by Maisey Yates
She leaned in and kissed his lips. He remained frozen beneath her, his stomach rock-hard beneath her hand, his body wound tight. She could feel his tension, flowing from every tendon and into her fingertips. Hers to command. Hers to enjoy.
Maybe she couldn’t have everything she wanted. But she could have some of it. He wanted her. And she could satisfy him. Without having to give up any power. Without being vulnerable. Without failing.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his forehead resting against hers, his lips a whisper away.
“If you have to ask, I must not be doing it right. It has been a while, maybe protocol has changed?” She kissed his neck, tasted salt and sweat on his skin.
She let her hands slide down beneath the sheet, where she found him hard for her, a whole lot bigger than she’d anticipated. An involuntary rush of air hissed through her teeth, matching time with Stavros’s sharp intake of breath as she curled her fingers around his erection.
In this, she was certain. Giving a man pleasure without taking any for herself had been a necessity in the latter days of her marriage. A desperate attempt to hold things together. A way to keep intimacy without having to deal with any physical discomfort.
She could do the same now, with Stavros. A way to have him without risking anything. It seemed so easy.
Except she was getting a lot hotter than she’d anticipated, and it made the thought of leaving his bed unsatisfied a lot less … satisfying than it had seemed a few moments earlier. Still, even without an orgasm she was enjoying this. Enjoying wanting him. Enjoying exploring his body.
It was a slice of what she wanted, and she’d learned to accept that that was how life was for her. Little tastes here and there of true pleasure, while the full experience stayed out of her reach. It would be enough, because it had to be.
She pressed a kiss to his pectoral muscle and down to his nipple, sliding her tongue over it, feeling it tighten beneath her touch.
His hand came up to the back of her head, fingers sifting through her hair. She smiled against his skin and continued to pepper kisses over his body. “You have the most incredible chest,” she said, “among other things.” She squeezed his shaft lightly. “I have never, ever, seen a man like you. Much less been close enough to have a taste. And I was really looking forward to it. You do not disappoint.” She lifted her head and tugged the sheet down, exposing him. “Oh, no, you don’t disappoint at all.”
Her heart beat hard, echoing in her temples, at the apex of her thighs. He was amazing. Everything she’d imagined and so much more. She leaned in and trailed her tongue over his stomach muscles, then flicked it over the head of his shaft. He jerked beneath her tongue, a rough groan escaping his lips as he tightened his hold on her hair.
She felt like she’d been let loose in a candy store. Every delight she could imagine spread before her. And she wasn’t planning on employing restraint.
She slipped her hand lower, took as much of him into her mouth as she could, reveling in the taste, the feel of him. She could feel the muscles in his thighs shaking, feel the tension in his body as he tried to maintain control.
She didn’t want his control. She wanted him to lose it. She wanted him to lose it in a way that she couldn’t. She wanted him to do it for her. She more than wanted it, she needed it. Needed his strength to dissolve beneath her, needed to be a part of his undoing. She wanted to exercise the power she had over him. And she did have it. She could feel it. Could feel just how close he was to losing it completely.
That was what she wanted. Needed. Craved. To have victory tonight, in his bed. To be perfection for him. For herself.
“Jessica,” he said, and he tugged lightly, trying to move her away from him.
She didn’t stop. She ran her tongue along his heavy length and she felt his ab muscles contract sharply beneath her hand.
“Jess,” he said again. His tone a warning.
She lifted her head, her eyes locking with his. His gaze was clouded, sweat beaded on his forehead. A surge of power rushed through her. “This is for me,” she said. “I want you like this. And I intend to have you.”
She leaned in again and his fingers tightened, tangling deep in her hair, the slight sting of pain heightening the pleasure that created a hollow ache between her thighs.
A shaky laugh escaped his lips. “Doesn’t it matter what I want?”
“Not in the least. But you like this, don’t you?” She traced the head of his shaft with her tongue. “Don’t you?”
“Theos, yes,” he breathed his consent.
She continued to pleasure him with her lips and tongue. And she took everything. His ecstasy, every broken breath and trembling muscle, every curse, every word of praise.
This was her moment. Her pleasure. Her power.
Her taste of what she truly wanted. A hint of the feast she couldn’t have.
She didn’t stop until he found his pleasure, his body shaking, his skin slicked with sweat, every vestige of control stripped of him as he found his release.
He lay on his back after, stroking her cheek. She rested her head on his stomach and closed her eyes. Just for a moment.
She felt him stir beneath her. He sat up and brought her with him, kissing her on the lips. The kiss intensified, his tongue sweeping across her bottom lip, arousal pouring through her.
When she felt like she was on the edge, she pulled away. Her body trembled, her breath shaky and uneven. She had meant to push him to the brink. She hadn’t realized that she would go with him. She needed sanctuary. Needed escape.
“That was it,” she said, her voice choked. “I mean … I’m going back to bed now.”
He frowned. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’?”
“Just what I said. Most men would be pretty happy with that.”
His face was hidden in shadow, his tone dark. “Then why did you come to me tonight?”
“Because I wanted you. And I got to have you.”
“You didn’t have an orgasm,” he said, his words blunt in the quiet of the room.
“I know, but that wasn’t what I came for. I got to have a taste, no pun intended.” She slid off the bed and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “We can talk more tomorrow about how we’re going to handle all this.”
“This?” he said, indicating the bed.
She shook her head, heat prickling her cheeks. Not embarrassed heat, but anger. She was so mad at … everything. At her body, at Stavros, at herself. At the fear that lived inside of her. A tenant she couldn’t seem to evict. “No. About Victoria and where we intend to go from here with that part of our arrangement. You wanted a night. This was a good night. Let’s not ruin it now.”
“I wanted more,” he said. “I still want more.”
She nodded. “I know.” She wanted more, too. But any more would be far too much. She would have to be too vulnerable. She would have to give too much. Far more than she’d given tonight.
“Stay with me. Just sleep,” he said.
That was tempting. Beyond. To sleep in his arms with her head on his chest. To listen to his breathing all night … it surpassed almost every other desire that lived in her.
Which meant she had to say no. “I need to go to bed.”
His expression changed, hardened. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said.
“Okay.”
She had a feeling that he wasn’t going to stay on the topic she wanted to stay on. If there was one thing she’d learned about Stavros it was that beneath all that charm lay a stubbornness that rivaled her own.
Stavros’s body still burned. It had been six hours since his late-night visit from Jessica and he couldn’t get it, or her, out of his mind. The way she’d taken him, so confident, so bold and sexy. And the way she’d retreated, arms wrapped around her middle, looking like she wanted to disappear.
His feelings on the matter didn’t make sense. He’d wanted her to stay. Even if it just meant holding her all night. He’d wanted … he wasn’t sure what he�
�d wanted.
Her actions didn’t make sense to him, either. Sex was all about pleasure and release, and she’d taken none for herself. She hadn’t removed any of her clothes, he’d barely touched her, and yet, she’d acted as though it was what she wanted.
And then she’d acted like they weren’t going to talk about it. She was so very wrong on that count.
His housekeeper refilled his mug of coffee and retreated from the terrace as he lifted the cup to his lips. There was another mug placed across from him and the contents were getting cold, but they were ready for Jessica, when she decided to show herself.
“Morning.” He turned and saw Jessica, buttoned up into a yellow dress that covered her from knee to throat, a white belt spanning her tiny waist. She was clutching her little computer in her hands. Her tiny electronic shield.
“Good morning,” he said, not bothering to be discreet in his appraisal of her. Her cheeks flushed as she sat down across from him.
She took a sip of her coffee and frowned, not swallowing, not spitting it back out, either.
“Cold?” he asked. She nodded, her frown intensifying. “Bitter?” She nodded again. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
She swallowed slowly, her lip curling into a grimace. “I’ll need fresh coffee.”
“Leda will be back soon,” he said.
“So, things went well last night?”
He said nothing, simply looked at her until the double meaning of her words hit her. He could tell when they did, because she blushed, her lips pulling into a pucker.
“With Victoria,” she said sharply.
“Very well.” He leaned back in his chair. His heart was beating faster than usual, and that surprised him. He was always in control of himself. Although, Jessica tested that, at every turn she did, and right in this moment, what he had to say to her made him feel … nervous. What her reaction might be made him nervous. “But there is a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“The same problem we discussed last night. I am currently … obsessed—” he hated the word, but it was the only one that fit “—with another woman, and I can’t possibly get engaged to Victoria, much less marry her, while I’m still wrestling with it.”
Her face paled, her green eyes looking more vivid set against waxen skin. “Me? This is me you’re talking about? Good grief, Stavros, what does it take for a woman to scare you off?”
“A blow job at midnight might not be the best way to go about scaring a man off.”
“Granted,” she said tightly, some of her color returning.
“I did some reading on endometriosis last night.”
Her mouth dropped open, a perfect, crimson O. “You did what?”
“I wanted to understand it more. To understand what you were telling me. I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t know anything about it.”
“I … Why should you?” The utter confusion on her face puzzled him.
“Because it … it seems like it’s not uncommon and like I should. But now, I especially wanted to know about it because of you.”
“I don’t really have it anymore, like I said. At least I’m not symptomatic.”
“You mentioned that, but you still don’t want to have sex?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to. I do, I just … don’t. I’m aware that that sounds stupid. But it’s … complicated. It’s wrapped up in a lot of little problems that you really don’t want me to get into.” Her green eyes chilled, hardened. “Like I said. I’m not fling material. Too many issues.”
“It’s understandable. But you also said you had a procedure that fixed most everything for you. Maybe it won’t hurt now. Maybe …”
“You know, if it was only physical pain it wouldn’t bother me. I’ve been through hell and back with physical pain. A little more would hardly wreck me. But the point is, I don’t know if I can deal with that kind of relationship again. I don’t know if I can deal with a man looking at me like I’m the living embodiment of his every crushed dream.”
“Jessica, I am not your ex. I don’t want anything from you but …”
“Sex. You want sex. And I suck at that, too. My own pain was offensive to him,” she said, her words coming out harsh, bitter. “I just had to bite my lip and deal with it because it hurt his feelings. Because crying when it hurt made him feel bad. I had to hide anything I bled on because it disgusted him. And then even when I took steps to fix the pain, when I couldn’t take it anymore, that was a failure in his eyes, too. I can’t do this right now …”
Stavros felt sick. He pushed his coffee back into the middle of the table. “Tell me.”
She looked away from him. “The bottom line is that he wanted kids, I can’t have them.”
She’d said as much last night. “I saw that endometriosis can effect fertility,” he said.
A smile curved her lips. “Yes. It can. But not for everyone. And it doesn’t mean it can’t happen. But I can’t. Because in order to try and fix my endometriosis, I opted to get a hysterectomy. He didn’t want me to. He wanted to keep trying to conceive first and I … I couldn’t take it anymore. In his mind, I gave up. Can’t very well get pregnant if you haven’t got an oven to put the bun in, right? To him, I gave up on kids. I gave up on us. I killed our dreams for my own comfort. I’m a selfish bitch. I told you that, remember?” She stood up. “Sorry. I have to go.”
She turned and walked back into the house, her expression pale and set as marble. His stomach burned, acid, anger, eating away at him.
Not at her. Never at her.
He stood, and looked out at the ocean for a moment before walking back into the villa. He was more determined now than he’d been a few moments ago.
He needed Jessica. And she needed him. Even if it was only for a while, he was determined to have her. Determined to heal some of the wounds her husband had left behind.
Determined to have a stolen moment of time that belonged solely to him.
He had not been born to be the king. He had taken hold of it when it became clear that Xander would not. He had let go of so many things. So many desires he wouldn’t let himself remember now. He had consigned himself to a marriage that was to be little more than a business arrangement.
He had given it all. Would continue to give it all for the rest of his life. He would embrace the hollowness he had carved out inside of himself, let it fill with all the duty and honor he could possibly stand.
Just now, he was filled with Jessica. With whatever it was she made him feel. Something foreign, all-consuming. Something he wanted to embrace with a desperation he couldn’t put into words.
For now, for just a little while, he would. If only she would allow it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IF POUNDING her head against a wall and repeating the “you are an idiot” mantra would have made any difference to the outcome of her morning conversation with Stavros, she would have done it. Unfortunately, no amount of self-recrimination would fix the fact that she’d vomited her emotional guts up for him to dissect whether he wanted to or not.
Yes, he’d asked. But he hadn’t known what he was asking.
I did some research on endometriosis.
Replaying those words in her mind made her eyes sting, made her skin feel tight. When had anyone in her life done that for her? Her mother, her husband, her friends? When had anyone cared enough? Or been brave enough? As far as everyone in her life was concerned her condition only mattered in terms of how it affected them.
Only Stavros had asked. Only he had made that extra effort. Why? Why did he care for her at all? It didn’t make sense.
The commanding knock on her door could only come from Stavros. She knew it by now.
“Come in,” she said. There was no point in avoiding him. He wouldn’t go away. He was like that.
The door opened and Stavros walked in, closing it behind him. “Why don’t you let me decide what’s too much work?”
She blinked. “What?”
�
��Can I be the one to decide if you’re too much work? Because you keep telling me you are, and that I don’t want to deal with you but … the thing is, I do.”
He looked so sincere, so deadly serious, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Why? It doesn’t make sense. Go … have a fling if that’s what you need before you get married. There’s a whole lot of women in bikinis down on the public beaches. Or hurry up and marry Victoria, so you can get to your wedding night. But why would you want to waste your time with me?”
“I want you. And if you don’t want me, that’s fine, but I’m pretty sure your actions last night mean that you do. So if you want me, take some time with me.”
“I … I don’t think I understand.”
“Four weeks. Four weeks and I’ll ask Victoria to marry me, and until then, I want you.” He looked down. “I understand it’s not the world’s most romantic proposition, but it’s all I can offer.”
Her stomach seemed to be cold inside, and she knew that wasn’t possible. “Yes, I know. I’m over twenty-eight, I can’t have children, I probably have an annoying laugh. The reasons why I’m wrong for you are many and varied. Those are just the obvious ones.”
“Yes,” he said, the word flat, honest. “But that hasn’t stopped me from wanting you.”
“I … I don’t know whether I’m flattered or insulted. Actually, scratch that, I don’t know if I’m supposed to be flattered or insulted. I think I’m flattered, I’m just not certain I should be.”
“Because it’s a temporary offer?”
She lifted her thumb to her lips and gnawed the corner of her nail, nodding.
“I would never insult you by pretending I could offer something I couldn’t. My responsibilities won’t change. They are what they are. But I can’t get you out of my head. I can’t force myself to want Victoria when it’s you that I see every time I close my eyes.”
“No one’s ever said things like this to me,” she said, looking up at him, trying to see some hint in his expression that he was joking because … it didn’t seem real.