Page 31 of Breaking the Annulment

He sucked a breath in and held it, watching in fascination as her body arched, on the brink of orgasm. Her lips parted as she whispered his name again, more fervently. Under the blanket, her hand moved faster against her clit. Then she added the other hand, or at least it seemed that way, as she shifted her position slightly. He imagined she was using one hand to work her clit, while sinking her fingers from the other hand deep in her core. He broke out into a sweat, his body painfully hard.

It didn’t take long before her hips were rocking in time to her ministrations, his name a mantra on her lips. He nearly came just listening to her, and the knowledge that she was imagining him servicing her was the most powerful aphrodisiac he’d ever experienced. Her pleasure was so intense, every second of it fed his hunger. He let go of the breath he’d been holding only to drag another jagged breath back in. Fuck, he wanted to be inside her head right now more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

What exactly are you imagining, princess? Am I taking you slow and gentle or am I pounding deep, hard and fast? What am I doing to you that’s making you come undone like this? What’s making your body tremble, every breath you take ragged with anticipation? You claim you hate me, fight me, say you don’t want me, yet I’m the man you’ve chosen to star in this fantasy. Is that the key? Do you like fighting with me, having your choices taken away? Does it free you? Does it take away your guilt when you surrender? Do you need me to make you submit?

You belong to me, wife, and in your fantasies, you don’t fight it.

You want my possession.

You need it.

Crave it.

His gaze never wavered as he watched her. Every movement, every breath, he studied it all. Her hand moved faster..

“Michalis…make me…oh god…oh god…yeeess!”

He couldn’t help himself, his thoughts spiraled as she gave in––climaxing––while calling his name.

He rubbed a hand over the scruff on his face. She could deny it all she wanted; he knew the truth now. Aurelia’s deepest, darkest fantasies were about him.‘Michalis. Make me. Oh god. Yes.’Those were the words that made her come, or the actions associated with them, anyway.

He leaned back, forcing himself to maintain control. His hand fisted at his side as his body burned with frustration. She wanted him, but she refused to come to him, refused to move into the master suite. He’d begun to think she felt nothing for him. Now he knew the truth.

His gaze didn’t leave her until she was finished, and had settled into a restless sleep, curled into a ball, her features softening with exhaustion. The flicker of lightning outside painted fleeting patterns across her face, but she didn’t stir. The corner of his mouth twitched—a rare, fleeting smile. Even in her defiance, she looked peaceful. Vulnerable.

The storm outside was worsening, its fury rattling the estate’s heavy windows and casting fleeting shadows across the polished floors.

The next boom of thunder, deep and resonant, seemed to vibrate through the walls. Michalis noticed the slight shift in her form, a faint tightening of her shoulders. She wouldn’t admit it, but he would bet she was afraid of storms. His protective instincts, buried under years of callous control, surged to the surface.

She didn’t belong there, in that cold guestroom that was too far from him. Not when she could be warm and safe in their bed, where she belonged.

With a decisive motion, he stood, straightening his tailored shirt. With one last glance at the screen, he clicked it off,his body tingling with anticipation. Aurelia had unknowingly surrendered a piece of herself to him, and he wouldn’t stop until he had the rest.

His footsteps were soundless as he made his way through the darkened corridors of the estate, the storm’s cacophony muffled by the thick walls. When he reached her door, he paused for a moment. The handle turned smoothly under his touch—he’d ensured the locks wouldn’t keep him out.

The room was dark, illuminating her form with every flash of lightning. She was tangled in the blanket, her breathing slow and steady, though the faint lines on her brow betrayed the tension she carried even in sleep.

Michalis approached her with care, crouching to gently untangle the blanket wrapped around her legs. He slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her back, lifting her with the ease of a man used to bearing a heavy load. She was light in his arms, her head naturally falling against his chest, the silky strands of her hair brushing his jaw.

As he carried her through the halls, the storm seemed to rage harder, the howling wind and sharp cracks of thunder emphasizing the contrast of the quiet, intimate moment between them. His footsteps were deliberate, measured, as if any sound might wake her.

In the master suite, he eased her onto the expansive bed, the plush covers swallowing her slight form. She murmured something unintelligible as he adjusted the blanket over her, her fingers briefly clutching at the edge before relaxing again. He stood back, his eyes lingering on her face, softened in sleep. A faint smile touched her lips, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort his presence brought—even in slumber.

Michalis slipped off his shoes, placing them neatly beside the bed, then shrugged out of his shirt, tossing it over a nearby chair. Clad in just his slacks, he slid onto the bed beside her, careful notto jostle her too much. The mattress dipped under his weight, and for a moment, he held still, watching her.

Then it happened.

As if drawn by instinct, Aurelia shifted closer, her body curling into his side. Her hand rested lightly on his chest, and he froze, a rare warmth spreading through his chest. It wasn’t possession that gripped him this time—it was something quieter, deeper. Contentment.

For the first time in years, Michalis felt truly at ease.

His arm slid around her, pulling her closer. The storm outside howled, but in that moment, he couldn’t hear it. All he knew was the steady rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her body nestled against his, and the sense of rightness that filled the room.

As sleep pulled him under, his last thought was a promise, unspoken but absolute:You’re mine, now and forever.

14

Aurelia was having the most wicked of dreams. Michalis was telling her to open her legs. She obeyed, but that wasn’t enough. He pushed them wider, up toward her chest and out, exposing her feminine sheath, somehow holding her there while his mouth and hands did wicked, wicked things, stoking a raging fire within her. In her dream, he knew exactly what she wanted. What she needed. Craved.

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