My hands are shaking. My whole fucking body is shaking. Watching Psyche come apart for me, feeling her clench around my fingers as she orgasmed, knowing that she’s trusting me enough to let me guide this… It makes me want to fall on her like a ravening beast. To plunge into her until nothing exists but our hard and rough fucking.
She deserves better than that.
I don’t put much stock in marriage and all it entails, but Psyche is the type who does. Even if I hadn’t forced her hand with this situation, she might not have had a love match. It’s nearly unheard of in Olympus, especially among the Thirteen and their families. It’s significantly more common to marry for money, power, and prestige. Love doesn’t enter into the equation.
Even so, the fact remains that I’m the reason she lost what little chance she had for love. The very least I can do is ensure that she has a memorable wedding night.
I run my hands up her legs and over her rounded stomach. Having her naked and spread out before me is just as heady now as it was this afternoon. It’s how fucking sexy she is, yes, but I keep coming back to the trust she’s placing in me. I don’t deserve it…but strangely enough, I want to deserve it.
“Eros.” She half sits up and reaches for me. “Come here.”
“Not yet.” I haven’t taken my pants off yet. I can’t risk it. Judging from the desire pounding through my body, centering in my cock and balls, I’m not going to last once I get inside her. I want her to come again, want to feel her shatter at my hands, my tongue, a few more times before we get there.
I want to bind her to me as closely as possible, to have her crave what I can give her as much as I want to give it to her. The only way to accomplish that is by dealing her so much pleasure tonight that she turns to me when she’s feeling needy again.
If I have my way, she’ll be in a permanent state of need.
I allow her to tug me up to kiss her again. Kissing Psyche is no hardship. She doesn’t passively take what I give her. She meets me every step of the way, sparring with her tongue the same way she does with her words. A game of give-and-take and pure pleasure. I enjoy kissing. I always have. But kissing this woman could almost be the main event.
Or it could if I didn’t have her naked and writhing beneath me.
I slide down her body, pressing her large breasts together so I can tease one nipple and then the other, moving back and forth between them until she’s whimpering and arching, offering herself up for more than a taste. Only then do I shift lower, licking and nipping down the curves of her breasts to her stomach. She tenses the slightest bit, but I’m having none of it. I give this part of her the same thorough treatment I gave her breasts. Each curve, dimple, roll. I meant everything I said; she’s perfect and I’ll not be kept from any inch of her.
When I finally reach her pussy, her thighs fall open. She’s no longer trying to guide me or rush any moment of this. She’s letting me do what I want, and I fucking love it. Her trust is just as heady as her taste. Psyche is wet and practically dripping, and I waste no time in dragging my tongue up her pussy to her clit.
Gods, this woman.
Her hands find my hair on the second lick, and she tugs me up to focus on her clit. I’m only too happy to take the silent guidance, especially as her hips rise to meet my tongue. She’s moaning and grinding herself all over my mouth, and I have to force my hips still to avoid fucking against the mattress until I come in my pants.
That’s the second time today.
I might laugh if I could breathe past the need pounding in my blood. Psyche has stripped away all my art, all my finesse. The only thing that matters is delivering pleasure until she can’t take any more. Not even my pleasure ranks above that.
When she comes, it’s with the sweetest sound I’ve ever fucking heard. Her back bows and her lips part and… “Eros.”
Holy shit.
The monster inside me throws itself against its cage, rattling my entire being. She cried out my name as she orgasmed. It shouldn’t feel so profound, but there’s no denying the surge of possessiveness that stills every thought in my head except the need to get inside her and do it now. I have to press my forehead to her stomach and focus on breathing for a few moments.
It’s time.
I force myself to release her and move off the bed. She watches me with eyes gone hazy from pleasure, her desire sharpening as I shuck off my pants and grab a condom from the nightstand drawer. I crawl back onto the bed and resume my position between her thighs. It’s a struggle to think past the primal urge to stamp my presence on every inch of her, but I manage. Barely. “Let me have you, Psyche.” The words are wrong; they mean too much, reveal too much.
Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s already nodding. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”
“Good.” I rip open the condom and roll it down my length. Slowly, oh so slowly, I brace myself over her and guide my cock to her entrance. She lifts her hips, welcoming me even as I try to remember why I need to ease my way into this.
Fuck it.
I work my way into her in short, unrelenting strokes. My breath is just as choppy as hers. I think I’m moaning, but I can’t fucking tell over the rushing in my ears as I finally, finally, sink into her to the hilt. She feels even better than I could have dreamed. Like she’s made just for me. I’m too far gone to care about the danger of thinking like that. I can’t help thrusting a little, watching her face as I do.
She bites her bottom lip. A clear invitation if I’ve ever seen one. I’m only too happy to take her up on it, dipping down and claiming her mouth the same way I’m claiming her body. She might not see it that way, but I can’t help the way I feel. It’s my problem. I’ll deal with it later.
I have every intention of going slow, but she digs her nails into my ass, urging me on, and what little control I had left snaps. I slide my arms under her to grip her shoulders to give me better leverage and fuck her in long, intense strokes. I’ve gone too far already. I can’t stop, can’t slow down. Even if I wanted to, she’s urging me on with a ferocity that puts my own fierceness front and center.
“You feel so fucking good, Psyche.” I thrust hard, loving the way she moans in response. “All tight and wet and made just for me.”
“Eros.” She’s gasping and panting and still trying to urge me on. “More. Harder.”
I give up doing anything but exactly what she demands of me. I fuck her hard enough that the slap of flesh against flesh fills the room, punctuated by words I can’t keep inside. “Once more, beautiful girl. I want to feel you coming around my cock. It feels good, doesn’t it?”
“So good.” She whimpers and then her nails are on my back, biting in hard enough that I’ll be wearing her marks tomorrow. Fierce satisfaction lashes me. There’s no taking this back, just like there’s no taking back my ring on her finger and hers on mine. No matter what else happens, tomorrow there will be no pretending this was all a dream. We’re grounded too firmly in reality.
I adjust my angle, working to give her clit the friction she needs to get there before I do. She’s only too happy to help me, pressing her heels to the mattress to grind herself against my pelvic bone. Psyche becomes frantic. “Eros, please. Please, please, please.”
“I’ve got you.” I drag my mouth over her shoulder. “I won’t stop.”
I don’t stop. I keep up that careful angle, that intense motion, until she comes apart around me. I want to last. I do. But it feels too fucking good. She clamps around my cock, and it’s too late. I drive into her as I come, filling the condom.
I stare down at this woman, at my wife. She’s always gorgeous, but she looks like a goddess right now, her hair spread around her, her eyes half-shut with pleasure, her lips plumped from my kisses. I’m no photographer, not like Psyche is, but I would give my right arm to take a picture of her in this moment to keep with me always.
“Eros.”
If I tell her what I was just thinking, it will freak her out. She’s already skittish as fuck around me, and with good reason. The woman showed me kindness once, and then I essentially followed her home like a feral cat and forced her to marry me. “Don’t move,” I finally manage.
“I don’t think I can.”
That draws a rough laugh from me. My legs are more than a little shaky as I move off her and stagger to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. When I return, it’s to find her exactly as I left her. Again, I’m slammed with the intense desire to keep her like this forever. I want more than a picture to remember tonight by. I want more.
I want this to be longer than a single night.
With that in mind, I grab a handful of condoms and toss them onto the bed next to her. Psyche looks at them and then at me, her brows raised. “Someone’s ambitious.”
“The sun’s not up yet.”
The smile she gives me contains multitudes. “No, the sun’s not up yet.” She stretches. “But I’d like a chance to shower off the worst of the wedding before we do anything else.”
I offer my hand, a feral part of me crowing in victory when she sets her hand in mine. Such a small thing, allowing me to tug her to her feet, but it feels more significant than that. It feels like we really have started something meaningful. It’s foolish in the extreme to let myself believe that. Psyche might like the way I fuck, but she doesn’t like me.
She doesn’t hate me, though. She’s too good a person to let me touch her like this if she truly hated me. That’s a tiny ledge to stand on and wish for more, but I’ve been in more impossible situations and come out on top.
I maintain my grip on her hand and lead her into the bathroom. She doesn’t argue as I get the water going or when I follow her into the spray. For a moment, something wary lingers in her eyes. “If you could see the way you look at me. I don’t understand it.”
“What’s there to understand?” I can’t shut down my expression now. It’s a skill I’ve managed for as long as I can remember, closing out others and offering nothing I don’t intend to. But right here, right now, I’m an open book if she’s inclined to read me.
Psyche stares up into my face for a long moment, blushes, and ducks beneath the spray. I’m both disappointed and grateful for the reprieve. Some things are better left unsaid, especially when I’m still not sure how I’m feeling, when I’m riding the edge of control.
But she’s here in my shower and I am only human.
I grab the shampoo from her hand. “Let me.”
“Eros, that’s not necessary.”
“It has nothing to do with necessity and everything to do with the fact that I want to.” We just had sex. I should be sated, if temporarily. Instead, my need for her only seems to grow stronger. I pour the shampoo into my hands and get to work massaging it into the heavy length of her hair. She stays tense for a moment, but once she seems to realize that I have no intention of rushing, Psyche sighs and relaxes against me.
She might not realize the significance of this, but it’s impossible for me not to. She’s stopped fighting me somewhere along the way. This woman will never submit, will always be looking at a situation from a thousand different angles, but right now, she’s content to let me take care of her.
She…trusts me.
She shouldn’t. She has absolutely no evidence to support this. And yet here we are. It feels like a gift, one I certainly don’t deserve but will accept nonetheless.
We finish showering relatively quickly, and Psyche makes me wait while she dries her hair, but eventually we end up back in the bedroom together. She stares at the bed. “We don’t have to…”
“Psyche.” I wait for her to look at me to continue. “I want you. The sun isn’t up yet. Do you want more?”
It’s hard to tell in the shadows of the room, but I think she blushes. “I shouldn’t.”
“I didn’t ask what you thought you should do. I asked what you want to do.”
She exhales slowly. “Yes, Eros. I want more of you.”
Thank fuck. I pull her into my arms and brush her hair back from her face. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Let’s keep going.” I kiss her before she has a chance to fire off some smart-ass response.
Tonight. We have tonight. We can worry about tomorrow in the morning.
