Katrakis's Last Mistress Read Online Free PDF Page B

her, so his hardness was flush against her center, separated only by his trousers and a single scrap of silk. She moaned. Her hips bucked against him. Her head was thrown back against the door, her eyes closed, as if she felt the heat, the fire, as he did.
    He slanted his mouth over hers, tasting her again and again, while his hips moved, rolling against hers, rocking them both toward insanity.
    He buried his face in her neck, licking the hollow of her throat, while his hands found her. He cupped her heat with his palm, feeling her molten heat, her softness. She cried out. Was it his name? He found he did not care.
    She was a Barbery. She was his enemy. He wanted her for revenge, and he did not yet know what she wanted from him. He only knew, in this moment, that he had to have her.
    Nikos pulled her delicate, panties to one side, stroking her with his long fingers. She sobbed out words he could not identify. Then, teasing her, he circled her entrance, before succumbing to the desire he could not seem to control. She was wet, and so soft, so hot, that he had to bite back his urge to throw her to the floor and sink so deep within her that he might forget his own name. Instead he moved his hand, rocking gently against her sex—and then, not so gently.
    She made a helpless sound, but then her hips began to move against his hand, riding him, as her hands clutched at his shoulders.
    “Look at me,” he ordered her.
    Her eyes fluttered open. They were wide, and brown, and so wild with desire it made him curse. He felt her stiffen against him. She bit back a cry. Her cheeks flushed hot and red. A purely male satisfaction thrummed through him, alongwith a deep, primal surge of possession. He ignored it, and focused on the wet heat in his hands, the ecstasy he knew was just within her reach.
    “Come for me,” he whispered gruffly, pressing kisses against her mouth, her cheek, her neck. “Now.”
    This is a mistake , Tristanne thought in a desperate, chaotic, panicked rush—but it was too late.
    Her body, tuned to his wicked fingers and not her errant thoughts, shattered into pieces at his command.
    She was lost.
    It took her long, shuddering moments to come back to herself. When she did, he was watching her with those dark, predatory eyes, and she did not know what she was going to do. What she could do, with his hand still between her legs and his mouth faintly damp from hers. She felt herself shiver in reaction. Or perhaps it was an aftershock of the explosion that had ripped through her with such strength, such fire.
    One dark brow rose.
    Good God, she thought with sudden, horrified comprehension, he was not satisfied. Of course he was not satisfied. How had she let this happen? How could she have done nothing at all to prevent it—how could she, instead, have encouraged it? She did not understand how she had lost control of the situation so quickly, so completely. She was afraid she might never understand herself again.
    And why did some part of her long to simply throw caution to the wind and let him take her wherever he wished to go?
    “What are we…” She was appalled to hear herself stammer out her confusion. But she could not control the tremors inside of her, the rush of conflicting emotions that buffeted her. She could not seem to avoid his knowing, faintly mocking gaze. “I did not intend…”
    Her hands were braced against the wall of his chest, and she curled them into fists, as if…what? She planned to beathim off? After welcoming him into her body with such uncharacteristic enthusiasm? What was wrong with her? She wanted to burst into tears, and she could not understand it. Everything felt too large, too unwieldy, too heavy. Her own body felt like a stranger’s, humming with sensations she could not identify. She could not seem to catch her breath, and he stood so still, so close, only the barest hint of that sardonic half smile on his mouth.
    He let her leg slide to the floor. Tristanne realized that her