The Most Powerful Of Kings - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,59

away from Anna, he would be able to hold out. But all those years of his father’s training apparently hadn’t been enough, because the instant he’d had an evening free he’d left his office and made straight for her rooms.

He was weak, the way his father had always told him he was.

Adonis kissed her deeper, harder, the hunger inside him seeming to get more intense with every passing second. And there was no point resisting it now, so he didn’t.

Anna shuddered against him, her arms around his neck, letting him devour her, letting him ravage her mouth like a conqueror.

She tasted like heaven and he was so hard he couldn’t think, let alone resist.

Picking her up in his arms, he turned from the balcony, striding back into the room. He laid her down on the bed, pulling off the silky white nightgown she wore and exposing all that beautiful soft pale skin. He got rid of his own clothes in seconds flat and then he was on the bed with her, pushing apart her thighs. She gasped as he slid a hand between them, stroking the hot, silky flesh he found there, making her writhe, readying her for him. But only when she was slick and trembling did he settle himself between her legs.

She reached for him without hesitation, and when he thrust hard into her she groaned and closed her legs around him, holding him tight to her in welcome. And then there was nothing but the building hunger, the feel of her around him, slippery and soft, her pulse beating fast and frantic in the hollow of her throat.

This is it. This is happiness. With her.

Her eyes were very dark as they looked up into his, pleasure glittering there, and the truth caught at his heart, fierce and bright, like embers exploding into flames.

Yes, this was happiness. She was happiness. She was what he’d wanted all this time. What he’d needed and never known.

What you can never have.

But he couldn’t deal with that thought, not now, so he tried to drown it with pleasure, taking her to the brink of climax over and over again, keeping her hovering, almost but not quite tipping over.

She trembled and shook beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders, his name a ragged prayer. The bright, fierce heat he felt in his own heart glowed in her eyes, and, when he drove her over the edge and ecstasy rippled over her lovely face, it flared, making her gaze glitter as brightly as stars, illuminating her from within.

He couldn’t look at her, so he kissed her savagely instead as he took his own pleasure in hard, deep thrusts, letting the orgasm take him, letting the ecstasy annihilate him.

But there was no escape. Even when he closed his eyes the truth was still there, the fire burning hot in the hearth of his heart—the hearth that was supposed to stay dead and cold, but hadn’t.

This is what your father was protecting you from.

Yes, he understood now. Of course his father hadn’t shown mercy. Of course he’d been brutal and hard. Because happiness was a drug, and once you’d had a taste, all you wanted was more.

Xenophon had known his son too well, had known how hot Adonis’s emotions burned. How he’d always wanted more. He’d wanted his mother to protect him, not his father’s position, not the throne. And he’d wanted his father to comfort him after she’d died, not blame him. And when his father had made him choose between being a son and being an heir, he’d wanted to be a son. But how could he choose that when Xenophon had only wanted an heir?

His emotions were the problem. His need to be put before everything, his need for love. Because Xenophon had known, even if Adonis hadn’t, that his son would always put that need before everything else.

And he had. He could have stopped Xerxes’s torture, could have protected him, but he’d let it go on, because he’d wanted his father’s approval. He’d wanted his love. Perhaps he’d even betrayed his parents all those years ago out of anger. Because he’d wanted to be put first, and he never had been...

His heartbeat was far too fast, the heat of his orgasm dissipating, leaving behind it a creeping, icy sensation.

Love was the problem. Love was the mistake. And he could feel it burning in his chest—love for the woman lying under him, so deep and intense and fierce. And he knew if