Rumors Behind the Greek's Wedding

Incomprehensible words, cries, pleas escaped her lips and she was unable to prevent her hips rising, giving him more, wanting more from him. He controlled her, he orchestrated every pleasurable sound and feeling, drawing a shiver of damp heat across her body. Trembling now, she was entirely his, owned, possessed, inside and out.

‘Come for me,’ he demanded of her. And she did. The waves of ecstasy crashing over her, body and soul wiped clean and mindless to anything other than pleasure.

* * *

In all his life, Loukis had never seen anything more beautiful, more humbling. The pink slashes across Célia’s cheeks, the erratic rise and fall of her breasts, the way her legs had pulled tight against his thighs as she had reached her orgasm just made him want her more.

A need, painful in its intensity, stung the back of his throat, as he leaned forward to claim her mouth with his. He wanted it all, every gasp, sigh, cry, breath, captured by him. Positioning himself between her legs, he waited until her eyes found his once more. He wanted her with him in this, he wanted to see her as he possessed her, as surely as she had possessed him. When her tiger’s eyes met his, desire blackening her gaze, he felt it in his soul.

Slowly, inch by inch, he pressed into her, relishing the incredible feeling of her, his heart stuttering in his chest as she tightened around him, until he could go no further. Just as slowly he withdrew, teasing himself and her. After the frantic pace of their kisses and her orgasm, this slow descent into sensual madness was indescribable and utterly unique to Célia.

Before he could question why, sensations and need welled within him, his body demanding action, demanding more, demanding now. But he held himself back, slowly weaving an intoxicating spell as he entered her and withdrew again and again and again.

Her body began to move, showing only a fraction of the restlessness he felt roaring through his body. He captured her mouth with his, before her pleas and moans of pleasure could undo him, drawing out the inevitable moment when their climax would end this. Because he realised he didn’t want it to end. He delighted in her pleasure, his no less for it. In fact, his need was heightened by hers.

He felt her hands around his thighs, holding him deep within her, she arching against him as if wringing more and more pleasure from it and no longer could he hold back. He thrust into her deep and fast, her cries of need urging him on, faster, deeper, until he could no longer tell whose cry demanded more, whose pleasure was greater, whose need was more. Until he realised that it didn’t matter because, at that moment, they were one.

As if the very thought released the last vestige of his control, an orgasm more powerful, more incredible than any he had ever known roared through them both, calling for hers, demanding hers and together they fell beneath moonbeams and starlight.

CHAPTER TEN

CÉLIA WAS WOKEN by the sounds of conversation, slowly rousing her from the deepest sleep she’d had in years. When her eyes opened, the curtains, the bed beneath her, the partial view from the window jarred painfully.

She rose immediately, her mind taking a moment to catch up. She remembered Loukis picking her up at some point in the night, and bringing her to his bed, where they had once again lost themselves in each other. Her body ached, but it felt strong. She stretched, leaning into the echoes of the sensual pleasure he had drawn from her. A blush rose to her cheeks at the memories from the night before, warming her skin just

as a peal of childish giggles filtered from down the hall.

Annabelle.

She cast a glance around the room, suddenly very conscious that she was naked. Wrapping the sheet around her, she left the bed and padded over to the wardrobe carefully concealed behind mirrors that had teased and taunted them last night as they had...

Célia cut the train of thought in its tracks. She pulled open a door, hoping to find something of Loukis’s that she could wear, but once she caught sight of the contents she stopped, hovering in shock. The clothes she had chosen from the stylist lined the length of the hanging rail, shoes tucked neatly at the bottom, drawers—she saw as she pulled them open—full of underwear.

‘You will share my bed.’

Last night had been her decision. And she had known that this was part of the bargain they had struck. But what did that mean for the forthcoming evening? And the evenings after?

As Célia showered, she was torn between concerns for the future and the heady memories of last night, her body certainly desirous of another night spent in his arms. Arms that had held her as she’d had the most powerful sexual experience of her life. Marc had been dutiful in bed with her, as if it were something ‘to be done’. And she could see now that even that was part of Marc’s plan. It wasn’t and never had been about her, but what she could give him.

And no matter how differently Loukis saw her, treated her, she was still exactly the same to him. She could give him the reputation and the situation he needed for Annabelle. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let her heart make another mistake and think for a second it was about anything else. Hadn’t Loukis himself said as much?

‘I am not capable of giving you what you deserve. Not now. Not ever.’

She hated that the deepest irony was that it was Loukis that deserved more. Because she wasn’t the perfect fiancée he needed. She could never risk him finding out the truth of what had happened with her father. Not only because of the damage it could do to his custody claim...but the damage she feared it could do to her.

After showering and dressing Célia made her way down the hall, towards the sounds coming from what she could only assume was a kitchen or dining room. It turned out to be both. A beautiful sprawling open kitchen and eating area backed by the most gorgeous view of the Greek island where Loukis had made his summer home.

The moment Annabelle caught sight of her, she jumped up from the table, rushed around and came to a startling halt about two feet from where Célia stood. A shy, but utterly thrilled expression on her face.

‘Hi!’

‘Bonjour, ma chérie.’

‘I told you she’d call me Cherry,’ she cried victoriously to Loukis, before rushing up the stairs in the far corner with indistinguishable words about wanting ‘to show Célia’.

Célia finally looked to her fiancé. Her fake fiancé. He was studying her over the rim of the small espresso cup he held to his lips, stopped just before he could take a sip.

She met his eyes and her heart thudded wildly in her chest. His gaze was proprietorial as if, unspoken, he had claimed her. As if he knew that she knew it too. It was full of promise, of heat, reminding her of what he had whispered to her in the night. Of the things he wanted to do to her, for her, instantly igniting an arousal, a need, that only he could meet.