Bought ForThe Greek's Bed

This was no slow coupling. Urgency burned through her, as if she knew, somewhere dim and dangerous to her, that what

she was doing was madness, folly, a crime so stupid that it would never be forgiven.. But she could not stop. As his mouth suckled her, pulling strongly on the rigid, sensitised peaks of her breasts, she held his head to her, her thighs straining against his. He was hard against her, so hard, and she felt a leap of raw, primitive excitement lunge through her. She writhed against him, hungry and urgent. Wanting him. Wanting him now, right now. His possession, his body in hers, now, right now. She lifted her hips to him, her free hand straining down over his naked back. He was still half clothed, but she didn’t care. Wanted only what he was withholding from her…

Her hand slid beneath his waistband, and then her other hand was there, too, unfastening him, freeing him…strong in her hands, powerful and potent, so potent. She gave a rasp in her throat, lifting her hips to him as his tongue laced around her nipples, shooting peaks of pleasure through her that she thought she must die from. But it was not enough, not enough. She had to have more…she had to have all…

‘Theo—now, now!’

Her voice was urgent, desperate. His head lifted from her, eyes still burning like lasers into hers.

‘Theo!’ she gasped again, and parted for him.

He drove into her, and she gave a great gasp of pleasure as he filled her. Sensation exploded through her, driving on and on, fire was raging in her. Her hands slid around his back, gripping him to her.

His mouth swooped on hers, devouring her, and she gave him like for like, as urgent as he, more urgent still. He drove into her again, and then again, and each time the sensation that exploded in her was like a hammer of pleasure. With every thrust the ultra-sensitive zone within her sent more and yet more excitement through her. More and more, over and over, and over again, thrust after thrust…

‘Theo!’

Her voice was a cry, a gasp of incredulity, as a pleasure so intense that she felt it like a white burning heat flashed out from where it had ignited and sheeted through her body, burning down every fibre of her being.

‘Oh, God, Theo!’

She gasped for air, for oxygen, but it only fed the flame, sending yet another wave of even deeper intensity and pleasure through her. Every muscle in her body had tautened, and the extreme tension seemed to amplify what was happening to her. She cried out yet again.

Then he was surging in her. She could feel him, filling her, engorging her, convulsing into her. His hands were pressing down on her shoulders, his torso rearing over her, his head lowered from his powerful, straining shoulders.

She clung to him. Clung like a swimmer in a drowning sea, clung to the hard strength of the body over her, clung to him while his body convulsed into hers, and while hers, every nerve inflamed, strained against him.

The moment went on and on and on.

And then, at the limits of exhaustion, it died away.

Leaving her on the shore of the realisation of what she had done.

His weight came down on her, muscles slackening. His head was at her shoulder, and she could feel the heat of his racing breath on her dampened skin. Her exhaustion was total, as if she’d run a mile. Her heart beat in hard, heavy slugs, her pulse, too.

She could feel his face against her. Feel his skin cooling, feel the sleek sweat of desire spent draw the heat from her body. Leaving her cold, so very cold…

His head lifted from her. His eyes looked down into hers. For one moment there was something in them, then it was gone. Quite gone. Now there was only that dark glitter in them again. With long fingers he smoothed the hair back from her sweated brow, a touch that made her shudder deep, deep within, and gazed into her distended eyes.

‘Will you tell him about this, your hapless lover? Tell him how you cried out for me as I took you? Tell him how this time—’ his voice changed, cutting like a knife into her ‘—you did not even do it for the money…’

He levered up from her. Standing there, adjusting his clothing. Picking up his shirt from where it hung half off the arm of the sofa, where it had caught, and shrugging himself into it.

Then he walked towards the phone on the sideboard and lifted it.

His Greek was too quick for her, but when he hung up and turned back to her she did not need to understand.

‘The car will be waiting for you in the basement. Your flight will be rearranged for when you reach the airport.’ His eyes flickered at him. ‘I suggest you use the bathroom in the guest room to repair your appearance. You’ll forgive me if I make my farewell now.’ He walked towards her, lifting her supine, naked body upright. She sagged, unable to support herself, and his arms held her, his fingers around her flanks, indenting into her ribcage. He looked down into her face a moment. Her hair was tousled wantonly over her bare shoulders, her eyes were wide, distended, her mouth bee-stung from his arousal of her.

His eyes had that strange blankness in them; his face was a mask.

‘So beautiful on the outside,’ he said. ‘So deceptive.’

He let her go and walked away, heading, she dimly remembered, for the master bedroom, and presumably its bathroom.

Like a zombie she picked up her clothes. Like a zombie she found the guest bedroom and its en suite bathroom. Some time later, when she was sure the apartment was empty again, she took the lift down to the basement and got into the waiting car. She was driven to the airport where a first-class ticket back to London had been arranged for her.

She wanted to die.