Greek Tycoon, Wayward Wife(45)

But as his mouth homed in on hers once more, she told herself she’d imagined it. He’d just asked her to stay, for goodness’ sake, admitted he couldn’t fight this any more than she could. Determined to prove it, she rolled over on to her side, splayed her hand across his chest and began butterflying kisses down towards his belly button. But just as she was about to curl her fingers around his length he caught her wrist and shook his head.

She felt an arrow of disappointment fire up inside her chest, but it never got the chance to land. For Rion instantly took his tongue on a sensuous journey of its own, lower and lower, to the point of aching need, until he was tasting her, filling her with such delicious heat that she could do nothing but throw her head back helplessly against the pillows and surrender to a pleasure so agonisingly intense that she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to scream for it to stop or for it never to end.

But if she’d supposed she had time to do either, she was mistaken. Because, as she gripped the back of his head in one hand and the sheets with the other, she was already there.

Dizzy with pleasure, but desperate to bring him the same, Libby threw her arm across his middle and encouraged him to move on top of her. Rion’s body jolted eagerly, but instead of following her lead he placed his hands around her waist and moved her on top of him.

Libby didn’t complain, convinced his way would be equally effective. She straddled his body and sank down onto him, angling herself forward so that she could move up and down on just the tip of him.

Rion let out an anguished moan and she smiled, taking the whole length of him inside her. He closed his eyes and let his head roll to one side momentarily, but seconds later he snapped his eyes open again, smoothed his hands up her sides, and grazed her nipples with his thumbs. Combined with the feel of their bodies moving together, it created a pleasure so intense that she didn’t have the strength to lower her mouth and kiss the sensitive hollow beneath his ear, or to tease him by slowing down the rhythm as she’d planned to, because her body was already tightening again.

And, before she could help herself, suddenly she was drenched in another flood of sensation.

Only when she had finished, and cried out for a second time, did she feel Rion give one final upward thrust and hear a primitive growl tear from his lips. But just as she was revelling in the sound of it he cut it short.

Libby lay down by his side, the arrow of disappointment finally landing in her heart. She tried to stop it, but she couldn’t. Because until then she’d been sure that lovemaking was the one area of their marriage which needed no further work. She told herself it still didn’t, that he’d just climaxed for heaven’s sake, but she knew his passion had been nowhere near as unchecked as it had been that day in the hallway.

She propped herself up on one elbow and looked down into his face, praying for the courage to ask him what the problem was—or, more to the point, the courage to stick around for the answer. But his eyes were closed, and she could hear his breathing growing slower and deeper, verging on the edge of sleep.

And no wonder. Suddenly she felt racked with guilt for being so self-absorbed—especially after an evening in which she’d realised how important it was for them to really try and support and understand one another. Of course he was going to be a little detached tonight. If he wasn’t completely exhausted after two tireless weeks of campaigning, then he was probably worrying about the election tomorrow.

After that, everything would be different. She looked over at the bedside clock, realising the polls would be opening in a few hours. Yes, she thought, as the reality of what she had agreed to began to sink in, after that everything would be very different indeed.





CHAPTER TWELVE




LIBBY had never seen a man look so calm and collected. Or a man so impossibly handsome, either, but that went without saying. Everyone else in the main hall seemed unable to keep still: Stephanos had almost worn a hole in the polished wood floor with his pacing; Georgios must have gone to check that everything was still running smoothly in the counting room at least a dozen times; and Spyros—despite his proclamation of confidence in the passageway last night—seemed to have developed a sudden predilection for hand-wringing. Even she didn’t seem to be able to stop fiddling with one earring, glancing behind her as the main hall of the mayoral residence filled up with more and more people.

But not Rion. He was perfectly still, hands pressed together, forefingers resting just under his chin. Waiting with the same supreme composure that he’d exhibited from the minute he’d woken up and gone to cast his own vote to the moment he’d returned here to assemble his team for the result. It wasn’t the stillness of lethargy—she could see every muscle in his body was pumped with anticipation—instead he seemed to possess the unique ability of being able to keep his body’s natural responses under control. A week ago she wouldn’t have been particularly surprised about that—nobody got to be the owner of a billion-dollar company without the ability to remain cool at the operative moment—but now that she knew how much this result meant to him personally, she found it incredible.