She had no idea what she was doing; she’d never kissed anyone before. But for the past six months everything she’d done had been new and this was just one more new thing. One more glorious, amazing new thing.
His mouth was hot, soft and hard at the same time, demanding something of her that she didn’t understand. But she answered that demand all the same, pressing herself against the hard wall of his chest, her tongue touching his as she tried to explore him the way he was exploring her. He made a hungry sound deep in his chest, and the hand at her back was like an iron bar, forcing her even closer to him.
Her entire front was plastered up against his and there was nothing but hardness everywhere. And he was hard. Like the oak tree she’d imagined, or no, harder. An iron figure of a man, unyielding in every way except his mouth.
She shuddered as he kissed her deeper, with a feverish intensity. He tasted of wine or chocolate or coffee, a dark, rich taste that made her realise how hungry she was. So hungry and she didn’t even know it.
Then he pulled his mouth away, kissing down the side of her neck, making her tremble as he set his teeth against the sensitive cords there, nipping her so that she gasped aloud. Next, he found the pulse that beat at the base of her throat and kissed her, his tongue on her skin, and she felt like she would go mad if he didn’t kiss her lower, run that incredible mouth of his all over her body.
‘Ares,’ she whispered hoarsely, even though she really didn’t know what she wanted, only that she wanted more. ‘Ares...’
The hand at the small of her back had somehow slid beneath the hem of her jumper, his rough, callused fingertips stroking her bare back since she wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. And then his fingers moved higher, tracing each vertebra, sending the most delicious chills through her.
But she didn’t want him to only touch her back, she wanted him touching her in other places, more sensitive places. Her breasts and between her thighs, yes, especially there.
‘Rose,’ he growled against her mouth. ‘You must know that I was not planning on this. I was not planning on anything physical happening between us until you made the decision to stay married to me. So, if this is what you want, you had better be sure, because I do not think I can stop.’
For the first time she heard the lilt of an accent in his voice. An accent that felt familiar, as if she’d heard it somewhere before. He was Greek, that she remembered, and yet there had been no Greeks in the compound, so how could she have heard it before?
But then that thought was swept away as the grip on her wrist shifted and he was bringing her hand down to rest on his chest along with the other. He released her wrist only to grip her hips, fitting her more firmly against him so the soft, intense ache between her thighs was pressed to the long, hard ridge behind his fly.
‘Rose,’ he murmured again, more demanding this time. ‘I need your agreement before this goes any further. It has been a long time and I do not think I can be gentle with you.’
She understood and again she wanted to know exactly how long it had been, but she didn’t want to break this moment with questions. Not now she knew what she wanted and quite desperately.
In the compound she’d been alone. Nothing good had ever happened to her, nothing wonderful. There had been moments of lightness, when she’d spent time with Athena, but they’d been all too brief.
Until he’d walked into her world, and everything had changed. Thanks to him, she had Paris. Thanks to him, she had a job and an apartment. Thanks to him, she had freedom. She had justice thanks to him, and he’d tried to rescue her friend, and now he was giving her something else, something wonderful, and she wanted it so badly she thought she would die if she didn’t have it.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, trembling against him. ‘Ares, yes. Please.’
He didn’t wait. One moment she was standing upright, held up against him, the next she was lying on her back on the silken rug in front of the fire with him kneeling astride her thighs, looking down at her.
The light from the flames flickered over his scarred face, highlighting the deep twists and gouges of the scars, but she barely saw them. All she could see was the burning silver of his eyes as they looked down at her, avid and hungry, full of desire.
As promised, he wasn’t gentle. He shoved the jumper she wore up under her arms, along with her plain black bra, exposing her breasts. Then he bent over her, his hot mouth closing around one sensitive nipple and sucking hard.
She gasped, the sensation so indescribably intense she could barely stand it. The heat of his mouth and the pressure were doing the most incredible things to her. She’d really had no idea at all that it would feel quitesogood.
He sucked harder and her back arched as she thrust herself up into his mouth, wanting more of this pleasure, this intense sensation, the dragging ache between her thighs becoming more and more insistent.
She lifted her hands, but he gripped her wrists and pressed them flat to the floor on either side of her head, holding them there as he transferred his attention to her other breast, his teeth against her nipple, biting gently and sending yet more sparks cascading everywhere. The feeling of being restrained made the pleasure somehow sharper, except she wanted to touch him.
She wriggled, trying to free her wrists. ‘Please, Ares...’
He made a growling sound against her breast, releasing her nipple and raising his head. His gaze was all fire, all sharp intensity. ‘What is it?’ His voice was stone on stone, grating together. ‘Am I hurting you?’
‘No,’ she panted, trying to get her voice working. ‘I just...want to touch you. I want to see you.’
He stared at her for a second, then abruptly released her wrists and sat back on his knees again. Keeping his gaze fixed to hers, he lifted his hands and undid the buttons of his shirt, pulling it open.
The breath left her body and she stared, unable to help herself. The whole left side of his body was scarred, as if he’d been licked by fire, chest and shoulders and abdomen all twisted, melted flesh. Like his face, some parts were shiny, and some were rough, white and stark against the bronze of his skin. But even beneath the scars, she could see the carved outlines of muscles that look like they’d been chiselled from stone. The contrasts of him were beautiful to her in a way she’d never expected.
She sat up, reaching for him, touching the smooth olive skin of the unburned part of his chest, then running her fingers over some of the tightened scar tissue. All parts of him were so hot she felt burned herself.
He looked like he’d been created in a forge where the heat was so intense that even his skin hadn’t been able to withstand the fire. But his bones and his muscles had, the fundamental part of him was granite hard.
He said nothing as she touched him, his hands dropping to his belt and undoing it. He flicked open the buttons of his trousers, before pulling down the zip of his fly. She could hear his breathing, it was as ragged as hers, and beneath her hand she could feel the beat of his heart. Fast, powerful.