I wake up in waves of sensation. The earthy scent of Eros against my skin. The warmth of him at my back, his arm a comforting weight over my waist, the bed’s luxurious sheets and comforter wrapped up around us to ward off the chill. The sweet ache of my body from everything we did last night.
I don’t want to open my eyes. If I open my eyes, this is over, and I’m not ready to step back onto the battleground. Later, I’ll be more worried about my hesitation, will probably curse myself seven times over for the moment of weakness after the ceremony. Another thing to add to Future Me’s tab. A terrible habit I’m settling into.
Eros’s arm tightens around me, his hand spreading to press to the spot just beneath my breasts. “Morning.”
Now there’s no pretending any longer. We’re both awake. It’s time to get up and talk through our next steps.
Except I don’t.
Instead, I arch back a little, pressing my ass to his hard cock. “Morning.”
His harsh exhale tickles the small hairs at the back of my neck. “The sun’s up.”
Damn him for insisting on pulling back the curtain and shining light on this situation. Would it be so hard to ignore the sliver of dawn showing through the window? I sigh. “Then I guess we should be up, too.”
“There you go again, using that word. Should.” His hand skates down my stomach and over to my hip. It’s not quite an invitation, but it’s not not an invitation, either. “You seem tired, Psyche.”
I frown at the gray wall across from the bed. “Thanks. That’s what every bride wants to hear the day after her wedding.”
His low chuckle has me fighting not to arch back against him again. Eros presses a light kiss to my shoulder. “It seems a damn shame to get out of bed before we have to.”
I’m already on a slippery slope when it comes to this man. First, I compromised with some of the best oral sex I’ve ever received before the ceremony. Then, we had entirely too much sex after the ceremony. If we push the boundary again, I’m not certain I’ll be able to hold out the next time he decides he’s in the mood to seduce me.
If the slow heat building in my blood is any indication, he won’t need to do much to have me on the verge of begging. He’s barely doing anything now. I clear my throat. “That’s a bad idea.”
“Is it?” Eros doesn’t move his hand, doesn’t shift against me at all. His tone is so dry, he might as well be asking about the weather. “Psyche, I’m famished. Let me have a little taste. Nothing more.”
Did I think this man was dangerous when he held my death in his cold blue eyes? The joke’s on me. He’s a thousand times deadlier when he’s whispering filth in my ear. I worry my bottom lip. “You say nothing more, but we both know that’s not the truth.”
He shifts back and I barely get a chance to mourn the loss of his touch before Eros pushes on my shoulder, all but shoving me onto my back. I blink up at him. He looks…concerned? His gaze flicks over my face. “What are you talking about? I thought we were on the same page yesterday. You explicitly told me what you wanted.” He hesitates. “Are you saying you didn’t want it?”
Despite my best efforts to remain calm, I can’t help responding to his apparent distress. “Of course that’s not what I’m saying. How many times did I come yesterday? I’m sure your scalp is sore from how hard I was pulling your hair as I rode your mouth. I wanted it, Eros. That’s not what I’m trying to say.”
Eros blinks at me as if I just popped him on the nose with a newspaper. “Then what’s the issue?”
My frustration bursts like a soap bubble. There and then gone in an instant. “The problem is that last night was supposed to be a one-off.”
He recovers quickly, though there’s still some surprise lingering on his face. “We just talked about this. ‘Supposed to’ is—”
“Do not play word games with me, Eros.” I might not actually be angry with him, but frustration sinks its claws into me and digs deep. Of course he doesn’t see an issue with twisting our words to stay in bed as long as possible. For him, this is simply pleasure with someone he desires. I wish I was wired like that. “Last night was a one-off,” I finally manage. “We were both under an extreme amount of stress, and it’s only natural to want to let off some steam.”
“Psyche.” He says my name slowly, his eyes narrowing. “You can rationalize your way into damn near anything with that big brain of yours, but do not try to include me in those mental gymnastics. I fucked you last night for the same reason I ate your pussy for damn near an hour yesterday afternoon—because I wanted you. Stress, pheromones, or whatever other excuse you’re about to spit at me has nothing to do with it.”
Now it’s my turn to blink. “Of course it has something to do with it, along with proximity. That’s biology. Otherwise, we would have been attracted to each other before now.”
Eros lowers his head until our noses are nearly touching. “Can you honestly say you’ve never been attracted to me before yesterday?” He doesn’t wait for me to sputter out an answer. “Not once in ten years of attending the same parties? Not even when we were leaving the bathroom and I had my arms around you the night we were photographed?”
It’s really difficult to argue with him when he’s so close. And so right. “Um.”
“Because I was attracted to you.”
So I hadn’t imagined that brief flare of heat in his eyes. I don’t know if that’s comforting or terrifying. My careful wall of logic is crumbling around me. “I meant what I said before; I can’t separate emotion from sex. Maybe once, but if we keep doing this, then you’re going to hurt me, even if you don’t mean to.”
“What if I didn’t?”
Gods, why is he still arguing? He’s already proven that while he’s hardly a paragon of virtue, he does have some kind of conscience. Eros isn’t cruel. He might not care for me, but he can’t plan to protect me from his mother and then turn around and wield an emotional knife against me. “This marriage is one of convenience. You set that up.”
Eros finally sighs. “You’re right.”
I know I’m right. So why do I feel the faintest sinking in my chest at his agreement. “I know I am. I just…” He’s agreed with me. Why am I still arguing?
Eros doesn’t move, doesn’t try to press his advantage. Surely he knows that it would take a single kiss to make me putty in his hands? He’s a smart man; he must know. But he simply watches me, waiting for me the same way he waited last night.
Last night, I could tell myself all the same things I just told him. It was a stress-based decision. We needed to let off some steam. No matter what promise I made, I had no intention of continuing to sleep with Eros.
That’s what it boils down to. Intention. If I let us blur the lines this morning, what’s to stop us from continuing to do so? We’re both such excellent liars; throw in sex, and I might start to believe the fiction we spin for the rest of Olympus.
Restricting sex to our wedding night is the only smart way to keep my heart intact.
“It’s a bad idea,” I whisper.
“Is it? I’m not so sure.” He brushes a strand of my hair away from my face. “I know what I said last night about wanting a chance to seduce you properly, but the truth is I’m not going to pressure you. I want you, Psyche. If you were on board with the idea, I’d be okay spending the next three days in this bed.”
I drag in an unsteady breath. “That’s a lot of sex.”
“It’d barely take the edge off.” His smile is a little bittersweet. “I’m well aware that I’m no catch. There’s no reason a woman like you would want to be linked to me any more than you already are, and I’ll respect that.”
The horrible melting feeling in my chest from last night comes back, this time with interest. I’m so busy trying to protect my heart that I never once thought myself capable of hurting Eros. Even a little. I search his face, but for once, he doesn’t have a mask in place.
He gives me that crooked smile, still trying to put me at ease. “I can’t promise my virtuous streak will hold, especially if you keep looking so fucking sexy, but you’re safe from any attempted seduction this morning.” He starts to sit up.
I grab his arm, my hand moving almost of its own volition. I stare at where my fingers wrap around his bicep. “Wait.”
“You’re killing me, beautiful girl.” He exhales a shaky breath. “I’m trying to do right by you.”
“I know.” Still, I can’t quite make myself release him. My need for self-preservation battles with desire and something like empathy. I want him. He wants me. I might not be able to hold the careful line between us if we keep doing this, but my reasons for saying no slip away like the tide going out. “Eros.”
He doesn’t seem to breathe. “Yeah?”
“Would you accuse me of being incredibly fickle if I changed my mind?”
His slow grin is a different kind of foreplay. “I’d say I like you when you’re fickle.”
I don’t get this man. Before this marriage, he could have nearly anyone he wanted in Olympus. Why does he look at me like I just delivered his favorite present on Christmas morning? It’s so tempting to believe that he wants me that desperately, but allowing myself to believe that is a mistake. Lust and love aren’t the same thing, but my brain might get the two confused, especially when it comes to this man.
There’s no time to think about that, though, not with him easing down my body, taking the covers with him. I start to close my eyes, desperate to reclaim some of the rapidly closing distance between us, but he nips my thigh as he presses my legs wide. “Don’t shut me out, Psyche.”
“You ask too much.”
“I know.” He doesn’t sound the least bit sorry, either. Eros’s eyes have gone hot as he looks up my body. The way he drinks me in visually is something I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. He’s so contained the rest of the time, but the second I get naked, it’s like a beast is looking out at me through those blue eyes.
He dips his head and then his mouth is on my pussy. It’s different from yesterday afternoon, when he was a man on a mission, perfectly focused on my pleasure but wasting no time on making me come so hard, I saw stars.
There’s none of that furor now.
He’s almost lazy as he licks me. This is like the oral sex version of brunch, like he plans to linger and enjoy himself, and I don’t know how to feel about that. I’ve had a variety of partners who had a variety of feelings about oral sex, ranging from a box to check off to get to the good stuff to some kind of strange competition to prove how many times they can make me come. I don’t know that I’ve ever been with someone who seems to love it for its own sake, for the pleasure it brings them.
I never guessed how much hotter that would make the whole experience.
Eros lingers over every inch of my pussy, seeming to savor the exploration. It’s a slow tease, an idle strumming of pleasure that increases with every lick and then grows again each time he makes that sexy little growling noise against me, his hands tightening on my thighs as if he’s beside himself with need. He finally, finally, works his way up to my clit and rubs the flat of his tongue over me in little strokes.
I cry out, my back bowing. “More. Please, Eros. More.”
His rough laugh nearly makes me come on the spot. I might be able to go toe-to-toe with this man in every other arena, but in the bedroom, I’m hopelessly outmatched. Because it doesn’t feel like a match as his tongue plays over my clit. It just feels like pleasure, like two people pursuing the same goal with the same intensity. How am I supposed to remember that he’s the enemy when it’s everything I can do not to grab hold and ride his face until I come all over him?
He’s not the enemy.
The thought should comfort me. Instead, it makes Eros even more dangerous. I can’t bring myself to regret saying yes, though. Maybe I will later, but right now this feels too good to stop.
“Stop holding back.”
I open my eyes, not sure when I closed them, and lift my head to look down my body at him. “What?”
Eros nods at where my hands are fisting the sheets, and a strange little smile pulls at his lips. “You know you want them in my hair.”
I do. I really, really do. Which is precisely why I shouldn’t, why I should try to keep some part of me withdrawn.
This isn’t a battle I’m going to win, though. It’s not even one I want to win. I give myself over to him with a cry, dropping back to the mattress and digging my hands into his curls. This man’s hair should be illegal. It’s so incredibly soft and just long enough to get a wicked grip. My legs fall wider without my having any intention of doing it, and the low sound Eros makes is nearly as much a reward as his tongue sliding into me.
Is this really happening?
Am I, in the soft light of the morning, naked in bed with Eros Ambrosia and rubbing my pussy against his mouth as he tongues me?
There’s no room for doubt, for recrimination. Later, I’ll worry about how I’ve changed things between us, smudged lines that desperately needed to remain clear. Right now, I’m dancing on the edge, my body strummed tight with the orgasm bearing down on me. So close…
Eros shifts and then he’s pressing his fingers into me. The shock of the penetration, combined with the way he’s working my clit, hurtles me over the edge. I cry out, my grip spasming in his hair, but the pleasure doesn’t stop. It keeps going, his mouth and hands building up another wave even before the first dissipates.
Oh gods.
“Eros.” I tug on his hair, but I might as well try to tug the moon from the sky. “Eros, wait.”
He barely lifts his mouth enough to say “One more.”
“I can’t.” I shouldn’t.
He slows but doesn’t remove his fingers. The entire bottom half of his face is wet from my desire, and as I watch, he licks his lips. “That was barely a taste. I’m not done.” He pumps slowly into me, penetrating me, possessing me. “Let me have my fill, Psyche. You can go back to hating me later.”
I don’t hate you. Even if I should. “Okay,” I whisper. I don’t sound like myself. I don’t feel like myself. Surely someone else has taken possession of my body—a wanton, reckless creature who cares only for pleasure and the consequences be damned.
Even if I’m the one who will ultimately pay the price.
I lose track of time. Of my fears. Of everything but the two of us in this bed, Eros going down on me like he never needs to breathe, drawing orgasm after orgasm from me.
Eventually he slows. Or I do. I’m not sure. Only that I’m shaking so hard, it’s as if I’ve just enduring one of Callisto’s boot-camp workouts. Eros isn’t all that composed, either. He kisses his way up my body and then his mouth is on mine, ramping me up despite the intense wave of exhaustion the last orgasm brought.
Maybe I’m not that tired, after all.
I push on his shoulders, and for a moment I think he’ll ignore my unspoken demand. He finally leverages himself up and looks down at me. “What?”
What?
He’s just shattered me to pieces half a dozen times and that’s the first thing he says to me?
I almost laugh. I might if I could draw in the breath. “My turn.” I shove on his shoulders again.
“No.” He frowns. If his breathing wasn’t just as ragged as mine, I’d think he was unaffected. But then, there’s no ignoring the hard cock pressed against me, even if he shows no signs of trying to do anything with it. Eros shakes his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “You don’t have to.”
My heart gives an almost painful lurch. Eros is always the fixer, the one taking charge and handling things. It’s a role he’s obviously embraced in every part of his life. But now he’s looking at me with this strangely vulnerable expression in his blue eyes, almost confused at the idea that I might want to take care of him, too.
I lick my lips. “I want to. Stop being stubborn and let me suck your cock.” I shove on his shoulder again, and this time, he lets me push him onto his back.
“With an offer that sweet, how am I supposed to resist?” The words are right. The tone is close. But the way he watches me move to kneel between his thighs…
There’s no distance between us now. It’s ceased to exist.
If I’m not careful, what I fear most will come to pass. I’ll start to believe the pretty lie about this thing between us, rather than the stark truth.
Worry about it later.
I pull my hair back and wrap a fist around his cock. He’s long and has a delicious curve that I enjoyed an extreme amount last night. He’s also so hard, he’s practically throbbing. “Poor baby,” I murmur. “This looks like it hurts.”
“You could say that.” He doesn’t move, but the tendons stand out in his neck.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” My first taste of him makes me giddy. No, it makes me drunk. Is this what he feels when he goes down on me? No wonder he was famished this morning.
I lick my way down Eros’s cock, savoring every inch of him. Savoring his reaction even more. Every muscle in his body looks carved from stone, as if he’s straining to hold perfectly still, to submit to my mouth and not take control of this interaction. It’s breathtakingly sexy to feel this powerful.
But I don’t want his restraint. Later, maybe—when reality sets in and brings regret and a determination to protect my soft emotional center—but not right now. How far will he allow me to push him before his control shatters?
There’s only one way to find out.
