Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“I’m… I’m not.” What am I saying? I have no idea.
“Of course not. You don’t even like me.”
This is wrong. It’s not following our established pattern. Of me resisting, of him waiting me out. He sounds like he wants to claim me, and fool that I am, my body suddenly wants to be claimed. I have shit I’m supposed to do, circles I’m supposed to frantically spiral through. I’m so godsdamned afraid, I can barely breathe. And yet, in the circle of his arms, a small, weak part of me is suddenly sure everything will be all right. A lie, and not even a comforting one. Not when it’s at the hands of Zeus.
My resistance snaps, and I snap with it. “Stop gloating and do it, then.”
“So angry,” he murmurs. He’s still close enough for me to feel the movement his lips make in the miniscule distance between us. “I used to think you’re angry at me, but that’s not the truth, is it? You wouldn’t fight this so hard if you truly hated me.”
I tense. “I do hate you.”
“I know. Now close your eyes and tell me what you want.”
My face burns. He’s right. I have to close my eyes because it’s one insult too many to be this vulnerable without the comfort of darkness. He’s never approached me like this—in public, where we might be witnessed. We’ve never even had sex in daylight hours. The only time we fuck is in our bed at the end of long, exhausting days. Not that exhaustion ever seems to touch Zeus. When he has me beneath him, or over him, or in front of him, he’s tireless and downright relentless in the pursuit of my pleasure.
Something’s changed and I don’t know what it is. That should scare me, but I can’t think past the need for him to touch me more. To offer me a sliver of escape before I have to fix my world. “Kiss me. Touch me. Make me come.”
I practically feel his self-satisfied smile. “That was hardly enough detail, but I suppose I’ll make it work.”
And then there’s no more space for words because his mouth is on mine. I don’t wait for him to coax my lips to part before I’m devouring him right back. I have no intention of moving, but my hands are in his hair and it’s everything I can do not to climb on top of him. All from a kiss.
Except it’s not just a kiss, is it? It’s the promise of more. This man knows my body better than any of my past partners, and he uses that knowledge with ruthless efficiency. He’s playing chess while I’m coming undone. It’s an insult that only makes me despise him more, but I can’t shake my addiction to how he makes me feel in those moments when my body takes over.
More. All I want is more. Even if it burns me in the end.
8
Zeus
My wife is up to no good. I should drag her back to our penthouse and lock her up until this conflict is over. For her safety, yes, but also to keep her from meddling while I get shit figured out. If I can get this shit figured out. At this point, I don’t even know if it’s possible.
It’s hard to think about all the problems threatening to break me with Hera going soft and sweet against me. She’s only sweet when my tongue is in her mouth. Her hands fist the front of my shirt, a silent demand for more.
I shouldn’t. Fuck, I shouldn’t have come here at all. The idea of my wife with Ixion makes me lose all sense of decorum. Even her attempting to murder me matters less than the idea of her with someone else, with him.
But she’s not with Ixion right now; she’s here, with me, kissing me as if she’s a spark that I’ve poured gasoline on. My wife is sweetest when she’s coming, and I’ll be damned if I allow even a sliver of distance between us before then. I skate my hand down her chest, over her stomach, to the band of her pants. She makes a sound and parts her thighs. A clear invitation, but not clear enough for my purposes.
My father forced himself on people. Regularly. He used his power and influence to ensure no one said no, and even if they did… I may have had no choice in taking his name, in stepping into the title left open by his unexpected death, but I’d rather die than carry on that legacy.
Breaking the kiss almost hurts, even though I don’t create any additional distance between us. The intimacy of being this close with her pointedly closed eyes is too much. I have to close mine, too, to retreat to familiar darkness.