Page 16 of The Heir Affair (Claimed by a Greek #1)

She ought to argue with him. He’d had no right to take her job away from her, and he’d been wrong to sail from Galicos without even telling her, let alone asking her.

But she needed to be prepared to compromise too.

She had to believe however arrogant and autocratic his actions, his motives were less so.

And that the gruff apology meant something.

But before she could find the right words, his hands swept down to cup her bottom and tug her closer still—making her brutally aware of that rigid erection.

She writhed against it, the mindless desire to take him again, to feel that thick length stretching her, filling her, so overwhelming it shattered her last coherent thought.

‘And I want you with me,’ he said. ‘So we can feed this incessant hunger which has been driving me mad for months.’

‘Yes.’ Her reply choked out on a sob of need. She grasped his shirt in fistfuls and dragged him to her. Not caring any more about who was right, or wrong. Only caring about feeding the molten, aching heat at her core too.

Grasping her bottom, he boosted her into his arms and strode across the lounge.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, anchoring herself. He grunted his approval, carting her down the yacht’s corridor and through a door into a bedroom suite.

She barely had a chance to register the view of the sea through the glass wall that wrapped around the end of the suite—and the balcony beyond—before he placed her on the king-sized bed.

Then all her attention was riveted on him. And the pulsing ache in her abdomen.

Standing, he grabbed the back of his shirt, and pulled it over his head, then thrust down the loose-fitting trousers. Within seconds he was naked. The erection jutted out, so thick, so hard and even more magnificent than she remembered.

The scorching heat backed up in her throat as he knelt on the bed and stroked her thighs, to bunch the silk and expose her bare sex to his gaze. Moisture flowed between her legs, the sweet spot molten.

His gaze locked on hers. As he stripped the robe away, wrestled the silky negligee off. Until she lay beneath him. She covered her belly and her breasts, suddenly shy about the ways her body had changed under that searing gaze as it glided over her—hot and possessive.

‘No,’ he rasped, taking her wrists to lift her arms free and expose her fully. ‘Your body is so beautiful. Even more beautiful now it is carrying my child.’

Gentle, reverent hands skimmed over her breasts, before stroking her distended belly, where their baby lay peaceful now, even as her skin felt alive, her senses rippling with awareness.

She arched up, and into his touch as he cupped her bottom and lifted her sex to his mouth.

His tongue lapped at the tender bud, and she cried out. Already so close. Too close.

‘Shh…’ he murmured, even as he began to torment her, licking and circling the aching spot.

She threaded her fingers into his hair, tugging, coaxing, panting, her breathing raw, her lungs tight, her need soaring.

At last, he found the swollen nub again and trapped it between his lips. The tension released in a shuddering rush, pulling her into a maelstrom, making her jerk and buck against his mouth.

She cried out again, the wave receding, then building again, harder, higher.

As she crashed over a second time, she was shuddering, shaking with the intensity of her orgasm.

His big body rose over her. He clasped her hips, but as the thick erection probed at her entrance, she could hear the strain in his voice, the fraying control as he buried his face against her neck and murmured, ‘Is it safe?’

She gripped his cheeks, to lift his head. ‘Yes, please, I need you. All of you.’

Possessive fury flashed across his features, but he eased in slowly, too slowly, filling her to bursting and beyond.

She panted, sobbed, the stretched feeling as immense and overwhelming as it had been before. But even so, she lifted her knees, angled her hips, needing more of him, needing it all.

At last, he was lodged to the hilt. Their ragged breathing sounded deafening as the sunlight sparkled on his hair. The ocean pounded the hull. And she struggled to adjust to his possession.

‘I must move, Poppy.’

She nodded.

He pulled out, then drove back. Harder, heavier. And yet still so painfully slow.

The coil tightened anew, deep inside her sex, as he established an agonising rhythm.

Each thick stroke forced her to take more, as his pelvis nudged her over-stimulated clitoris.

But she rose, moved with him, meeting his thrusts, to take him deeper still, desperate to reach the point of no return.

They moved together, the sensual glide of their bodies sending her senses into a frenzy of need.

That thick girth embedded deep, so much and yet not enough.

‘Please, more, faster…’ she demanded in broken sobs.

He increased his speed, rolled his hips, to stroke a place only he had ever found.

The wave barrelled towards her. She lurched up, the brutal pleasure becoming exquisite pain, her nails digging into his shoulder blades, to cling onto sanity, even as he shouted out his own release and dragged her back into the abyss.