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.”
“Because I was attracted to you.”
So I hadn’t imagined that brief flare of heat in his eyes. I don’t know if that’s comforting or terrifying. My careful wall of logic is crumbling around me. “I meant what I said before; I can’t separate emotion from sex. Maybe once, but if we keep doing this, then you’re going to hurt me, even if you don’t mean to.”
“What if I didn’t?”
Gods, why is he still arguing? He’s already proven that while he’s hardly a paragon of virtue, he does have some kind of conscience. Eros isn’t cruel. He might not care for me, but he can’t plan to protect me from his mother and then turn around and wield an emotional knife against me. “This marriage is one of convenience. You set that up.”
Eros finally sighs. “You’re right.”
I know I’m right. So why do I feel the faintest sinking in my chest at his agreement. “I know I am. I just…” He’s agreed with me. Why am I still arguing?
Eros doesn’t move, doesn’t try to press his advantage. Surely he knows that it would take a single kiss to make me putty in his hands? He’s a smart man; he must know. But he simply watches me, waiting for me the same way he waited last night.
Last night, I could tell myself all the same things I just told him. It was a stress-based decision. We needed to let off some steam. No matter what promise I made, I had no intention of continuing to sleep with Eros.
That’s what it boils down to. Intention. If I let us blur the lines this morning, what’s to stop us from continuing to do so? We’re both such excellent liars; throw in sex, and I might start to believe the fiction we spin for the rest of Olympus.
Restricting sex to our wedding night is the only smart way to keep my heart intact.
“It’s a bad idea,” I whisper.
“Is it? I’m not so sure.” He brushes a strand of my hair away from my face. “I know what I said last night about wanting a chance to seduce you properly, but the truth is I’m not going to pressure you. I want you, Psyche. If you were on board with the idea, I’d be okay spending the next three days in this bed.”