down her arms. “Don’t ever say such a thing again because it’s a lie and you seem far too intelligent to believe lies and mistruths.”
Her head jerked up and she searched his face. “Could you make love to me?”
“Kassiani.”
“You can’t imagine it?”
“That’s not the point.”
“But it is. If I can please you, and prove to you I’m a good wife, you might realize this is the right marriage.” Her chin lifted, her expression provocative, despite the trace of tears. “So do we have a deal, Damen Alexopoulos? I know you like making deals, so make one with me.”
“This is a terrible deal.”
“Because if you lose, you’re stuck with me?”
“No, because if you lose, you’ll apparently be weeping all over my villa and I’ll feel like a—oh, what is the word in English? A beast? An ogre?”
“A schmuck.”
“A schmuck,” he echoed.
“But I won’t be weeping and you won’t have to feel like a schmuck if you give me a fair chance. I understand your objections. I know you don’t want me. I know you have no feelings for me. But history is filled with arranged marriages and many of them turned out to be good partnerships. Beneficial relationships. Why can’t we be one of those?”
“So how do we know who wins?”
“You give me to dawn. If we consummate our marriage tonight, I win. If we don’t, you win, and you can have your security return me to the villa first thing in the morning.”
He sighed and dragged a hand through his thick dark hair, rifling it on end. “Do you have a plan, kitten?”
“I do. I’m going to seduce you.”
HE HADN’T COME to the bedroom to make love to his new wife. He’d come to send her home, and yet she was fierce and stubborn, determined to fight for this marriage.
So different from Elexis, who hadn’t even bothered to show up for the ceremony. So different from Elexis, who couldn’t even hold a conversation with him. Kassiani could hold a conversation and more. She was fierce, smart, eloquent. She would have been an incredible trial attorney. She’d be amazing in the boardroom.
Maybe that’s why he was here, sitting in one of the leather chairs in the master bedroom, telling Kassiani to unpin her hair and then shake it out, before letting her try to entertain him.
He was intrigued by her, curious as to her next move.
Her next move proved to be a rather awkward, but earnest, dance in front of him.
She was still wearing his robe but every now and then a lapel slipped open, revealing the pale slope of a full breast, or a knee and thigh.
He hadn’t allowed himself to think of her as a woman before this, because she hadn’t been his woman, but as she danced, her hips slowly, sensually gyrating, her arms lifted over her head, eyes half-closed as she swayed, he couldn’t look away. He was fairly certain she’d never done this before, which was maybe what made her efforts so appealing. He hadn’t thought he’d find her arousing, and yet he was hard, and growing harder as she danced and swayed, using her body to entice him.
He watched her from beneath heavy lids, body heating, blood humming in his veins. He’d wanted to be done with her. He’d come to his room to dispense with her, and yet here she was, dancing as if her life depended on it. As though he were a sultan, and she a disgraced member of his harem.
And perverse as the thought was, that, too, aroused him. The only way he felt anything, anymore, was through sex. Hard, carnal sex. Sex threaded with power. Sex laced with pain. He hadn’t always been this way. He’d been...normal...once.
He’d had feelings, and tenderness. But that had been stripped from him in his teenage years, along with his pride, leaving only failure and shame.
It’s why he wanted to marry Elexis. She was hard. He wouldn’t break her. But Kassiani...she was entirely something else.
And she was entirely something else right now, as she slowly sank down, going to her knees before him. Her hands rested lightly on his knees and her head tipped back to look up into his face.
He didn’t know what she saw in his face, but whatever she did see, it emboldened her. She ran her hands lightly up his quadriceps, her palms warm against his thighs. Reaching his hips, she lightly stroked down, brushing the inside of his thighs. His shaft throbbed. He felt as if he would burst out of his skin in a moment. His virginal little bride was not acting so very virginal in that moment.
It had been a long time since he’d been so turned on. A long time since his chest felt heat and warmth along with his groin. Normally only his erection worked, but tonight his entire body heated and thrummed as her hands stroked back up his thighs, moving toward his zipper.
Damen had to steel himself to keep from making a sound.
He watched, fascinated, as she unzipped him and reached into his cotton briefs to draw him out. He was long and thick and he pulsed in her soft, warm hand.
He wanted to tell her to wrap her fingers around him. He wanted to tell her how to stroke him—firmly, from the base of his shaft to the tip of his rounded head. He wanted what he wanted, and yet, he was also curious to see what she’d do next, and how she intended to satisfy him.
Her fingers slowly curved around him and she lowered her head to touch the tip of her tongue to the head of his shaft.
He stifled his growl of appreciation as her tongue lapped at him, licking the throbbing tip as if he were a lollipop or ice-cream cone.
It was all he could do not to rock his hips. He wanted to be in her mouth. He wanted the pressure of her hand and the wet heat of her mouth, and she wasn’t quite getting the hang of it yet, but just watching her lick him, and suck him, made him hungrier, and fiercer.
She was trying so hard to please him, and she was applying herself so passionately to the task, that every flick of her tongue across his swollen head made him groan inwardly. She was either a splendid actress, or she genuinely enjoyed sucking him. The fact that she might just enjoy this...night...had never once crossed his mind. He hadn’t ever thought of her wanting him, or desiring him, and watching her lavish him with attention made him want to explode.
He stopped there, aware that these weren’t the thoughts of a considerate husband.
Not that he’d ever be a truly good, considerate husband, because he wasn’t a good or considerate man. He was too bitter and broken. Too ambitious. Too driven. He’d come from nowhere, having risen up from nothing—literally olive trees and a stone hut in the middle of a hilltop orchard—and then even that had been taken from him, taken by those who believed money made them better than others, that money gave them the right to use and abuse.
It’s why he’d worked
