Revelations of His Runaway Bride

She placed her hands on his buttocks. Gripped him as the muscles tensed with each thrust. She understood desire now. Understood why it could drive a person mad.

Christo. Inside her. Close. Perfect. Elemental.

The pressure built again as she rode with him, two bodies in unison. Each thrust plunged him deeper and deeper into the soul of her. Into the sticky, sweet mess of it. And this time it was less sharp, but no less devastating. A long, blissful ache that built and built till her control shattered right along with his.

He moaned her name. Pained? Pleasured? She wasn’t sure. And then she let herself be swept away on the tide of it again.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHRISTO SLID INTO consciousness as the hazy veil of slumber lifted, to find his body curled around a luscious female form. The sun had barely begun to rise. Faint birdsong twittered in the garden. The room lay dusky and still, apart from her steady breaths.

Thea...

He buried his face in the warm silk of her hair. The honeyed smell of her wrapped seductively around him. Every part of him ached to ease into her warm, soft body again.

He wouldn’t wake her. But the need clutched at his throat and threatened to cut off his breath. He had no rights here. He shouldn’t have touched her. Even worse, he’d taken her virginity. The guilt of it scraped inside him.

He’d been fooled by those photographs in Raul’s dossier. She’d been right from the beginning. He was no better than the rest of them. He’d seen only what he’d wanted to and taken selfishly. No matter how much she claimed to desire him, he’d used her in the crudest fashion.

It made him sick to his gut. Even though his body screamed for her, rigid with desire.

They were married. He could take her and what would it matter?

But it did. He’d said he’d protect her. From her father and brother, sure. But from himself too. He was just another man wanting to use her for his own aims. No matter how he tried to dress it up in some cloak of honour.

He dragged his reluctant body away from hers, putting some space between them. She stirred, sighed and sank back into the pillows. He watched her sleep. Stared at the dip and curve of her waist. The flare of her hip. Her hair like spilled coffee on the pillow.

Then there were the tattoos. When he’d first seen them, in his arrogance he’d thought they marred her. Not now. He reached out, his hand tracing the serpentine flock that swooped across her spine, each one a tribute to her strength in the face of deprivation.

He stroked his finger across the last bird. His. Acid burned his throat. His mark on her. He could never forget.

Thea stretched, lean limbs tightening. Then she turned, her eyes heavy with sleep. A soft smile played on her plush, plum-coloured mouth. She looked wanton. Well kissed.

He bunched his hands by his sides, but there was no hiding the arousal which had plagued him since he’d woken. Her eyes flicked to it, and back to him. She licked her lips. He had to do something—because he wasn’t going to take any more from her. Even if she thought she wanted to give it freely.

‘When are you going to add another bird?’ His voice was rough with lust. He cleared his throat.

Her brows knitted. Confusion flitted over her face. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘I hurt you.’

The simple truth. One she couldn’t deny.

Thea put her hand to his cheek. It rested there. Soft and cool against his burning skin.

‘You gave me wings.’

She’d misunderstood him. He’d taken from her. Taken something he’d had no right to.

‘You were in pain.’

Her thumb stroked gently back and forth across his cheek. Her eyes locked onto his, dark and serious.

‘A few nerves. It was nothing.’

He took her hand in his and squeezed. ‘I’ve marked you. Worse than your brother. Worse than your father.’

She sat up, filling his vision with her unique glow. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders to skim her rosy pink nipples. He wanted to drag her down, let her light spill into him. Flood the dark corners of his soul.