“If you don’t—”
I cover Aphrodite’s mouth with my free hand. “You want me to stop, tap my wrist with your fingers.” I ignore the mocking look in her dark eyes. I might be a right bastard and a murderer, and I might fantasize about killing my wife more than is healthy, but I don’t want to force her. Some lines shouldn’t be crossed.
With that boundary clearly defined, there’s nothing holding me back from settling between her thighs and dragging my tongue over her pussy. She’s soaked, and the fact that I don’t know if it’s for me or leftover from Pandora drives me out of my mind.
I need her to lose control. It’s the only way I can regain it.
Another lick. How dare she taste this good? She whimpers against my palm, and that spurs me on. My wife is not infallible. It doesn’t matter why she’s hanging on the edge, only that I’m there to exploit it. I have to force myself to slow down, to not let her know how much I’m enjoying this. I rub her clit with the flat of my tongue, back and forth, back and forth, testing her reaction.
She might be a liar in every other way, but she can’t lie to me like this. Her thighs shake and clench around my head. Her pussy is so wet, I can’t resist dipping down and shoving my tongue into her. Too good. Everything about her is a nightmare in how perfect it is.
A harpy in the body of a nymph.
She was sent to destroy me, but I’m going to destroy her first.
12
APHRODITE
I’ve made a miscalculation. I thought I could control this interaction with Hephaestus just like I controlled it last night. He knew I didn’t need foreplay, and I didn’t peg him for the type to enjoy it anyway; more like he gets in, gets out, and rolls over to snore his way through the night.
Apparently I was wrong.
The man between my thighs, currently fucking me with his tongue, is a stranger. He’s obviously furious with me about Pandora, but his solution was to eat me out? It doesn’t—
Hephaestus moves back to my clit, working me with that slow, intentional stroke. Even as I tell myself to be still and silent, a whimper slips free. I didn’t lie before. Getting Pandora off had me so turned on I couldn’t see straight. I fully intended to come home, strip down, and give myself as many orgasms as it took to exhaust me.
Maybe then I’d be able to sleep.
Hephaestus sucks my clit into his mouth and it’s too much. My back bows. My thoughts flicker out. I come so hard, it scatters the world around me.
He releases my hands slowly, as if he expects me to be able to move. “Keep them there.”
I can only blink down at him, this furious husband of mine. There isn’t a single response ready to deploy, even if he wasn’t still covering my mouth with his wide palm. He shifts a little and then his fingers are there, pressing into my pussy.
I thought I was done.
I thought he was done.
Apparently I was wrong on both accounts.
He goes back to my clit, pressing remarkably soft kisses there even as he fucks a third finger into me. I’m almost too full, but my body can’t decide if it hates it or loves it, not with the conflicting signals being sent. Hard and soft. Rough and gentle.
Oh fuck, I’m going to come again.
I start to lift my hand, to tap out. A denied orgasm isn’t ideal, but neither is letting my husband know he’s got my number down. People get cocky when they think they have your pussy on a leash. Sex has never been enough to cloud my judgment, and it won’t be now, but no reason to give him ideas.
It’s too late.
He curls his fingers inside me, testing. His growl of satisfaction is the only warning I get. He zeroes in on my G-spot. Even after the last orgasm, I’m too tightly wound. Too on edge. I come with a scream I’m relieved is muffled.
I think I black out. One moment, I’m lying there, staring at my ceiling and wondering what the fuck just happened. The next, Hephaestus is flipping me onto my stomach. “You done?”
I should be. It’s the smart thing to do. This isn’t going at all like I expected, and that means it’s time to retreat and recalculate. I open my mouth to confirm that I’m done, but those aren’t the words that emerge. “Finish what you started, Husband.” I manage to choke out a laugh that’s almost mocking. “Unless you came in your pants already.”
“So quick-witted.” He hesitates and then his weight is gone. I hear him hefting himself to his feet with a faint pained groan. “Bed. Now. This floor is killer on my knee.”
I watch him walk toward my bedroom. This is my chance to put an end to this. All I need to do is call security and have him escorted out. Married or not, this apartment is mine.
But I don’t.
I stagger upright and follow my husband into my bedroom. I stop short in the doorway. He’s stripping down as if he has every right to be here. Despite myself, I can’t help drinking in the sight of him. A warrior, through and through. It’s written across his medium-brown skin, there in the scars that line his back and pepper his chest. The scar on his knee is still the bright pink of the newly healed, a mess of tissue that indicates just how bad the injury was.
My sister didn’t pull her punches. Or, more accurately, her kick.
“Take off the dress.”
I bristle at his command, but my body still shakes from the two orgasms. Last night was fine, but things are different between us right now. Even though I know better, I want to see what he’ll do.
I unzip the dress and work it down my body. His attention follows the fabric, and he snorts when I step out of it. “No bra, either.” Hephaestus leverages himself down onto the bed.
“It doesn’t go with the outfit.” I strut over to him and place my foot on his upper thigh, the spike heel bare inches from his hard cock. To his credit, he doesn’t so much as flinch, though the muscle flexes beneath my shoe. I bat my eyes at him. “Undo me, Husband?”
“You really are a damned witch.” He moves before I can process that, hooking a hand behind my knee and hauling me down astride his lap. “Condom?”
I don’t know if I’m irritated he doesn’t trust me or proud of him for that same lack of trust. Instead of answering with words, I lean over, letting him catch my hips to keep me in place, and pull one out of the top nightstand drawer. I dangle it in front of his face. “Shall I?”
“No.”
Again, that reluctant admiration flares. My husband is taking no chances, and even if it’s inconvenient, he’s smart not to. I lean back as he rips the packet open and rolls the condom down his impressive length.
He inches back onto the mattress, taking me with him. Hephaestus stares at my breasts for a long moment. “Turn around.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” When I don’t move fast enough, he hooks me around the hips and drags me back as he reclines. We end up on our sides, with his arms wrapped around me. He moves me like a fucking doll, draping one of my legs up and over his hips, opening me so he can press his cock to my entrance. “I’m going to fuck you now, Wife.”
For such a brutal motherfucker, he really is a softy when it comes to ensuring I’m right there with him. If I was any less determined to make him suffer, that might make me waver. I can’t afford to.
My husband is my enemy. My city’s enemy.
“You’re talking so much, you almost sound like you’re working yourself up to it. If you’re too scared, just go home. I can finish myself.” The words feel too sharp, but I can’t help it. I have to remember that we’re on opposite sides of an uncrossable line.
Instead of getting pissed, he relaxes against me and chuckles. “There she is. You had me worried.”