“Yes. That’s exactly what you’re doing. Mm…keep doing it. Don’t be gentle with me. Make me come again.”
Her words did exactly what she wanted. Made him harder, forced him deeper. On a long groan he shoved deep one last time and held still. His cock jerked and pulsed deep within her. His release triggered another in her, this one not quite as big as the last, but just as pleasurable. And so incredibly hot she knew she had to have it again.
He fell against her back and sucked in air. “Holy gods…”
A smile turned her lips. Not exactly. But she doubted a god could do it any better.
She pressed up on her hands, looked over her shoulder at his flushed face and tousled hair. Loved that she’d reduced him to a quivering mass of muscle and bone. “Follow-through?”
His heartbeat raced against her spine and his chest continued to rise and fall as if he was having trouble regulating his breathing. “Yeah, I guess that’s what you call it.”
“Not quite, daemon.” She shifted her weight back against him, pushing him off her. He slid from her body, stumbled back a step. Looked down with surprise. She flipped over, wriggled off the table. Stood in front of him.
“Siren—”
His pants were still around his thighs, which was perfect. She ran her hands down his chiseled abs, taking a good hard look at his body in the moonlight shining through the windows.
Just as she’d imagined, he was all corded muscle and gathered strength, covered in smooth, tight, enticing skin shades darker than her own. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she slid to her knees.
His cock, which seconds before had been at half-mast, sprang up thick and engorged and big. Bigger than she’d expected. “Not fair, daemon. Are you trying to make my job easier?”
“One of the few benefits of being an Argonaut.”
“Mm.” She closed her fingers around his shaft, loving the pulse and life she felt in her palm, the soft flesh sliding over the rock-hard center as she stroked him from base to tip, the musky smell of both of their releases radiating from his skin. “I can think of a few more. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Skyla—”
Gods, she loved it when he said her name. “No more games, Orpheus. Not tonight. Tonight I just want you.” She licked her lips. Watched as his eyes grew wide in anticipation. Her sex throbbed all over again as she leaned in and licked the very tip of his erection. “Should I stop or keep going?”
The doubt she’d seen in his eyes melted away. He grasped the back of her head and his fingers slid into her hair, tightened around the long locks. “No, don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop now.”
She smiled. Trailed her tongue around the crown. “So what should I do instead?”
He tugged her head forward and a wicked grin turned his lips. “Why don’t you start by sucking my cock?”
Oh, he was a naughty, naughty daemon. And she loved that about him.
She opened her mouth, closed her lips around his length. Drew him all the way to the back of her throat. Grew hot and achy and wet all over again when he hardened against her tongue.
Follow-through had its benefits too. And before this night was over, she planned to prove to him just what those were. Every single one.
Even if doing so left her wondering…where the hell she now fit in the world.
***
Gryphon wasn’t sure what Atalanta could want with Krónos, but just being in the Elder God’s lair left a sick and horrific feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Don’t fidget, doulas.” Atalanta sent him a hard look as they waited outside Krónos’s private quarters.
Gryphon turned away from the fifteen-foot-high black iron doors to look at the wallpaper in the sitting area, patterned in swirls that looked like droplets of blood, and the naked pictures of bodies entwined hanging on every wall. He tried to ignore the horrifying moans coming from the other side of that door, but he couldn’t ignore them completely. Dread coursed through his veins.
To distract himself, he stared at the drawings. Found one he could focus on without being sick. The image of two bodies locked in a heated kiss. As he studied the lines and swirls, he scratched at his thigh, tried to ease the tightness of the leathers Atalanta made him wear. This image—unlike all the others—wasn’t pornographic in nature. It could be any two lovers anywhere in the world. It might have even been him once.
Had he had a lover like that? Did he know what it was to be connected to someone on such a primal level? Not sex for sex’s sake but the joining of hearts? He searched his feelings, tried to find any ghost of a memory that told him he’d once been loved, that he’d experienced what he was seeing in the picture, but came up empty.
Maybe he hadn’t deserved it. Maybe he’d been so awful in the living realm this was as much as he could hope for. Maybe this new hell was more than he deserved.
He waited for a voice—any voice—to tell him he was wrong, but there was none. Only the echoing moans from the other side of that door.