She didn’t let up and erased the gap between them. She touched his chest, her fingers sliding up and down his taut pecs, causing a tremor. “When I first saw you at the auction, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I wanted you to bid on me.” She glided her hand south and palmed his cock. He groaned, the sensation too good to ignore. “I hoped you’d win.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know what it was like to be yours, even for only a month.” She stretched to her full height, coaxing him to dip his head, and she encircled her hands around his neck. He fused his lips with hers in a passionate, urgent, wet kiss.
She pressed her body against his, and a surge of red-hot need bolted through him, searing all his nerve endings. He stroked her tongue with his, reveling in the erotic dance, claiming her sinful mouth. Fuck, was she sexy. Unique. Unforgettable.
She nipped his lower lip, heating his combustible bloodstream. He slammed her against the marble wall, lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around him. Damn it. He’d tried to give her total control…but she drove him to the brink of insanity with desire. He had to have her, and suspected she felt the same way—she wanted him to lose control.
“Amaya, you’re dangerous,” he said, more to himself than to her.
She scratched his forearm, her sharp nails causing tingles on his skin. “I want you to take me in both holes.”
He positioned his cock at her entrance, rubbing the tip against her labia. She moaned, bucking into him, clenching her legs so hard around his torso it became difficult to breathe. “Amaya, you’re driving me crazy.”
“Good.” She took his cock, pushing some of it inside her drenching wet cunt. Her legs loosened just enough so he could move, and he thrust inside her, inch by inch. Heat radiated from his chest, arousal constricting his lungs. He’d either come soon, or die.
“More, mi corazon. More.” She nipped his shoulder, then licked the area, her tongue making an invisible pattern over his skin.
He withdrew and plunged again, deeper, stuffing her, and kept at it, each time feeling his self-control slip away. Then, remembering her request, he palmed her ass and slid a finger between her cheeks, nearing the hole. She moaned and said words in Spanish he didn’t understand—incredibly sexy.
“Amaya,” he said, her name a medicine and an illness.
She glided her hands down his shoulder, scratching his back. A ripple of pleasure flowed through him, warning him he didn’t have long. Growling, he slipped a finger inside her tight channel, this time more easily than the last. He played with her hole, stretching it, his finger making a circular motion around the ring, only to thrust into it again.
She threw her head back, giving him the perfect angle for him to lick her neck. He felt the shudder zapping through her—or was it his? He continued plunging and retreating in both her holes, in a wild, crazy, intense rhythm. When she pulled his head down for a wet, scorching kiss, the back of his knees almost buckled. She withdrew her hips from his, panting, and started quivering. He increased the rhythm of his claim on her body, and within a few seconds, she shouted his name, her lips tender from their kiss. Her face, flustered. Spasms rode her, and the vision of her climaxing unraveled his own—unable to wait any longer, he retreated his cock almost all the way to slam inside her one more time. Pleasure detonated within him, and he held her close, wishing he could never, ever let go of her.
…
“Where are you taking me?” she asked when he wrapped her in the robe and carried her in his arms.
He kissed the top of her head. “To eat.”
She chewed her lower lip. Did eating mean going to an upscale restaurant or ordering in? He hadn’t seemed impressed by the dishes she’d laid out for him an hour earlier. Insecurities churned in her stomach.
She’d done it—she’d gotten emotionally involved with the one man she couldn’t have. He’d told her as much several times. He’d kept her from meeting his family and hidden in his home like a secret. Because he had a proper bride, someone who would live up to the name and fortune of his family. Someone who wouldn’t embarrass him socially—a woman from his country, who spoke his language and lived by its rules.
And as for her…
“What’s wrong?” he asked, probably feeling her stiffen in his arms.
She cleared her throat. “Nothing, just thinking.” When he put her down, she glanced around the kitchen. “Where are we eating?”
He pulled out a chair for her. “Right here.”
A wave of affection washed through her. Don’t do this to yourself. She threaded her fingers together. “It’s probably cold by now.”
“I’ll microwave it.”
“Okay.”
He grabbed the porcelain dish and stuck it in the stainless steel microwave, then turned to her as the appliance worked. “I’m sorry. I had a long day. I didn’t mean to be rude to you.”
She shrugged. At least he apologized on his own—and he seemed genuine. “It’s okay. Wanna talk about it?”
He waved her off. “It’s best I forget it for now. Instead, I want to hear about these yummy treats.”
“You said you’d eaten Mexican before.”
“You’re the only Mexican I’ve eaten.”
She chuckled. “Be serious.”
His smile held the intimacy of a secret. “I’ve had Mexican food before…but something tells me there’s a history behind yours.”
The microwave beeped, and he removed the plate of enchiladas and set it on the table.
“My mom used to make these every Saturday. They were my sister’s favorite.”
“I didn’t know you have a sister.”
She smelled the aroma of chicken and pork as he continued to warm up the other dishes. The sweet image of Melina came to mind, with her long black hair and big brown eyes. “I did. Melina died when she was in labor. The baby didn’t make it, either.”
He stopped what he was doing, and the muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “She was beautiful. Only seventeen.”
“Seventeen?” he repeated. “That’s brutally young.”
“Yeah. She got pregnant by the wrong guy but wanted to be a single mom.” Amaya swallowed the lump throbbing in her throat. Her sister had fallen head over heels for a classmate and obviously hadn’t made the best decisions. Poor Melina. I miss her. Would Amaya’s life have been different if her sister had survived? Would she have given in to temptations in life and lost her virginity sooner? Would she have shared the caretaking duties of Diego with Melina?
“How old were you?”
A lump lodged in her throat. “Thirteen.”
He pulled out a chair and began pouring wine into a glass—filling it a bit more than what was appropriate. With a nod, he gave her the glass.
She lifted it to her lips and drank a generous amount. Soon, the red contents flooded down her throat and took some of the dryness away. “She was eight months pregnant.”
Interest sparked in his eyes. “Is that why you never wanted to have sex? To keep it from happening to you?”
“Yes. Well, some of it, I didn’t have much time for relationships anyway. My sister helped a lot at home, and with her passing—”
“The responsibility fell on you.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes, but this time, she didn’t wipe them away. She let them fall down her cheeks, freely. A pang of guilt for those times when she’d complained about doing too much at home stabbed at her, and sadness welled up inside. She’d give anything to have her sister and parents back. “Yeah.”
He leaned over the table and caressed her cheek. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes, feeling the throb of her eyelids. The moment held a note of serene melancholy, one she didn’t want to shy away from. When she’d cooked for him, she imagined telling him funny stories, not something so…deeply personal.
“You’re a good woman, Amaya,” he said, and she opened her eyes. A touch of blame laced his voice, as if he cursed himself fo
r being with her.
Cursing himself for not keeping me. The thought occurred to her, but she shook it off.
Slowly, he slid his hand down her chin and tipped it up so she stared deep into his eyes. She parted her lips, leaning for a kiss, but he didn’t inch closer; he remained watching her, his gaze carrying some undecipherable message. “Thank you for sharing this with me,” he said softly, then removed his hand and began to add a bit of each dish to a plate. He handed it to her, serving her.
The simple act squeezed her heart. His housekeeper and driver had served her, and he had done so sexually, but the tenderness of giving her a plate first pulled at her emotional strings. She sucked in a breath and wiped the tears from her face. “Thanks.”
He helped himself to some food and took a bite of a seasoned beef taco. “This is amazing.”
“My mom used to run a small taco stand.”
“Nice. She must have been a strong woman.”
“Yeah. I miss her every day.” She remembered the times her mother had hugged her tight, when she’d fallen off her bike as a child or experienced typical teenage problems growing up. Her father had always been loving, but in a strict way. Her mother’s embrace carried the answer for most of her difficulties.
He looked away from her, and she glanced at her lap. Shit. She didn’t mean to bring the sad stuff up again.
“Try the queso,” she said, pointing at the small bowl. “One of the couple guys I dated in my teens was crazy for it. I think that’s why he kept on seeing me.” She added a nervous chuckle to lighten the mood.
He grabbed a chip, dunked it in the queso, and took it to his mouth. “Delicious.” Then, he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “Though I doubt that’s the only reason anyone would keep coming back for more.”
Chapter Twelve
“Father, we need to talk,” Theo said, striding into his father’s office. His blood ran hot and thick in his veins.
After listening to Amaya the previous night, he couldn’t just ignore the discovery about her parents’ death—which meant, first of all, coming clean to his dad. After all, Bacchus was the co-president and still had a say in the matter. Theo closed the door behind him, securing it. No interruptions could come during this meeting. “It’s about Horace.”
His father sighed, tossing the document he was reading to the side. “What’s your uncle done this time?”
His father gestured for him to sit across from him, but Theo declined and headed to the wet bar kept to entertain clients and business associates. He grabbed an aged bottle of scotch, opened it, and poured a finger into one of the tumblers. His father never drank during the day, so he didn’t bother offering him a shot.
“When he was on one of his monthly trips to Vegas last year, he killed a married couple.”
Color drained from his father’s face, and he shifted in his seat. The planes of his face hardened. “What did you say?”
Theo took a swig of the scotch, the powerful liquid rolling down his throat. He flexed and unflexed his fingers, restless, like a fighter before a match. Too bad the person he wanted to bring down wasn’t in front of him. “According to him, it was an accident. He was driving drunk and they jaywalked. Which is a stretch, of course. If he was behind the wheel intoxicated, then he’s guilty no matter what.” Besides, his uncle had always been a reckless driver.
Bacchus shook his head. “How did you find this out? And is this true?”
Is this true? He snorted. “I heard from Horace himself. He told me because he thought I was plotting against him.”
His father stood and broke one of his own rules by walking to the wet bar and pouring himself a drink in the middle of a workday. Theo parted his lips and was about to ask him if he could mix alcohol with the cholesterol and blood pressure medications, when his father angled his head to the side. “Were you?”
“No.”
“What gave him the idea?” He lifted the tumbler to his thin lips.
Theo clutched the drink in his hand, then sat it aside. To bring his uncle down, he’d have to share about his own adventure with Amaya. “I’ve met an American woman and brought her with me to Athens. He learned of it, and coincidently, she’s the daughter of the couple he killed.”
His father had another swig, then put the tumbler on the counter and rubbed his forehead. “A woman. Why would you bring a woman to Athens so close to your own wedding, son?”
Was his father hard of hearing? After telling him this whole story, the part that annoyed him the most had been about a strange woman who could ruin his marriage plans for his son? Theo snarled. “Who cares? Horace killed two people, and you don’t give a damn.”
His father gritted his teeth. “Of course I do. And he has to pay for what he’s done. But we have to be smart about it. I’ll look into a lawyer specialized in international law to find out what’s the best way to go about it.”
“Good.”
“He’s not worthy of this company, son.” His father cleared his throat. “He’s never been—because of him being older than me, he got most stocks when our father died. But if a scandal regarding his reckless behavior comes out now, it could be the end of Rhodes Enterprises.”
“We’re not him.” Theo raised his voice. “We could hire a PR company to help us navigate the issue.” Fear spilled into his stomach. The United States were their biggest importer. And his uncle had killed a couple on American soil. They’d have a lot of media attention and probably suffer a boycott from powerful clients.
Bacchus lifted his hand in disagreement, then plopped on the chair. Without saying a word, his father loosened his collar, exhaling for a bit longer than necessary. “I’m too tired to take on this fight. When you’re president, you’ll have the power to do as you please. I’ll finally be able to leave the company, knowing it’ll be in good hands. Meanwhile, we can find out how to go about this the correct way—”
Theo perched his hands on his belt, staring at his father, noticing the sweat slicking his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. High blood pressure and high cholesterol. The usual stuff.”
Theo swallowed. His father may seem in good physical shape, but it didn’t mean he resisted his mother’s cooking. “You don’t look okay, Dad.”
His father smiled. “I’m good. All I’m trying to say is I’m not the youngster I once was. When you take over, I’ll retire and get away from this mess. I want your uncle to pay for what he did, but only once I’ve secured your position in this company.”
Theo popped his knuckles. He’d shared the recent discovery with his old man because well, it was eating him up inside. He couldn’t trust Kostas, not with the strong bond he shared with their mother. Kostas would tell her, and she’d go insane.
Now, he wished he hadn’t told his father. Concern washed over his father’s expression, even if he tipped his lips upward. Shit. His heart heaved in his chest—going to his father for support had been selfish. “I’ll wait until I’m the new president. But not one moment longer.”
Theo entered his home, then picked up the correspondence neatly stacked on the console table. The thickest stock of paper captured his attention, and he opened the envelope.
An invitation for a pirate-themed party from a couple of British friends, Seth and Mary. They’d moved to Athens a decade ago and often indulged in flamboyant festivities and the like. Usually, Theo found an excuse to get out of the events that involved more fanfare, but this time…he imagined Amaya with him.
Why not? They’d be in costume, and no one would recognize him.
He’d always been so worried to take her to places where people from his circle could recognize him. Not that Talia would care or mind, but he didn’t want to make things awkward for Amaya. Didn’t want to deal with the repercussions from his family if they found out. Hell, the problem involving his uncle had been enough.
But this…he touched the edges of the golden invitation. He wouldn’t mind taking her with him to a place where they could just
have fun and forget about all the bullshit. She deserved it. His heart squeezed in his chest. Fuck, she deserved the world.
“Amaya,” he called out, excited.
She flew down the stairs. “What’s up?”
“Tomorrow, I want you to order costumes. We have a pirate party to attend.”
…
Amaya fixed the headpiece in place. For the past hour, she’d been fumbling with her pirate wench costume, consisting of a black and red striped skirt with pointy edges, and a white one-shoulder top. A belt with a skull completed the ensemble, along with knee-length black boots and the eye patch across her right eye.
She added more dark red lipstick, happy with how the curls she’d done on her hair turned out. She looked at the mirror and smiled at her reflection. For the past two weeks, she’d fallen into her routine of calling Sam, Facetiming with her brother, sightseeing, and whenever Theo got home, being with him. They had hot sex, yes, but also watched movies and talked about current events.
She’d continued cooking for him, old dishes and new ones.
“Are you ready?” he asked outside her room.
She’d insisted they get ready separately so he wouldn’t remove her costume before she finished her look. Squealing, she twisted the door handle. He’d been invited to a party thrown by friends and asked her to go as his date.
When she opened the door, she took a step back. The moment he walked into her bedroom, the air was socked out of her lungs. Whoa.
A long dark gray coat cloaked his broad shoulders, and underneath he wore a fitted shirt. What caught her attention the most was the eye patch, similar to hers, and the long fake beard he sported. She erased the distance between them and touched it, mesmerized.
“Blackbeard?”
“Ahoy,” he said, removing a sparkling sword from his belt. He pressed her against him, and in an instant, she felt how hard he was. “You look positively delectable, matey.”
“And you don’t look half bad for a Greek pirate. That said,” she started, pushing him away, “I intend on going to this party and not feasting on each other all night.”
Auctioned to the Greek Billionaire (The Highest Bidder Book 1) Page 10