The Greek's Virgin Bride

'I must have you—' The words grated from him and he took each of her hands, lifting and placing them each side of her head, pinioning there with his, holding her body still for him, spread for him, hips rifting to receive him.

She could feel the urgency of his need for her. Power surged through her. The power of her sex, flowering in a glorious, heady welling of sensation that fused her body to her mind, rosed her aroused, throbbing flesh to the incandescence lighting her whole being.

She raised her mouth to his and bit softly, deliberately at his.

'Then take me,' she answered. 'Take me.'

He waited no longer. With slow descent he lowered his body into hers.

His control, his purpose was absolute. Her dew-drenched readied body parted for him, accepting him within her as a needed, hungered-for presence. She stretched around him, and as pain fluttered briefly, fleetingly, it was swept away by the drowning tide of exultation that consumed her as he made her his.

He filled her absolutely, and she gasped with the realisation that their bodies had fused, become one, pulsing, beating to the same single heartbeat that throbbed between them, sex to sex, thigh to thigh, palm to palm, pressing and joining.

Her mouth opened In a wondrous, wordless cry, neck arching back, hips lifting higher to meld their flesh together.

He was reared over her, fused within her, and she gloried in it. Around his manhood's strength her muscles clenched, hold­ing him tightly, dearly, and the pressure of his body in hers thickened him in answer to her. It was all she needed. Like a long, slow wave her body detonated around his, sending a tidal pulse through all her flesh.

She buckled around him, every muscle straining, and the detonation came again, surging out like a Shockwave.

She cried out, gasping, spine arching like a bow.

It was liquid pressure, liquid pleasure, so intense, so absolute that it shocked her even as it convulsed her. It flooded through her, reaching through every vein, every overloaded nerve-fibre, rushing out to fill her fingertips, her toes, flushing her body with its tide.

And behind it surged another tide, and yet another, and with one, wondering, stunned part of her mind she realised her body was resonating with another's. Nikos was gasping, surging, pulsing into her, and she was drawing him in, the tide con­vulsing her sucking him into her, possessing him utterly.

She heard him gasp, cry out in triumph, and the triumph was hers too, and his, and theirs, and still their bodies surged to the tidal wave carrying them on its endless bounty.

Her fingers clutched his, squeezing so tightly she could feel the slick between their joined palms seal them unbreakably, just as their bodies were joined—unbreakably.

Slowly, oh, so slowly, the tidal pulse began to ebb, draining deep away, back into the core, the heart of her body, where it had come from. Slowly, oh, so slowly, he lowered himself to her, to rest his exhausted, sated weight upon her, crush the slackening tissues of her breasts.

They were both panting, breathless with exertion, hearts thundering in their chests. His body covered hers, slick with sweat. Her hands slid free and came around his back, wrapping him to her. She could feel, against her own, his heartbeat slam­ming, then slowly, slowly, as the torpor of inertia took them over, it began to ease and lessen.

How long they lay like that, their bodies fast entwined, mo­tionless with satiation and exhaustion, she did not know, could not tell. Time had no meaning any more. She had discovered eternity.

After a while, a long, endless while, he stirred. The sweat had dried on his back, and where her arms did not enfold him his skin was cold.

Heavily, he lifted his head from her shoulder.

She felt the movement of muscles in his back and instinc­tively tightened her grip around him.

He gave a laugh. A low, brief laugh.

'No, I, too, do not wish to move, Andrea mou, but yet must.'

He managed to lever himself up to his elbows, making he: slacken her grip on him so that only her hands could touch either side his spine.

'Come—I must tend to you.'

Carefully, he eased from her.

She felt bereft, empty, desolate. He slipped away from her in the dark and she heard him cross the carpeted floor. Then a door opened, and a light flooded briefly, before closing to dim­ness. She shut her eyes. Her heart was in tumult. But she could not think, could not reason. Could only lie and let the dimness close her round.

Exhaustion claimed her.

His footsteps crossing towards the bed roused her from the slumber she had sunk into. As she surfaced she could hear, she realised, the sound of water running. Before she realised what he was intending he scooped his hands underneath her and folded her up into his arms.

'I don't want you to feel sore, pethi mou,'' he murmured, and took her through into the bathroom, lowering her gently into the swirling water in the huge, circular bath, foaming high with bubbles.