He stumbled back a step and stared at her, his face flushed with arousal, his eyes as dark as she’d ever seen them. And somewhere in the back of her brain, a little voice screamed she needed to walk away, needed to run if she had any hope of saving herself. He might believe the things he’d said, might want her right now because of what had happened between them, but eventually, that soul mate bond would win out, and Cynna would end up heartbroken and alone.
But she didn’t listen. She couldn’t. Because every ounce of anger and longing and frustration and hurt was swirling inside her, making her see red, making her body tremble, making her want to prove to him—and maybe to her—that she was more real than his soul mate could ever be.
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. The weight of her body knocked him into the back of the couch, but he didn’t miss a beat. His arms wrapped around her waist, dragging her in tight, and his mouth opened over hers. And then he was kissing her like he couldn’t get enough, tasting her harder, deeper, making her wetter with every touch, making her forget everything but him.
His hands streaked down to the hem of her shirt, and he broke the kiss long enough to drag it up and over her head. She found his mouth again as he dropped it on the floor, then sucked in a breath when his tongue stroked over hers and his fingers flipped the clasp of her bra free. He tugged the garment from her arms, then closed his large, warm hand over her left breast and squeezed.
She groaned as electricity shot to her nipple, then raced to her core. It was wrong—wanting him like this after everything she’d done—but she couldn’t stop the desire. Couldn’t stop the hunger. Needed only this, here and now.
Her own hands slid down his torso and found the hem of his shirt. She pulled away so she could wrench the garment from his body. Dropping the soft cotton on the ground, she let her gaze slide over him. Over the broad, strong muscles flexing beneath his rough skin. Over the dusting of fine blond hair covering his pecs. Over the scars in all shapes and sizes that proved he was more than Zagreus or Hades thought. He wasn’t just a vessel of untapped power. He was a warrior. One she’d wanted from the first moments she’d laid eyes on him.
Memories bombarded her. The day Zagreus had pulled him into the torture chamber and presented Nick to her as if he were a gift. Watching from the upper level of the arena while he fought Zagreus’s satyrs, being mesmerized by every ripple of muscle each time he moved. Standing still and unmoving as that nymph had dropped to her knees in front of him in his cell, ripped off his towel, and taken him deep into her mouth.
Her blood pumped hot. Her mouth grew dry. Her sex burned. She’d hated that moment with the nymph, not just because the female had been tormenting him, but because Cynna had wanted to be the one to taste him, to stroke him, to make him moan.
“Cynna.” Nick’s hand slid into her hair, and his fingers flexed against her scalp, drawing her face back toward his. She opened to his kiss, dragged her tongue along his, and trailed her hands down his torso until she found the snap on his jeans.
He groaned into her mouth, used his other hand to tip her chin up higher so he could taste her deeper. She flicked the snap on his pants free, slid the zipper down while he kissed her, then pushed the waistband over his hips.
His cock sprang free, and she wrapped her hand around the thick shaft. He was hard as steel beneath her fingers, hot in her palm, and while he continued to devour her mouth, she stroked him, base to tip, squeezed the head until he moaned, then drew the moisture from the tip down his length so she could do it again.
He let go of her chin, trailed his hand down her chest and pinched her nipple. And as electricity arced straight into her sex with the mixture of pleasure and pain, she moved closer, stroked him faster, lifted her chest so he could do it again. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, then her jaw as his fingers rolled her nipple, and then his lips were pressing hot, wicked kisses along the soft skin behind her ear, his warm breath making every inch of her body shiver.
“Gods,” he whispered. “Your hand feels so good. So much better than before.”
Before…
She knew what he was remembering. When he’d been chained in his cell and she’d pleasured him with her hand. Except then—like now—what she’d really wanted to do that night was taste him. Drop to her knees like that nymph. Feel his length pulse against her tongue. Draw him so deep he’d never want anyone but her.
She might not have had the courage to do it then, but now there was nothing holding her back. Letting go, she braced her hands on his belly, then slid down to her knees. He sucked in a breath. His cock stood out strong and proud in front of her. Wrapping her fingers around his steely length once more, she drew him toward her lips and glanced up at his face.
Desire darkened his eyes, flushed his cheeks, made a vein in his temple stand out against his pale skin. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she leaned closer, opened her mouth, and traced the tip of her tongue all around the head of his cock.
A groan rumbled from his chest. His hands slid into her hair, his fingertips flexing against her scalp. She did it again, running her tongue along the vein on the underside, then finally closed her lips around his length and sucked.