What the Greek Can't Resist. Майя Блейк

he probed her entrance, Perla felt a moment’s twinge, a shaky feeling of disconnect. It faded away the moment he pressed himself deeper. At her body’s further resistance, he paused with a groan.

      ‘You’re not ready. I’m sorry, I was a little impatient.’

      She slid her hands through his hair and barely resisted raising her head to kiss him. ‘I want you.’

      He gave another groan and kissed her. ‘You’re not ready and I don’t want to hurt you.’

      Mistaking his meaning, Perla spread her thighs wider and ventured her hips closer. ‘I’m ready now.’

      Arion raised his head, a slightly puzzled look crossing his face. ‘Pearl—’

      ‘Please, don’t keep us waiting.’ Emboldened by his groan, she pressed even closer. He slid in another delicious inch.

      The discomfort grew as he pushed in but the rush, the pleasure that followed behind it was so much worth the momentary pain. Perla’s breath fractured as she sighed in bliss. Arion’s grip tightened in her hair with the full surge of his body.

      ‘Theos! You’re so tight. So gorgeous.’ The warmth of his breath washed over her neck a second before his lips found and captured hers. His tongue slid into her mouth, its movement as bold and as raw as his full, relentless thrusts.

      Bliss washed over her so completely, Perla had no idea where sensation started and ended. Clamping her legs around his waist, she took him fully into her body. Pleasure crested in giant waves over her. But, just as she prepared to give herself over to it, he pulled out of her. Rising to his feet, he tugged her off the sofa and onto the floor.

      ‘On your knees,’ he commanded. ‘It’s time to give you what you want.’

      Her heart hammering with excitement, Perla complied. He came up behind her, bent her over the seat and entered her from behind.

      ‘Oh, my God!’ The cry was ripped from her soul, pleasure so profound radiating from inside her she thought she’d pass out.

      Arion’s fingers slid through her hair over and over as he thrust inside her. Perla had never thought of her hair as an erogenous area. In fact, up till that moment, she’d never thought pleasure like this was possible.

      Dear heaven, how wrong she’d been. She screamed as he pounded into her, his hoarse voice reciting her name over and over. Once again the precipice approached, the stars beckoning with a radiance she knew would touch her for ever. Behind her, Arion slid back and rested on his knees. Firm hands urged her back, all the while continuing the relentless pace that stalled her breath.

      ‘Ride me,’ he encouraged, his deep voice raw and urgent.

      Spreading her legs wider, Perla eased herself back, the change in pace escalating her pleasure even higher. Hands gripping the sofa to steady herself, she rode herself to ecstasy. Her breath choked on a scream as her orgasm hit her. One hand clamped around her middle, Arion eased another hand over her belly to tease her clitoris, prolonging her climax. The wave seemed endless; he continued to thrust inside her despite her pleas for mercy. Just when she thought she’d expire from pleasure, she heard his deep groan. He buried his face in her hair, his thrusts growing uneven as pleasure spasms gripped him.

      Several minutes later, he planted kisses on her neck and shoulder, one hand still gripped on her waist. ‘I can’t decide whether you’re an angel or a witch, sent to torment me or bring me heaven.’

      Her breath caught on a soft blissful sigh. ‘Can I be both?’

      ‘With hair like that, you can be anything you want.’

      She managed to lift her head to glance over her shoulder at him. ‘You have a freaky fascination with my hair.’

      ‘A fascination which includes seeing it spread over my pillow.’ He pulled out of her with a dark groan, scooped her into his arms and headed down a short hallway.

      Once again she barely registered her surroundings. But, even while he secured another condom, Arion’s gaze held her captive, the look he sent her exciting her in ways she’d never have dreamt was possible. When he took command of her body once more, Perla gave herself over into his arms, a willing slave for the pleasures in store...

      * * *

      She woke with a start, then fought to regulate her breathing so as not to wake the sleeping man beside her.

      A sneak peek at the bedside clock showed it was half past two in the morning.

      Perla glanced at Arion—goodness, she didn’t even know his surname. Well, he didn’t know her real name, which was a blessing in disguise, she supposed. Not that their paths would cross again in a million years.

      Her gaze devoured his sleeping form. God, he was truly spectacular, and the pleasures he’d shown her would remain unforgettable. Watching the steady rise and fall of his massive chest, she felt her nipples peak again as excitement crawled over her.

      She bit her lip and forced herself to get up. She dressed in silence, holding her breath every time he moved. The small part of her that hoped he would wake and stop her leaving was ruthlessly squashed.

      They could never be more than ships passing in the night. She carried too much baggage and, from what she’d glimpsed in his eyes, he carried a shipload of his own baggage. All the same, her fingers slowed on her zip. Maybe it didn’t have to be this way, maybe she could...

      Stay? Dear Lord, what was she thinking?

      Doing anything of that sort was totally out of the question. She had no choice but to leave.

      If for no other reason than the fact that between now and Friday morning when she had to stand before a congregation and speak, she had her dead husband’s eulogy to write.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE SMALL CHAPEL was packed to the rafters. Outside, a clutch of news vans and reporters were stationed, poised and ready for the opportunity to snap any picture that would feed the media frenzy of the notoriety behind this funeral.

      So far, Perla hadn’t found the courage to turn around to see just how many people had wedged themselves into the tiny chapel. The one glance as people had filed in had been enough to terrify her. But she hadn’t missed the trio of limousines that had crawled past and parked ominously on the chapel lawn.

      Morgan’s bosses. Probably Sakis Pantelides and various executives from Pantelides Shipping Inc. The letter announcing their attendance had arrived yesterday.

      She supposed she should be thankful they were bothering to attend, considering the nefarious circumstances leading to Morgan’s death. A small, bitter part of her wished they hadn’t bothered. Their presence here would, no doubt, keep up the media frenzy, and she also couldn’t dismiss the fact that she’d had to keep demanding information from Pantelides Inc. before she’d been given very brief details of what had happened to her husband.

      Granted, Sakis Pantelides had been gentle and infinitely considerate when he’d broken the horrific news to her but the fact remained that Morgan Lowell, the man she’d married, and whose secret she’d kept—still kept—had died under suspicious circumstances in a foreign country after trying to get away with defrauding his employer. Pantelides Inc. had kept a lid on the fact to protect itself from adverse publicity.

      What no one realised was that this was yet another morsel of unwanted truth she had to keep to herself; another detail she couldn’t share with Morgan’s parents, who had idolised their son and remained devastated by his death. She’d been forced to gloss over the truth for their sake. Again...

      She clenched her hands and forced herself to focus. She had more important things to think about now, like how she could stand up and speak of her husband when another man’s face, the fevered recollection of another man’s hands and the thrust of his hard body repeatedly flashed through her brain.

      Dear God, what had she done? What had she been