Page 30 of The Forbidden Bride He Stole

He gripped her hair again, and she tilted her head back willingly as he kissed her neck, down to her breasts, thrusting in time with each kiss.

Then he took her mouth, murmuring filthy promises against her lips that set her on fire.

Her skin was damp all over, the heat from the fire and their own created need all slick and intense.

Her heart was pounding so hard it was as if she had run a race, and she was not done.

He spoke in Greek. English. She had always loved to hear him talk. His accent wholly unique andhis. Cultured because he had trained it to be, but retaining hints of Greece and Scotland. She liked it even more when he spoke these words over her. When he lavished praise upon her body.

When he gave her everything.

Everything.

No. Not everything.

Just sex.

But that thought did nothing to temper her desire, and finally, she broke. Her orgasm igniting her anew, taking her to new heights as her internal muscles squeezed him tight, drawing a response from him.

He growled, his thrusts becoming faster and faster, losing their rhythm as his own climax overtook him, the unraveling swift and certain, his cry of release a growl, that mingled with her own. She clung to him even as he began to ease away from her.

“There,” he said. “You’ve had your wedding night.”

“That... That’s it?”

She was still lying on the chair, spent and limp, uncertain of what to do or say.

“It is what you said you wanted.”

“Apollo...”

“Did I promise you more?”

Tears pricked her eyes. “No. You didn’t. I’ll... I’ll go back to my room.”

“Please,” he said.

And she didn’t bother to collect her underwear. Why would she? Her dignity was in tatters, and pausing to collect clothes would not restore it.

She held it together until she got back to her room. And then, she broke.

CHAPTER SEVEN

APOLLOSTOODAThis desk, his hands planted firmly on the high-gloss surface. He looked down at the floor. There was a pair of white panties and a white bra, evidence of what had just happened, and if it was not there, he might’ve thought it was a dream. If not for the spent condom in the wastebasket, if not for the fact that his heart rate refused to come down.

If not for the fact that he felt guilt. Deep, dark guilt that was unlike anything he had experienced for some time.

He had felt used before. It was part and parcel to the life he had led prior to becoming what he was now.

But he had always been very careful never to use a lover. It was possible he’d used her here.

Or that she had used him.

A wall had come down during this and he...he had no defense against it. He had never felt sex in quite this way before.

He had been cruel to her.

He had wanted to punish her for pushing him to the brink, but had that all been justification for being with her? She was beautiful. But why did that matter so much? There were many beautiful women, and they were not in his care.

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