The top of his shirt gaped wide and her knuckles brushed hot flesh and crisp chest hair over tight muscles. She looked down, following the narrow trail of dark hair descending from his chest over glowing, golden skin.
She’d been so right about his body, she decided as she pushed his shirt off with a silent sigh of appreciation.
He had broad shoulders and the leanly honed muscles of an athlete. As she stroked down his body those tight muscles twitched under her touch. As if she had power over him.
As he did over her. Just the sight of Fotis, half-naked, had turned the needy place between her legs butter-soft. Her breasts swelled and low inside she ached.
Her fingers reached his trousers. His belt. She wanted…
‘My turn.’
His voice was raw gravel and only added to her arousal. She looked up and there she saw the same desperation she felt. It slammed into her, an affirmation so powerful she couldn’t remember ever feeling so good.
And they’d barely started.
His hands rose to her shoulder straps, then slowly down, skimming the fabric that crossed above her décolletage, then lower, feathering the material that covered her breasts.
Her hum of approval sounded more like a growl as she pressed into his hands, squeezing her thighs tight together against a tide of liquid pleasure as he cupped and squeezed her breasts. She’d never been more grateful that a bra was impossible in this dress.
‘Do you have any idea how hard it’s been, keeping my hands off you? Especially in that dress. Did you wear it to torment me?’
‘Of course not,’ she groaned as he weighed her breasts in his palms then followed the fabric lower, to where the two wide bands of fabric parted, leaving an upside-down V of flesh bare at her midriff. His fingertips stroked her skin and even that felt like erotic overload.
‘The dress is perfectly respectable,’ she croaked. The skirt was knee-length, and while the straps revealed more than usual of her back, the bodice was modest but for that small triangle of bare flesh above her waist.
But appearances lied. The wide crossed straps covered her breasts fully but once over her shoulders they narrowed, crossing over her back before circling her waist to tie at the front. Everything essential was covered but undo that tie and yank the straps…
She’d worn it because it made her feel bold and attractive. Defiant.
‘So you were making a point for the cameras, not me, with all that sultry sexiness.’
She put her hands on his, intending to drag them back to her aching breasts. But then he spanned her waist in what felt deliciously like possessiveness and she confessed, ‘Maybe I dressed for you too.’
Not to tease, but because she’d wanted, badly, to have him look at her like an attractive woman one more time, not like someone he’d simply sworn to protect.
‘I’m glad. I approve.’
His teeth flashed in a feral smile as he grasped her hips and yanked her to him.
Rosamund’s mind went blank as she registered the thick length of his erection pressing against her abdomen. Then she rose on her toes, grabbing the hard muscles at his shoulders, and ground her pelvis against him.
So good. So very, very good.
Eyelids at half-mast, she saw him grit his teeth, a man on the edge. Excitement spiked.
‘You have three seconds to undo that dress before I damage it when I rip it off you.’
For a shocking second she toyed with the idea of calling his bluff. But she loved seeing Fotis teetering on the brink of control. She intended to wear this dress again, often.
Before this, sex had been enjoyable but never thrilling. She discovered she liked thrilling.
Leaning back, she swiftly undid the discreet bow at her waist then dragged down the wide straps covering her chest. The bodice dropped, leaving her naked from the waist up.
Rosamund didn’t understand Greek but she didn’t need to. His whispered words were heartfelt and made her stand taller so her breasts jutted towards him. His husky voice and the avid gleam in his eyes made her feel like a goddess.
But when he stroked his hands, feather-light, over her bare breasts, she was all woman, surging forward into his hold, grabbing at his shoulders for balance as he wrought the most incredible sensations in her needy body.
‘Fotis.’
