His eyes flashed at hers, hesitation obvious in their dark depths. ‘Not often.’
‘But you did come back?’
His nostrils flared as he exhaled, evidently choosing his words wisely. ‘We have business there. It’s where my mum lives. Yes, I came back.’
Her stomach looped. The idea that he’d been in the same city as Max and not known about him made everything feel so much worse. At that moment, the boat began to move, as though it had come across the wake of another craft, just little shifts in the current that caused it to rock—and to rock enough that Annie lost her footing ever so slightly.
Dimitrios’s response was instant, snaking a hand out to catch her elbow, holding her steady. It was the lightest touch, and for an obvious purpose, but it set her pulse skittering wildly. All she was conscious of was his nearness and strength, the warmth of his touch, his overtly masculine bearing, the woody citrus fragrance he wore. And suddenly she was riding a different wave, this one not gentle or slow, but dragging her higher and higher in an inescapable current. Her eyes lifted to his and she felt something lock into place—the culmination of everything she’d been feeling and wanting all day and the certainty that, though she might wonder at her decision, she knew it was the only decision she could make.
Her hands lifted to his bare chest, her fingers splaying wide over his pectoral muscles. She dropped her gaze to them, staring at her fingertips, her mouth dryer than the desert.
‘The bathing costumes are in the drawer.’ It was gruff. She noticed he didn’t take a step backward, though. If anything, he moved slightly closer, so his hips brushed hers, sending a riot of awareness tumbling through her body.
She was scared but she was also bold—she knew what she wanted—and that certainty meant she was going to see this through, come what may. Her eyes held his, a challenge in their depths as her fingers found the hem of her shirt. She lifted it slowly, not looking away from his face, so she recognised the moment his expression shifted and his lips parted on a hiss of breath, his features being pulled tight.
‘Help me get changed?’ she murmured as she pushed the shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor.
His eyes fell to her lace-clad breasts, his concentration so fierce she could feel heat radiating from him to her.
‘Annabelle...’ It was a plea. A desperate, aching plea. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’
She reached behind her back, finding the bra clasp and undoing it. ‘I beg your pardon, but yes, I do.’
She undid the bra, dropping it from the edge of her fingertips so that her breasts spilled out, her nipples taut, begging for his attention.
He swore softly, but everything was magnified; she heard it and it ricocheted through her soul like an earthquake.
‘Make love to me, Dimitrios. I don’t want to wait any longer.’
CHAPTER TEN
DISBELIEF ETCHED LINES about his mouth but then he shook his head, as though waking from a dream, and a second later crushed his lips to hers, a kiss designed to taste, torment, dominate and give.
She surrendered to it completely, but only for a second, then desperate hunger—starvation—was taking over, ripping her body apart piece by piece, and she was certain he was the only way she could be built back together again.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling her higher up his body and, understanding her silent plea, he lifted her against him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he moved towards the bed, his hands so strong and commanding, his body so warm and masculine. She was melting against him, her insides turning to mush, heat slicking her feminine core, nipples aching for his touch. She arched her back, his name a curse and a spell on her lips, an incantation she offered again and again, her voice barely recognisable.
He kissed through her words, swallowing them whole, his hands working the button at her waist and pushing her trousers down, his fingers lingering tantalisingly on the curves of her calves before reaching her ankles, caressing the flesh there, then the soles of her feet. She whimpered at the lightness of his touch, wanting more, simultaneously relishing everything about this—the desire to stretch it out, to make every second last a lifetime. She wanted to hold on to this.
I’m not going anywhere.
Her heart trilled in her chest. She reached for his shoulders, her nails scoring the flesh there, her back tilting. His lips on her knee surprised her; she startled in response to the unexpected touch and his hands reached for her hips, holding her steady as his mouth made its way slowly, oh, so slowly higher, his tongue teasing the flesh of her inner thigh inch by inch, her breath fast and loud as he went higher still. One hand left her hip, pushing her legs apart, and it didn’t occur to her not to comply. She lifted her feet on to the edge of the bed and his mouth came between her legs, his tongue so light she could barely feel it at first, so light it left her desperate—utterly, incandescently desperate—for more.
Still, she wasn’t prepa
red for the experience that was coming—his mouth closing over her most sensitive cluster of nerves and kissing her there until she almost passed out from pleasure. Her fingernails pushed into his shoulders and somewhere in the very, very distant recesses of her mind still capable of thought, she worried she might draw blood.
And yet she couldn’t stop.
She couldn’t change anything about what they were doing; this was a juggernaut and they were both on board it, just as they’d been that night seven years earlier.
‘You’re so wet,’ he growled, the words so deep they reached inside her and sent tremors of pleasure radiating through her body. His fingers moved to echo his mouth’s movements, slipping inside her and finding her raging pulse, until she tipped over the edge of sanity and existence and became a pile of nerves. She cried out as pleasure swallowed her. His name at first, and then just moans, over and over, her body racked with shakes of euphoria.
He didn’t give her time to recover. A second later he was kissing his way up her body, his hands still pleasuring her womanhood, his mouth taking a nipple hostage, pressing it hard against his lips, then lightly, so the contrast was too much to bear. She cried out, and he brushed his hair-roughened chin across her chest to the other breast, subjecting that nipple to the same exquisite pleasure-pain.
‘Stay here,’ he groaned as he reached her mouth, his lips tantalisingly close to hers. ‘Don’t move.’ His eyes bored into hers, as though he was afraid she was going to change her mind. Not a chance in hell.
‘Where are you going?’