Shattered Gods (Dark Olympus, #10)(72)

“We can only take it one day at a time.” Something crashes in the distance and she frowns. “I don’t think it’s wise to leave this apartment until dark. We’ll have a plan by then.”

She says it with such confidence, as if there isn’t a single doubt in her mind that we’ll come up with a plan. Truth be told, I can see a way through this, but she’s going to hate it. Really, really hate it.

She shifts beneath me, the warmth of our bodies making everything float away, dreamlike and insubstantial. I don’t want to think about tonight or tomorrow or the future at all. I want to be in this moment, and there’s no one I’d rather share it with than Atalanta, strong and steady and far better than I deserve in a woman. She’s been at my side through my worst moments, through the dark days before we began putting our plan into motion—and the dark days that still plagued me even after. Even if she wasn’t there, she was there. Always. No matter what.

I want her. I’ve wanted her since I met her, and probably the single most honorable thing I’ve done in the last decade was to hold back from turning our relationship physical. Why not now? The plan forming in my mind, a pivot that might actually be possible with the current mess we’re in, is going to piss her off; Circe, too. Why not grab what joy we can right fucking now? Tomorrow isn’t assured. It never was, but I’ve been able to pretend before. Not anymore. Reality is knocking on our door, and I don’t want to miss a single experience. If I don’t make it out of Olympus alive, at least I’ll die with the peace of knowing there are no paths left unexplored.

Really, I’m a selfish bitch. I love Atalanta and I want her, and that’s enough to have me moving in slow motion to tilt my head to brush my lips against hers.

Atalanta exhales. “Hecate.”

It’s a plea and a demand, and I’m already sliding up her body to take her mouth properly. I’ve dreamed of kissing this woman for years. Of having soft moments like this, cuddled up on a couch with only a scattering of clothing between us, of her hands on my ass, pulling me tighter to her. I want the hours spent in the gym, vibing as we work out together. I want to cook her dinner, to romance her the way she deserves, with soft lighting and silken words. There’s no time for any of it. There’s sure as fuck not a guarantee.

I cup her face and kiss her deeper, trying to put all the words I’ve never had the courage to say into the slow slide of my tongue against hers. I love you. I cherish you. I want to take care of you. I hate that this city and my ambition have made that impossible for so long.

She grabs my thigh and tugs me closer until I’m straddling her stomach, my pussy pressed to her bare skin. I break the kiss with a gasp. “Gods.”

Atalanta laughs, deep and pleased. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I kiss her temple, her cheeks, the corners of her generous mouth. “It’s you.”

She shudders out a breath. “I love you.”

The words have been said, but not like this. Not with so much vulnerability and truth. I sit up a little and meet her gaze. I could lose myself in her dark-brown eyes, so wide and expressive. Right now, she’s telling me she’s here with me, feeling the exact same combination of love, lust, and regret for opportunities passed by. I swallow hard. “I love you, too. So fucking much. I’ve failed—”

She presses a finger to my lips. “No. We’re not doing this in a dramatic and doomed way. This isn’t the one and only time we’ll be together, Hecate. This is the first step toward a real future together.”

With Circe? I don’t have the cruelty to ask. Not now, not when this is just about the two of us. We’ll have to discuss Circe at some point—and soon—but now isn’t the time. Just like we’re not going to discuss the plan I’m putting together, piece by piece.

She bends up, causing me to slide against her stomach in a way that makes my toes curl a little, and takes my mouth. This time, there’s no slow exploration. This is a decade’s worth of pent-up desire, cascading between us in an unstoppable force. What’s left of my restraint snaps.

I grind against her stomach. I’m so wet, I might be embarrassed if I was a different person. I’m not. I’m exhilarated. I want her so desperately. I need her. She clearly feels the same because she grips me at the top of my thighs, shifting me higher yet. Atalanta squeezes my ass, parting me in a way that feels depraved despite this being the barest edge of foreplay. But it’s her.

“Hecate,” she gasps, and then her fingers are sliding into me, firm and blunt and agonizingly good. Atalanta actually whimpers at the feel of me and I almost come on the spot. “Gods, you’re perfect.”

“Not me. You.” I drag my mouth down her throat, finding the spot where her neck meets shoulder and sucking lightly. It makes her moan, so I keep doing it.

“Woman, stop distracting me,” she mutters. She hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me up until I’m damn near straddling her chest. It gives her full access to my body, which was clearly the goal. She delves two fingers deeper into my pussy, sliding slowly in and out, exploring me while she searches for…there. My G-spot.

Every muscle goes slack and tight at the same time. I grind down onto her fingers mindlessly, whimpers slipping free of my lips as if coming from someone else entirely. Sometimes desperate and needy and not at all in control. Maybe it is me, after all.