He changed the angle of the kiss, delved deeper, wanting more. More of her sweetness, more of her warmth. More of this. He walked her backward until she hit the stone table, then brushed the clothes off and lifted to set her on the smooth hard surface.
She didn’t let go of him. Not when he eased back and the blanket fell free of her breasts to land at her waist. Not when he pushed his way between her legs. Not when the hard length of his arousal brushed the juncture between her thighs.
A short gasp slipped from her lips as her fingers grazed the stubble on his jaw, then she kissed him back with ardor, picking up confidence with every stroke and lick and nip and sigh. He let her take the lead, told himself this was new for her and he needed to slow things down. But when her hands inched their way down his torso, settled on his hips and tugged him closer, he lost all ability to think.
He cupped the back of her head, pushed her back to lie against the table, then nipped his way across her jaw to her ear, where he drew her lobe into his mouth and bit down just hard enough to feel her shudder beneath him.
His lips found her neck, the soft column of her throat, back up again to that sensitive spot behind her ear. Her hair was silky against his face, her arms around his shoulders warm and encompassing. And the heat between her thighs where he pressed into her was enough to drive him mad.
“Oh…”
The sound of her voice trickled through his conscience, dimmed the roar just enough so he didn’t take her right there and then. Realizing he was mauling her and that she might not be enjoying this as much as he was, he pushed up on his hands and gazed down at her.
Torchlight flickered over her features, made her hair look darker, her skin richer. Her lips were swollen from his mouth, her cheeks flushed and rosy. But her eyes…they were the key. He’d always been able to read her emotions through her eyes—fear, anger, despair, those were the things he saw when he looked at her—which was how he’d always known just what to say or do to get under her skin. But her eyes now weren’t afraid. They didn’t look upset. There was trust there. And behind it, the flare of desire that sent his libido into overdrive and his cock straining for release.
Her fingers drifted to his cheek, so soft and warm against his rough skin, it sent a shiver down his spine. But it was her whispered word that really did him in. “Demetrius.”
How had this happened? How had she come to be lying here beneath him, looking up with those lust-filled eyes, whispering his name in the dark? Somewhere along the way he’d made one fateful, horrible mistake that was going to ruin everything, but even knowing that, he couldn’t seem to pull away.
His gaze shifted to the long slender column of her throat, to the hollow at the base of her neck, to the fine bones of her shoulders and chest. Then lower, to the luminous skin stretched tight over her succulent breasts, just the size and shape to fit into his hand, his mouth, tempting him to take one sinful taste.
It was his fault she was here in this room naked right now. His fault she wasn’t home safe in Argolea, where she should be. Every time he thought about what could have happened to her earlier with that Hydra…
“Demetrius,” she whispered again.
“Tell me to stop,” he managed. The fingers of his left hand skimmed where his eyes had just traveled—over her neck, to her collarbone, lower to trace the line of her sternum between her lush breasts.
She shuddered, drew in a breath as his hand drifted to her nipple, traced the outline of the areola, then gently brushed the tip. But she didn’t pull away, didn’t show any sign of fear. Curious, he looked back at her face and watched with rapt attention as her eyes slid closed and her back arched off the table. When she moaned in pure pleasure, he lowered his head and breathed against her ear, “Tell me to stop.”
“No,” she said on a breathy sigh that supercharged his blood. “No, don’t stop. I like your hands.”
“You shouldn’t.” His hand crept to her other breast. Her nipple puckered beneath his fingers. “You shouldn’t like anything about me.”
Her eyes fluttered open to focus on his face. “There’s a lot I like about you. You just never let me see it before.”
“You’re seeing something that’s not there. It’s called trauma. Once you go home you’ll remember why you hate me so much.”
Her delicate fingers drifted to his lips, ran over the sensitive flesh until he wanted to sink his teeth into her skin and feast on her. “I don’t hate you, Demetrius. I never did. I just didn’t understand you.”
“You don’t now.” You never will.
“I’m not so sure about that.”
His heart stuttered, but he ignored it. He wasn’t going to give in, wasn’t about to let Atalanta have what she wanted. But a hundred years of denial left him too weak to put a stop to this as he should. And he was dying to know what she tasted like.
He dropped his head and breathed hot against her left nipple. “Tell me to stop.”
“No stopping,” she whispered again. “I want this. I want you.”
Three little words snapped his restraint. He stroked his tongue over her nipple, felt the tremor run through her body, then drew her into his mouth. She moaned in approval, kicked her head back against the hard stone table, and raked her fingers through his hair.
He didn’t ease up, moved to the other breast and repeated the action, drawing out her pleasure one suck, one lick at a time. When her back arched and her skin quivered, he let go and trailed a line of hot wet kisses down to her belly button, paused to run his tongue around the small circle, then continued his path downward, pushing the blanket aside as he went. Stopping only when the soft cotton fell away to leave her bare for his eyes only.
Gods, she was more beautiful than he’d imagined. Pert breasts, small waist, trim hips, fine blond hair that formed a perfect vee drawing his gaze toward her sex. He remembered what he’d watched her do this morning, and unable to stop, he reached for her hand, brought it to his mouth, and sucked her first two fingers until they were coated with his saliva.
Her eyes fluttered open. Confusion marred her brow as she gazed down at him. He pushed her wet fingers back to her nipple and said, “Touch yourself.”
Those brown eyes darkened to a rich chocolate. Hesitantly, her fingers grazed her nipple, traced the small circle, slid over and around as her eyes remained locked on his face. As she teased her breasts into stiff peaks, he ran his fingers up her inner thigh, over the winged omega marking on her leg, to her mound and into her downy curls.
She gasped but didn’t push his hand away, and her eyes, so intense and focused on his, screamed Touch me.
“Just like that,” he whispered, watching her face. “Don’t stop.”
She didn’t, and neither did he. His fingers slid into her folds to find her warm and wet and willing. He groaned at the slick feel of her, circled and swirled until he found her clit, then applied just enough pressure to make her moan.
Her eyes, wide and lust-filled and so intently focused, left him light-headed. Achy. Burning with desire. He rested his thumb on her clit, searched lower, and slid one finger deep inside.
Gods, she was so tight. His cock throbbed. Her head dropped back, her eyes drifted shut. She brought her other hand up to massage her neglected breast while he stroked, searching for her sweetest spot. And when she arched her back and groaned long and low, he knew he’d found it.