CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

Juliette

I’ VE MADE A MISTAKE . I know it as soon as our lips crash together. Mingled harsh breaths, his heartbeat racing beneath my palm as I rest my hands on his chest and press myself against him. I’ve never done this, never thrown myself at a man because I either had to kiss him or go up in flames.

Our wedding kiss, as unexpected as it was, had the tether of being in front of hundreds of people. It could only go so far. Even our excursions around Paris, as we held hands at the café or he slid a possessive arm around my waist at the Louvre, had been for the benefit of anyone watching.

Here, there’s only us. No excuses. And as I respond with an aching need that makes my whole body throb, I have no regrets. Not when his arms are around me like bands of steel, his groan filling me, his hard length pressing against my hips. I’m acutely aware that there’s only my robe and the fabric of his pants between the most intimate parts of our bodies.

I slide my hips up and down just a fraction. The friction on my sensitive skin makes me tremble.

“Theós.”

He growls it against my mouth as he spins me around and pulls me into the privacy of the penthouse. Cool air kisses my skin and I glance down to see my robe parted, revealing my breasts. It should make me feel self-conscious, embarrassed.

But when I look up and see Gavriil staring at me like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that can satiate his hunger, all I feel is a reckless boldness urging me on.

I step back. Need a moment, just a moment to think. Gavriil’s hands tighten momentarily on my waist before he releases me, the tendons in his neck straining as he sucks in a shuddering breath. Seeing his restraint, his respect even as he devours me with ravenous eyes, pushes me through that last moment of hesitation.

I surge forward again, my hands sliding up over his chest as our mouths meet. It’s not a kiss but a branding I feel through my chest, through the pulsing in my core, all the way to my toes as his tongue sweeps inside my mouth in an intimate caress that makes me moan.

His hands dive into my hair, anchoring my head as his lips trail over my jaw before he nips my neck. The graze of teeth on sensitive skin makes me cry out and arch against him. I press my hips against his, pressure building as wetness slicks my thighs.

“Gavriil...”

He nudges one leg between mine as he holds me against him. I shift, the friction of his pants against my bare skin making me pant. His mouth descends to the curve of my shoulder, then farther down. One tug and my robe falls open, baring my naked body to his gaze.

“ómorfi.”

The word ripples through me. I don’t know any Greek, but I don’t need a dictionary to feel the meaning. To feel beautiful. Seen.

Before I can claw back enough of my sanity, Gavriil dips his head and sucks my nipple into his mouth. Sensation spears out, heated energy whirling through my body as my fingers slide into his hair.

“Gavriil!”

His tongue swirls over me. His hair, thick and silky beneath my hands, is a lifeline as I spiral upward. He keeps one arm banded around my waist as his other hand cups my other breast.

He pulls back. I moan, not wanting this to be it, to live with this unbearable pressure seething beneath my skin, electricity crackling through my veins as if I might combust unless I find some kind of release—

He sweeps me into his arms and stalks over to the couch. I take advantage of my proximity to his neck and repeat what he did to me, kissing his heated skin before I run my tongue over the hollow at the base of his throat.

A growl rumbles in his chest before he sets me down on the couch facing him. He grabs my knees and spreads my legs. I should be embarrassed. I should stop. I should definitely stop.

Not a chance.

His next kiss is fierce, one I return with my need growing to unbearable proportions. I don’t know why I’m responding to him with such wild abandon. Maybe it’s because I have no vengeance to achieve, to focus on to the detriment of everything else. Maybe this is the distraction I need as I try to figure out the rest of my life.

Or maybe it’s simply this man. This man who infuriates and impresses and seduces.

I tense as he glides one hand up my leg, pauses at the top of my thigh and taps out a teasing dance with his fingertips.

“Please, Gavriil.”

I don’t care that I’m begging, that I’m letting him see just how deeply he affects me. All I care about is being touched, feeling wanted by this man I’m married to.

His hand skims higher. His fingers gently stroke, light touches that tease and stoke the flames higher as he uses his other hand to pull my robe down to my waist and move his mouth down to continue his sensual assault with tongue and teeth on my other breast.

“You’re so wet.”

I cry out as he slides one finger inside me. It only takes a few long, slow strokes for the peak that’s been building since he stalked toward me on the terrace to burst.

“Oh, God!”

It shatters through me, tiny peaks of light spiraling from my core throughout my body. He continues to make love to my breasts with gentle kisses as I drift down from my peak. The soft press of his lips against my skin makes my eyes grow hot. I hadn’t imagined such gentleness from him. It shouldn’t matter.

Can’t matter.

As the pleasure slips away, intrusive thoughts try to break through. Reminders to keep my guard up, to not let this become a habit and risk sliding in deeper. I shove them away as he eases me back to rest against the back of the couch. A lazy smile curves my lips as I recline against silk. For right now, I’m going to focus on feeling. Enjoying.

My eyes fly open as Gavriil pulls my robe back up. I look up to see him watching me. For a moment, there’s something in his eyes. Something that kindles a different spark deep inside my chest.

And then it’s gone, replaced with his usual languid expression of superiority.

“Should I take this as your agreement to amending the contract?”

I stare at him. Humiliation burns away the lingering tendrils of desire. For one horrible moment, I think I might cry.

No.

He’s not worth it. He might not be the lawbreaking bastard I had suspected him of being. But he’s still a bastard, incapable of anything but arrogant humor and pompous pride.

I stand, taking vicious pleasure in watching his eyes slide down to the bared skin of my chest. I take my time pulling the lapels of the robe closed and belting it, never taking my eyes off him. I run a hand through my hair and give him a cool smile.

“I don’t think what just happened counts as anything meaningful. So, no.”

His face tightens. Perhaps in anger or chafed pride. I don’t really care. His ego deserves a beating.

“Enjoy your coffee.”

I walk to my room and close the door softly behind me, not bothering to lock it. He won’t come after me.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter. I insist on it even as tears burn the backs of my eyes.