Trish Morey - Consequence Of The Greek's Revenge

Her bag suddenly felt heavy in her hands, her limbs felt boneless and it was all she could do to remember to breathe.

‘Would you?’

The air between them seemed to shimmer with expectation. This was no game they were playing. No innocent question and answer session. This felt dangerous.

Reckless.

Athena didn’t do reckless.

Not normally. But tonight was far from normal.

And this time that voice inside her head demanded to quash any resistance and to be heard, and this time, she was only too prepared to listen.

‘No.’ Her answer was a bare whisper, and yet more than a whisper. A confession.

He closed the distance between them and put the pads of his thumb to her cheek, the fingers of his other hand tracing the line of her lips. ‘You are more beautiful than any sunset I have ever witnessed. I have wanted you since the moment we first met.’

His warm breath, scented with the cognac they’d shared, caressed her skin, and like the waves upon the sea his words rippled into her soul. Her cheek leaned into his touch, her lips parting, seeking more, tasting him.

‘If you ask me to kiss you,’ he said, ‘there is no way I could refuse.’

Her heart skipped a beat. And she knew with a woman’s sense that this was bigger than any kiss. The heat pooling in her belly, the pulse beating at her very core told her this wouldn’t stop with a kiss. But he was giving her the choice—stop now or go on.

In the end, it was no choice at all. ‘So kiss me,’ she said.

And he made a sound, guttural and deep, a sound of triumph mixed with need that rumbled straight to her veins and turned her blood to bubbles as he pulled her close and his lips met hers. Warm lips. Surprisingly soft and yet firm. Engaged in a sensual dance with hers. Slow. Gentle. Teasing. Deeper. Repeat.

Her knees turned weak. She reached for him, needing an anchor to steady herself, finding a rock as her hands tangled in the folds of his shirt and found his hard body beneath. Her fingers embraced his sculpted torso and she heard a sound like a whimper and realised it had come from her.

But he was glorious. Muscled and hard beneath her seeking fingers. Thirsty fingers, drinking in the ridges of bone and tight bunches of muscle as his mouth made magic on hers. While his long-fingered hands scooped down the sides of her head, to her shoulders, leaving trails that felt like sparks under her skin and that scorched a path all the way down via peaking nipples, to where an aching heat pulsed between her thighs.

And even as she pressed her body closer to his, closer into his kiss, she knew this was all kinds of reckless, because she knew there was no way this was stopping with a mere kiss.

And she wanted it.

She wanted it all.

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