Consequence Of The Greek's Revenge

She’d been operating in a vacuum ever since.

Numb. Emotionless.

But Alexios had awakened something deep inside her and it unfurled and blossomed like a flower that had been buried under a winter snow. It was so good to feel again.

And now, all she wanted to do was feel.

Her feet went from underneath her, as he swept her up into his arms, his lips still on hers. He turned and kicked open a door, before spinning around and kicking it shut behind them. She had an impression of space, of high ceiling and billowing curtains on windows opening to the caldera, before she felt softness at her back as he laid her down in a bed hung with silken drapes of red and gold, the colours of the sunset.

Then he drew back, one knee on the bed, and looked at her in the half-light. ‘So beautiful,’ he said, and his words gave her hope that her life had turned a corner, and that the bleakness of the last few weeks might be at an end.

He tugged at the buttons on his shirt, pulled it from his shoulders and sent it fluttering to the floor. Her eyes drank him in. Wide shoulders. Sculpted chest and abdomen and arms where muscles rippled with every movement. Arms whose hands were working at his waistband, sliding down the zipper, before they too joined his shirt on the floor.

And all the while, his dark eyes didn’t leave hers, their intensity leaving her breathless and giddy, making way for one brief moment of indecision, a sudden bubble of nerves that this was happening too fast. A sudden bubble of rational thought that sprang up unbidden.

As if sensing her momentary panic, he surprised her by reaching down to kiss her again, soothing her, and already it seemed too long that he’d been away, while his hand slid beneath her to ease down the zipper at her back. With every parted tooth she felt her desire intensify and coalesce, until need was at the very essence of her. He was still kissing her as he eased the shoulder straps down her arms, still kissing her as she eased up her hips and let him peel her sundress away, until she was lying on the bed with nothing but a few scraps of lace to shield her from his view, and never, it seemed, had she felt more vulnerable.

Only then did his lips leave hers, leaving her breathless and wanting, as he drew himself back on his heels. ‘Magnificent,’ he said, and she let go a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, before he returned to her, running his strong hands up the outside of her legs, her hips, her waist and shoulders and her breathing ratcheted up another notch as he came closer, scooping her into his arms and rolling her against him.

Skin against skin. His legs tangling with hers, rough versus smooth, corded muscles against toned flesh. His abdomen against hers. Locked from head to toe. An electric connection only heightened by the places still hidden, the places still to be revealed, the places that now ached with potent need.

His hand cupped one breast and she whimpered, arching her back into his touch, while her hands roamed the glory of his sculpted back, muscles shifting with every movement, fascinating and thrilling her in equal measure, her hands drinking in the perfection of his skin-scape.

And then the lace covering her breasts was gone and she wanted to cry with relief, but when he dipped his head to take one peaked nipple into his mouth, it was a cry of ecstasy she gave as spears of pleasure shot straight to her aching core.

She was already burning up when he turned his attention to her other breast, his seeking hand now free to roam downwards, his fingertips toying with the lace edging of her underwear before inching slowly beneath the lace to cup her mound, before venturing closer to that place where her need pooled and coalesced into a living beast, demanding to be sated. She was breathing hard now, alight with the passion he’d unfurled in her, perspiration beading on her skin as, stoked by his every touch, the flames built up inside.

She was already teetering on the edge, anticipation acting like accelerant on a fire, so when his fingers parted her, finding her slick with want, her nerve endings all but screaming for his touch, she was already primed.

One gliding caress, one gentle pass by no more than a fingertip, and she climaxed against his hand. Hard. The shudders reverberating through her, wave after wave of pleasure rocking her world, until it felt as if he were the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

He kissed her as she came down, raining kisses on her mouth, on her eyes, on her sweat-slickened breasts. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, suddenly embarrassed and feeling gauche, her inexperience clearly on display.

‘Shh...’ he soothed. ‘Don’t be.’

‘But...’

‘We are just getting started.’

She blinked up at him, still catching her breath, to see him sliding down the band of black underwear at his hips. Her eyes widened in appreciation. Even bigger than she’d imagined when she’d felt the hard press of him against her belly. Even more magnificent. And despite just climaxing, despite thinking she was spent, she felt desire curl upwards inside her like tendrils of fragrance from a scented candle.

He reached across into a drawer beside the bed, ripping open the foil without taking his eyes from hers, rolling the condom down his long length, his eyes daring hers to watch his progress. ‘You see what you do to me, mikro peristeri? You see how much I burn for you?’

The endearment was sweet, but... ‘Why do you call me your little dove?’

‘Because since we met,’ he said, positioning himself between her legs, leaning on one elbow to slowly sweep the other hand from her hair to her shoulder, over one breast and her belly, and lower, his fingers curving between her thighs, ‘you are always on edge. Always looking to fly away.’

She swallowed. It was hard to hold a conversation when a man had his hand—there. ‘I’m not flying away now.’

‘No,’ he said with a smile, his fingers traversing her still-sensitive flesh, gently exploring, caressing, circling her tender core. ‘You are a gift straight from the gods. How blessed am I that I should have stumbled into your orbit?’

Why he was still trying to pleasure her with his touch and his words, she didn’t know. She would enjoy the sex, she had no doubt, but there was no point him wasting his time. She would never climax again, not after having her mind blown so completely and utterly already.

And yet he seemed in no hurry, taking his time, dipping his head again to take each nipple in turn into his hot mouth before returning to her mouth, still intent on pleasuring her. That was when she felt it, felt one long finger slide inside her. Her muscles squeezed in response at the intimate intrusion, and he growled, low in his throat, as he followed it with a second, working in concert with the pad of his thumb, their dance on her tender flesh generating sparks of sensation where she thought there would be none.

But it was impossible.

There was no way.

Except her body had other ideas. Her senses stirred, he seemed to know how much pressure, how much teasing was enough to leave her breathless and wanting more.

And then his fingers slid away, replaced with a new, heated pressure, and for a moment she felt a sense of panic, that perhaps she was being too greedy and wanting it all. ‘You are beautiful,’ he said, resting on his elbows either side of her, his hands weaving their way into her hair, holding her captive to his kiss.

And as his hot mouth told her that he’d meant what he’d said, she relaxed, her hips angling, tilting to welcome him. He seemed to sense the moment she was ready, for he chose that exact moment to lunge, driving himself deep inside her.

She cried out, not in pain, but in the completion, a delicious feeling of fullness suffusing her flesh while nerve endings lit up like sparks under her skin. And that was before he started to move.

‘Oh,’ she said, as he slowly withdrew, wanting to cling on, already missing him. But he was back, and then again, slowly accelerating, building the rhythm faster, until their ragged breathing became their accompaniment. And sparks born in the smouldering ruins of her latest climax flared into flame and flickered and danced under her skin, until with one final thrust from Alexios, accompanied by one triumphant cry, her world shook apart again, this time with his name on her lips.

It took longer to find her way back this time, her breathing ragged, her mind blanked from everything but the sudden realisation that all the stuff she’d ever believed about sex and how many times you could achieve orgasm in a night had been incinerated in the heat of their coming together, the ashes scattering to the waters of the bottomless caldera far below.

* * *

He stood at the window, looking out over the sleeping crater, a ribbon of silvery light bisecting the inky darkness and lighting a path direct to his room. Lights twinkled on the island across the water, likewise on the yacht, anchored in a bay, while all else was dark.

He looked back at the bed, at the woman lying there in the beam of silver, her hair tangled across her pillow, her lips plump and parted, deeply asleep. She’d fallen into his bed as easily as she’d fallen for his ruse, just as he’d anticipated, but she’d been so much more than he’d expected too. So much more. She’d gone off like fireworks in his bed, responsive, explosive. And then she’d climaxed again, and again, and, by the wondrous look on her face, the last time had surprised her the most.

And he half wished Stavros Nikolides were still alive, so he could witness this moment. So Alexios could bodily drag him in here to see his precious daughter naked and supremely satisfied in the bed of his nemesis, the son of the man he had so badly wronged.

For that would surely kill him all over again.

Moonlight on the blackened caldera waters winked back at him, telling him his logic was flawed. Because if Stavros had been alive, he would have enacted his original plan, and Athena would never have been in his bed, and that would have been a travesty. Revenge this way was so much more satisfying.

There was more than one way for a father to pay, and make him pay he would.

The sins of the father...

He would make Stavros pay dearly.

He curled his hand into a fist, all the injustice he’d felt congealing into concrete within, and thumped it hard against the wall.

She stirred behind him. ‘Alexios?’ Her voice was husky with sleep. Surprisingly sexy. As she herself had been throughout the night whenever he had reached for her. ‘What are you doing? Can’t you sleep?’

‘I was thinking,’ he said.

‘About what?’

He flexed his fingers. ‘Tomorrow,’ he lied. ‘I was thinking about what we should do tomorrow.’