As he continued to inch slowly into her he brushed his lips against hers, relishing the short, ragged breaths she breathed back into him.
When he was fully sheathed inside her he paused to catch his own breath and closed his eyes, forcing his mind to think of something—anything—other than what they were doing at that moment.
But no matter how hard he tried, even with his eyes firmly shut, all he could see was Amalie.
She shifted slightly beneath him, her hands moving from his shoulders to trail down his back, causing thrills of shivers racing down his spine.
Only when he was sure he had control of himself did he withdraw—not all the way, but enough so that when he pushed back he had to grit his teeth more to retain his control.
This was torture. The most divine torture he had ever known.
For the first time in his life he truly wished he could make love without the barrier of a condom, to experience every single aspect of it.
He withdrew a little further, pressed back a little deeper.
Once he was certain Amalie had adjusted to this whole new experience, and that there was no discomfort for her, he allowed himself to settle into a rhythm, all the while telling himself to be gentle, to make this special for her.
He’d never experienced anything like it. Every thrust felt as if he were diving deeper into some unknown abyss, one filled with beautiful, dream-evoking colour.
There was something so pure about her responses. Nothing was for effect; everything—all her touches, all her kisses, all her soft moans—was an expression of how she was feeling at that moment and the pleasure she was taking from their lovemaking.
When he gripped her bottom and raised it, just enough to let him penetrate a little deeper, her cry into his mouth was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Even though he was desperate for his own relief he held on, keeping the rhythm that had her tossing her head from left to right and made her breath shallow. Then he felt her thicken around him, felt her pulsing at the same moment she breathed out his name and clung to him, burying her face in his neck as her orgasm made her whole body vibrate and shudder.
He held on, waiting until her climax was spent, then raised himself onto his knees and spread her thighs further apart. He wanted to look at her, to drown in those emerald eyes. Placing one hand on her shoulder and the other on her breasts, he upped the tempo, thrusting in and out, gazing at her beautiful face, her wide eyes, her red-kissed lips, revelling in the little pulses that still came from within her, until he took one final, long thrust and his world exploded in colour.
When the jolts racketing through him finally abated his face was buried in Amalie’s hair, which was sprawled over the pillow like a fan. Her arms were locked tightly round him; the only sound was the heavy thudding beat of their hearts.
Lethargy spread through him and he eased himself off her, something dim in the back of his sluggish mind reminding him he had the condom to dispose of. Dragging himself off the bed, he could feel her eyes on him as he padded to the bathroom.
He returned a few moments later, his chest tightening to see she’d slipped under the silk sheets. A shy smile played on her lips.
He hadn’t thought this through. As a rule, he didn’t bring women to his palace apartment, preferring to conduct his affairs in the privacy of his villa, or wherever in the world he happened to be.
It suddenly dawned on him that not only had he broken his unwritten rule of not conducting an affair within the palace walls, but he’d also run from Helios’s ball. It was inconceivable that his absence would go unnoticed.
He couldn’t bring himself to care. His grandfather was in bed and his brothers would understand. They’d both had their heads turned by beautiful women over the years. The ball was for Helios, and to a lesser extent for Theseus—not for him. He would never need to marry. The burden of continuing the Kalliakis dynasty was in his brothers’ hands.
Now that the flush of lust had been satisfied he should get dressed, get a chauffeur to take Amalie back to the cottage. Except...
She stretched under the covers, that smile still playing on her lips. ‘Can we do that again?’
* * *
Amalie pulled Talos’s shirt, discarded on the floor the evening before, closer around her, catching a wonderful whiff of his woody scent. She sighed dreamily.
That had to count as the most wonderful night of her life.
It amazed her to think she’d spent so long denying this sensual side of herself, marvelled that it had ever scared her. What had she been so frightened of? How could such pleasure be terrifying?