Dimitrios closed that last inch of space between them and traced the curve of her jaw. Her face turned into his palm, as if it had always belonged there.
Their eyes met.
The weight of unsaid words shattered beneath the force of that stare.
The tension waselectric. A trembling heartbeat between kiss and collapse. And when his lips finally found hers, it wasn’t gentle.
It was a reckoning.
Milonia clutched Dimitrios’s tunic, this man who was an unleashed storm. His wind swept her up, and she let it take her. Unraveled into his grip. Trusted he wouldn’t let her break against the rocks.
They stumbled blindly into the marble table. Her back arched, breath shattering on contact, as his mouth trailed from her jaw to the hollow of her throat.
“Dimitrios.” Her fingers threaded through his thick, blond hair. “We’re playing with fire.”
He rose from her neck, his blue eyes like a released flame, pupils blown wide. He fisted the hair at the nape of her neck.
“Burn me.”
Milonia surged forward, crashing her mouth into his. Tongue desperate. Plunging. Claiming. She tore at his tunic, clawing her way toward his skin. Together, they stripped him bare, and for one suspended moment, she drank him in. Every line. Every scar. Everyinchof man shaped by labor, not luxury. A life lived. A life earned.
She had no right to be here.
Shouldn’t want this.
But he was here, in her hands. Real and raw. Looking at her as if she were the light, and he was trapped underground.
Dimitrios took her by the waist and set her on the table. She scraped up her skirt, baring herself. Offering her full surrender. She guided his hand to where she ached most.
“Touch me.”
His finger sank inside her, and his mouth dropped open on a soundless gasp.
A cry trembled loose from her throat.
He took her mouth, swallowing the sound like it was sacred.
A second finger hooked inside with the first, and his palm pressed expertly against her ache. Kneading. Unrelenting.
Her head fell back, and her legs quaked.
Dimitrios’s mouth came down over her ear. “Tell me what you want.”
Whispers curled inside her, dark and insidious.He’ll learn who you are, and what then?
She shoved that thought down. Buried it.
Later.
Later.
She met his eyes. “More.”
Milonia reached for the bulge straining his pants and stroked him. His hips bucked to meet her, each thrust a silent plea. She shoved his pants down his hips, freeing his hot length into her waiting palm.
He hissed, and his eyes rolled back at her touch.
“So this,” she breathed against his throat, “is what it feels like to hold the power of a king in the palm of my hand.”
