The electric charge of first contact ripped a gasp from her throat that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with exquisitely intense sensation. Every muscle inside her clamped down, trying to capture him, to draw him inside.
He growled, low and rough, as he answered her with more of him, then eased back before stretching her further.
It was torture.
It was bliss.
She tilted her hips, welcoming his length, encouraging him further, and when she gasped again it was in wonder at his sheer size, stretching her limits, filling her so completely that their bodies met, their union complete.
For a moment he stilled, a moment that shone in time with brilliant clarity, as if she was teetering on the edge. And if she thought that what he’d done before had changed her life, then what he was doing now was something so profound and meaningful that she felt her entire world changing. Then he moved, slowly, teasingly withdrawing, and she felt air rush into her lungs as if to fill the void.
Then he lunged, filling her completely once more, leaving no space for anything but him. Slowly at first he built the rhythm, taking her with him as he moved inside her, as he built the pace. And she went with him, matching him, taking his lead, feeling the pressure building inexorably inside her yet again, the urgency, the desperate race for completion.
Until his surging thrusts sent her spinning for a second time, light and weightless, as the wave of shimmering ecstasy lifted her out of herself to a place where nothing was important, nothing mattered, other than her blissful acceptance of his own shuddering, pumping release.
They lay together, their limbs entwined, their breathing raggedly steadying, bodies slick and spent.
Loukas stared blankly up towards the darkened ceiling, mentally congratulating himself on his unexpected progress. She’d fallen in with his plans much more quickly than he’d anticipated. How much longer should he wait before he could start asking her questions?
He turned his head to where he could just make out her profile in the darkened room, just see the line of her closed eyes, her slightly parted lips, as she replenished her oxygen-depleted lungs. New questions sprang to mind—new questions that had nothing to do with the reason why she was here.
What was she hiding?
How could someone who looked like her be so inexperienced? Why would she be so shy? None of it made sense.
He’d scarcely believed her claim on the deck to be nervous, and yet she was an ingénue, and her performance had proved her near-innocence. She hadn’t lied to him—she’d been no virgin—though she had been deliciously tight and so responsive. She’d accepted his caresses with genuine enthusiasm, and yet made no attempt to reciprocate or take control. She’d made no attempt to explore his body beyond his chest and back. She’d made no attempt take him in her hand.
His body hummed at the thought, already anticipating that act. He’d like to feel her soft fingers curl around him, maybe even…He felt a sudden rush of blood at the prospect. No, she might not be a virgin but she was the next best thing. It would be more than gratifying to teach her more, to have her learn more of what he liked.
And why shouldn’t he make the most of this opportunity? It had been a long time since he’d been interested in a woman.
It had been a long time since Zoë.
His breathing stilled, before softly expelling the air in his lungs on a sigh as he curled one hand behind his head. Four years it would be, come December. Four years since her vivacious green eyes had danced for him, and he’d wound her long dark hair around his hands and tugged her laughing mouth closer to his.
But then, it was probably longer still than that. It might be coming up to four years since she’d died, but they’d not made love for months before her death. He’d accepted her claims of illness or inconvenience for far too long, not realising that under her clothes her five-foot-ten-inch frame had been reduced to little more than a walking skeleton. And yet still she’d complained of being fat, exercising herself until she’d collapsed.
She’d never been fat, even when they’d first met, and he’d had no inkling of the insecurities lurking below her glamorous exterior. But even before she’d become so ill, so obsessed with the body beautiful and how cosmetic surgery could lend a hand, he’d never found on her the lush curves he’d enjoyed so much tonight.