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.
18
Psyche
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.”