Carole Mortimer - Mediterranean Seduction

‘Sorry enough,’ Charlotte muttered mutinously. But she could feel his erection pulsing hard beneath her. ‘You?’ she demanded, her voice strong but her body softening in spite of the warnings ringing in her head.

‘About the same,’ he agreed, a touch of humour forcing one corner of his mouth up. ‘Truce?’

‘Possibly,’ Charlotte agreed waspishly as an idea occurred to her. ‘But—’

‘But?’ Iannis echoed, the softly delivered consonants drawing her attention to his lips.

‘Only if you agree to let me go the moment—’

‘You’re free to go now,’ he cut in, lifting his hands away from her, ‘as long as you don’t leave the villa. But I warn you, Charlotte. I intend to resolve this matter today. I need your assurance that you will stay.’

Then he could have it, Charlotte mused, starting to free his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. The flesh beneath was hard and tanned, the dark hair from his chest tapering and disappearing beneath the sturdy leather belt. As she pushed the fabric higher with her hands she dipped her head and licked a little, teasing until he groaned beneath her. ‘You’re my hostage now,’ she explained, turning her attentions to the buckle on his belt, ‘and until I get what I want you’re going to stay right here.’

Iannis sighed contentedly as she undid the belt and started on his button fly. ‘No, no. Stop,’ he protested weakly.

‘Sorry, can’t do that,’ Charlotte told him. ‘You have been a very bad boy, Iannis, and now you have to pay.’

While she released each button with an agonising lack of haste, Iannis tugged off his shirt and cast it aside.

He looked so magnificent she had to pause for a moment. Why not enjoy it, Charlotte asked herself, lavishing a gaze on his powerful chest. He was hers for the moment, truly hers, to do with as she liked—all identity stripped away. Right now it didn’t matter whether it was Iannis the fisherman or Iannis the tycoon beneath her hands. He felt fantastic and she intended to take her fill of him.

The muscles running down his arms and across his shoulders were relaxed, and Charlotte felt a stab of discontent. She longed for them to flex as he reached out for her, but Iannis seemed content to lie still and do nothing while she made love to him. Charlotte felt her senses surge. He was full of surprises.

‘Well?’ he demanded sardonically. ‘Are you going to master me, tiger woman?’

‘Watch me,’ Charlotte murmured, but he was already reaching behind her head and feeling for the clip that held up her hair. Freeing it, he tossed it aside, and then combed his fingers through her long Titian waves until they tumbled in profusion around her face.

‘Beautiful,’ he observed softly. ‘Now take your top off.’

Straddling him, Charlotte did as he asked, but kept her bra in place. ‘Up,’ she ordered softly. Freeing his jeans, she drew in a fast breath. ‘Who said you could go commando?’ she demanded, firming her mouth sternly.

‘I wasn’t aware that there was a law against it,’ Iannis pointed out as his lips tugged down in a rueful expression. ‘I was in a hurry to get here this morning. Oh, and by the way, would you like me to keep my boots on?’

‘You can take them off,’ Charlotte allowed generously.

‘You’re in charge.’

‘Too right,’ Charlotte agreed, flashing him a seductive smile as she turned to free the laces on his boots.

Now he was quite naked, and she took a moment to relish the whole delicious length of him.

‘Do you like what you see?’ Iannis demanded softly.

‘You know I do.’

He raised his hands above his head in a gesture of complete acquiescence. ‘So, enjoy,’ he offered huskily.

‘Arrogant brute,’ Charlotte whispered, feeling her senses quicken.

‘You love it,’ Iannis observed in a low drawl. And as a way to pass the time until his lawyers called it could scarcely be bettered, he mused with satisfaction.

‘Iannis,’ Charlotte murmured softly, combing her hair through with her fingers in a gesture that was both languorous and intensely seductive, ‘do you ever indulge in fantasies?’ She watched his sweeping ebony brows draw together in an expression of perplexity.

‘Do you?’ he countered in a low voice, his lips tugging up in the suggestion of a knowing smile.

‘Answer me first,’ Charlotte insisted, adopting a tone that was a little sterner. ‘Do you, for instance, ever fantasise about being tied up?’

She watched as his eyes darkened, and saw there was a flare of black humour at their depths.

‘You, beautiful lady, can do whatever you want with me,’ Iannis told her with a compliant sigh, stretching his arms above his head to grip hold of the sturdy cast-iron fender.

Reaching for his discarded belt, Charlotte returned quickly to his side and, kneeling down, started to wind it around his wrists. ‘I shall have to make you quite secure,’ she observed reluctantly, ‘but not so tight that it hurts.’

‘Feel free,’ Iannis encouraged her, sighing with contentment, even moving a little to make it easier for her.

‘Oh, I will,’ Charlotte assured him, flashing a glance to each side of the fender. Seeing that it had been built into the fabric of the wall, she knew she could have tethered a bull to it without a moment’s fear of it escaping.

‘There,’ she said at last, sitting back on her haunches to approve her handiwork. ‘That should do it.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Iannis agreed huskily. ‘Now, why don’t you take your clothes off and make yourself more comfortable?’ he suggested, testing his bonds.

Charlotte held her breath as she watched him flex both hands. The belt remained firmly in place. Stroking his stomach lightly, she returned the ironic challenge in his gaze, and then quickly moved on to his caress his arms and shoulders. Running the tips of her nails across his chest, she circled his taut nipples through the dark hair.

‘You temptress,’ he husked, bucking towards her.

‘Naughty,’ Charlotte warned softly, casting a glance at the belt again, just to make sure it remained firmly in place. ‘You are not allowed to do anything at all—except lie there and take it.’

‘Suits me,’ Iannis conceded.

‘But I shall still have to punish you for that small rebellion,’ she informed him, dipping her head to nibble on one hard brown nipple whilst teasing the other mercilessly between thumb and forefinger.

‘Punish me some more,’ Iannis begged when she stopped.

‘If you insist,’ Charlotte said, and she reached for her top.

‘Why are you putting it on?’ he said, frowning.

Charlotte paused. ‘Because,’ she said silkily, ‘I’m going, Iannis. Enjoy,’ she added on her way out of the door.

Maybe she had been wrong about that bull, Charlotte thought, running out of the villa with Iannis’s bellow of rage ringing in her ears. She could still hear the fender rattling when she reached the cliff-top.

Fear and excitement made her reckless, and she didn’t notice any pain as she slid down the steep path on her backside. She felt as if all the dogs of hell were on her heels, and knew Iannis would not be far behind her—even if he had to take the wall of the villa down stone by stone.

Making it to the beach, she raced across the cool, firm sand to the place she knew Iannis left his rowing boat. Panic and desperation gave her strength, and by tugging and rocking she finally managed to get it afloat. Up to her waist in water, she clambered aboard, using the rocks as a lever to make sure the small craft didn’t turn turtle as she heaved herself over the side. She could hardly believe how much strength it took just to keep the rowing boat pointing out to sea, and, standing with her legs apart, she was forced to press against the rocks in her battle to clear them and get away from the shore.