliope chuckled. “You don’t get that you’ve unleashed the volcano that seethed beneath the ice, do you? The man is sizzling to make you his wife again...or for real, according to him. Aristedes sent us to fetch you ahead of time, as Andreas is working himself into a lather with all sorts of anxieties.”
Her gut knotted. “What anxieties?”
Selene waved dismissively. “Just those that plague every breath of those who love too much.”
Caliope and Selene thought Andreas loved her? Like their men loved them? It was so easy to think he did, with everything he did for her. Not that he’d said the words.
But she didn’t need those anymore. She had far more than she’d ever dreamed she would. And it was all because of him.
She took one last look at herself in the mirror, her heart turning in her chest at the sight of the radiant bride looking back at her. Andreas had gotten her the most luxurious wedding gown she’d ever laid eyes on, a dream of snow-white chiffon, satin and lace that hugged her figure, ripened her every curve. Every cultural influence that made up Crete was represented in its materials, cut and embellishments. The gown made her feel like the heroine of an ancient Greek fairy tale, a mortal about to join her life with the god who’d chosen her for his mate.
Caliope sighed. “You look beyond perfect, Naomi, a golden goddess, like Andreas always calls you.”
Selene chuckled, then she echoed what Naomi had just thought. “Now hurry before your mate’s wrath befalls the mere mortals awaiting your celestial ceremony.”
A giggle overpowered Naomi as she gathered her courage and ran out, feeling she was rushing to meet her destiny.
As she walked through the open, sun-drenched spaces of their new home, their trio was joined by the other bridesmaids—all of Andreas’s sisters and oldest nieces, and Hannah’s three daughters and her oldest granddaughters. Hannah herself was waiting for them outside with Dora.
With every step, it felt as if Naomi was forging deeper into a tranquil paradise. Her bridal procession stepped out onto the elevated open-air deck leading to the infinity pool, its glittering aquamarine waters segueing seamlessly into those of the sea. The sun was turning flame-orange and speeding on an intercept course with the horizon.
The combination of such pristine nature and lavish human design was breathtaking. When they were alone here, it felt as if they were the only man and woman on earth.
Right now, dozens of people were around, all dressed in colors complementing the setting, their faces painted in smiles. But Naomi could barely feel their presence. There was only one person in her awareness. Andreas. The man she’d loved from the first moment and would love till her last breath.
With his collar-length hair blowing in the balmy breeze, every strand reflecting a different hue of the sun, he wore a white-on-white suit with an open-necked shirt and a gold rose in his lapel. He stood there, waiting to be one with her, in a pristine new beginning, every inch the Greek god that had come down to earth to choose a mortal for his bride. Naomi could only wonder again how it could possibly be her.
He suddenly broke away from the group of men he stood among—Aristedes, her partners and Selene’s brothers—and strode toward her in an unrehearsed move. Naomi found herself breaking from her own companions and running to meet him halfway. Then she was in his strong arms, swept up and whirled around and around.
Laughing, tears flowing, she clung to his neck as he carried her back to the priest, who was in full Cretan garb. The ceremony, in both English and Greek, began with Andreas clasping her to his heart. She couldn’t have dreamed of a better place to be for these life-changing moments.
As soon as they’d exchanged their rings and vows, and before the priest instructed him to kiss the bride, Andreas was devouring her and she was giving in to his passion, just as she’d so long ago surrendered all of her heart and soul to him.
Suddenly, something pulled her out of the dream world of his possession. Cries of surprise, ones she doubted were in response to his passionate display.
Andreas raised his head, too, and they both turned to the source of the excitement. It was Dora. Standing in front of Hannah, whose face was streaming in tears.
Dora was standing.
Then she took her first step.
In unspoken agreement, Naomi and Andreas ran toward her, both going down on their knees, their arms outstretched, their voices raised in ragged encouragement, for her to come bless their new union and complete the circle of their newly forged family.
To the thunderous cheering of all present, the determined darling—Nadine’s and Petros’s baby, and now hers and Andreas’s in every way—kept going, putting one chubby leg unsteadily in front of the other, until she reached them and threw herself into Andreas’s arms with a piercing squeal of triumph.
Then Naomi found Dora in her arms and both of them in Andreas’s embrace, kissed and cosseted and claimed.
Naomi clung to Dora, to Andreas, wept with joy and prayed that she’d always be blessed with both of them, to love and to live for, for the rest of her life.
* * *
“This is not a Cretan wedding ritual...it’s a cretin one.”
Andreas’s growl was met by generalized laughter, from his brother and the few guests who remained after the reception. He deeply regretted succumbing to the custom of keeping the groom away from the bride while she “pr
epared” herself for him.
He’d thought it would be a few minutes when he’d agreed to the harebrained idea. Aristedes had just informed him it would be one more hour.
Then his brother had the temerity to add, “Waiting will only intensify your desire. And besides, we haven’t gotten a chance to exchange two sentences in the last several weeks.”
“And you think the time to rectify that is on my wedding night? Are you nuts, Aristedes?” Andreas glared at him, then at Selene’s brothers, the Louvardis trio who’d been ribbing the hell out of him in their oblivious bachelordom.
He heaved up to his feet, and they all followed suit, to try to make him sit down.
“Stand aside, all of you, and no one needs to get hurt.”
More laughter met his threat, with everyone teasing him about his eagerness.
If only they knew he wasn’t joking.
If he didn’t get to Naomi at once, it might turn ugly.
After a lifetime of total control, ever since everything inside him had been unleashed, he no longer knew the man that had emerged from that self-imposed prison. He was still getting to know this new being, tentatively testing his triggers, and wary about provoking his boundless emotions and bottomless needs. And those had been dangerously provoked since he’d last seen Naomi.
It was unreasoning, the panic he felt every time she was out of his sight now. What he felt for her, and for Dorothea, was so acute at times, so agonizing, he sometimes wished for the days when everything inside him had been under airtight containment, and he could control how much he let out. He now knew the difference between his obsession with Naomi when his emotions had been stifled, and now, when nothing was held back anymore.
Now he left his companions behind and homed in on her vibe through this house that had already become his home, because she’d chosen it, because she and Dorothea were in it.
He burst into their room, found her lying on her side on the bed, an arm thrown over one of the bouquets he’d flooded the whole house with. She lurched around, her gaze as feverish as he knew his must be. So it was the same with her, as if they’d been breathing barely enough oxygen to survive. Now they got to gulp down all they needed to live, to soar.
He came down on his knees at the foot of the bed. Her smooth legs, which had grown honey-tanned under his agonized eyes these last weeks, were exposed as the traditional Cretan white wedding gown that made her look like an angel and a goddess in one rode up to her thighs.
The beast roaring inside him wanted to drag her, slam her into his flesh, overpower and invade and brand her.
And he’d done that, so many times before, to their mutual explosive ecstasy. But now...now it was different. Now they’d entered a new realm. He wanted to show her all the special things she’d unearthed inside him. He wanted to cherish her.
She gasped as he slipped her shoes off, and tried to turn to him fully. He stopped her with a gentle hand at the small of her back. She subsided with a whimpering exhalation, watched him with her plump bottom lip caught in her white teeth as he prowled forward on all fours, advancing over her, kissing and suckling his way from the soles of her feet, up her legs, her thighs, her buttocks and back, her nape. All the while, he unraveled ribbons, undid hooks and caressed the dress off her mind-blowing body. She lay beneath him, quaking and moaning at each touch, until he traced the lines of her shuddering profile with his lips. The moment he reached her mouth, she cried out, twisted on her back, surged up to cling to his lips in a desperate, soul-wrenching kiss.
Lowering her to the bed, he pulled back to take in her nakedness. No fantasy had conjured the beauty that had held his libido hostage from their first time together.
“Monadíkos, agápi mou...unique.”
And she was. Her beauty eclipsed that of the hundreds of white, cream and gold roses he’d filled their bedroom with.
Needing to worship her, to curb his hunger, tame it into tenderness, he found his hands were shaking as he undressed under her wide-eyed gaze and breathless encouragement.
Then he was all over her again, tracing the satin of her skin from toes to cheeks, tasting and kneading and nibbling, strumming every tremor out of her body.
Finally rising above her, he reveled in the sight, scent and sounds of her surrender, every shudder and moan pulverizing his intentions to be infinitely slow and gentle. Blood thundered in his head, in his loins, tearing the tatters of control from his grasp in a riptide.
Then she took it all out of his hands, hers sweeping over his back and buttocks in silent demand, their power absolute.
He surrendered, came between her shaking thighs, pressed her shuddering breasts beneath his aching chest. Then she conquered him, irrevocably.
Against his forehead, her lips prayed a litany of his name, and she clasped him to her body as if she couldn’t believe he was there. Poignancy swamped him, choked him. He had to prove to her that he would always be there, was hers forever.
He rose on his knees, cupped her head, her buttocks, tilted one for his kiss, the other for his penetration. He bathed the head of his erection in the hot, moist silk of her luxurious welcome, absorbed her cries of pleasure, drinking in her pleas to take her, fill her.
Succumbed to the mercilessness of their need, he drew back to watch her eyes as he started to sink into her. Her flesh fluttered around his advance, hot and tight almost beyond endurance.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, forcing him to stroke deeper into her. She cried out, a sharp sound of exultation that tore a growl of pride out of him.
She never took her eyes off his, letting him see every sensation ripping through her, her honeyed complexion brightening with her rising pleasure, burning up the dark gold she lay on.
“Panémorfi...gorgeous beyond description agápi mou,” he said, his voice a ragged rasp. “The masters would have paid in blood to capture your beauty for eternity. And the way you feel inside...madness, magnificence.”
She sobbed, thrashed her head, her hair rioting around her shoulders, a thousand shades of gold gleaming against the dark sheets. “It’s you who’s beautiful beyond words...you who feels magnificent...inside me. Give me all of you, agápi mou. Take all of me....”
Hearing the Greek words trembling on her lips was such a surprise, he almost keeled over her. She’d never said “my love” to him in any language.
He rose on extended arms, surveyed her feverishly. He’d always known there’d been need on her side. But without the trust, the certainty, he’d known that love hadn’t been possible, not the way he’d seen it with his siblings. Was Naomi developing a new dimension to her emotions? Or was this endearment only fueled by pleasure and the maddening need for release?
Not that it mattered. She’d pledged to be with him, let him be with her and Dorothea, forever. He’d take what she could give when she could give it. Need could become love.
Now she needed fulfillment. And he’d give her all she could ever need.
Feeding her hunger for more of him, he thrust deeply inside her, watching in receding sanity as she accepted all of him, wild, abandoned. Then she was weeping as she sought his lips, her mouth and tongue dueling with his as her core throbbed around his invasion, demanding he take her harder, faster. He had to obey her.
His rhythm quickened. Plunging became pounding until her cries rose to a shriek that ripped through him. She arched up, coming around him in a climax so intense it shredded her screams, wrenched at his shaft. The knowledge that he was fulfilling her tore his own release from his recesses.
With a prayer that his seed would one day take root in her womb and create a miracle like Dorothea, he jetted inside her, prolonging her orgasm. One detonation after another of ecstasy rocked him, and her, locked them in a closed circuit of over-stimulation, dissolved them into one.
When it felt as if his heart would never restart,
the tumult gave way to the warmth and weakness of satiation. He felt her melt beneath him, satisfaction and awe glowing on her face.
“Ómorfi̱ gynaíka mou,” he rumbled as he twisted, bringing her on top while maintaining their merging.
She opened her lips over his heart. What she said almost ripped it out of his ribs. “Ómorfi̱ sýzygó mou.”
He lurched with surprise, squeezed her tighter to him. “You understood.”
She nodded, planting kisses all over his chest. “I know more Greek than you realize.”
He raised her head, gazed into her heavenly, drugged with pleasure eyes, his heart booming. That she’d learned Greek, no doubt for him, at least enough to understand his words, that she’d answered his proclamation, calling him her beautiful husband, had delight bursting inside him. Resurging desire, too, since she’d purred the words in that new voice she now used with him, breathless, aware, overcome.
She rose a bit, her hair draping over his chest like a sheath of spun gold. She gave him such a smile, no inhibitions, satiated, yet insatiable. “Now that you’ve given me tenderness, it’s time you ravaged me.”
He crushed her to him, hunger raging again as if he hadn’t just found total satisfaction inside her. “Your wish is my command, always. You can consider this just the appetizer, to get you ready for the main courses I have planned for the rest of the night.”
“Oh, yes, yes, please...” she moaned her eager surrender, her face blazing at his promise, her body blossoming under his, undulating in a renewed dance of sinuous demand and submission.
“I will please you. I live to please and pleasure you.” Gathering her in his arms, he rose from the bed.
Then with her clasped to his heart he walked out through the now deserted house to the pool where they’d joined their lives. All the way there, she caressed and kissed him, clung to him as if she was a part of him.