I drag in an unsteady breath. “That’s a lot of sex.”
“It’d barely take the edge off.” His smile is a little bittersweet. “I’m well aware that I’m no catch. There’s no reason a woman like you would want to be linked to me any more than you already are, and I’ll respect that.”
The horrible melting feeling in my chest from last night comes back, this time with interest. I’m so busy trying to protect my heart that I never once thought myself capable of hurting Eros. Even a little. I search his face, but for once, he doesn’t have a mask in place.
He gives me that crooked smile, still trying to put me at ease. “I can’t promise my virtuous streak will hold, especially if you keep looking so fucking sexy, but you’re safe from any attempted seduction this morning.” He starts to sit up.
I grab his arm, my hand moving almost of its own volition. I stare at where my fingers wrap around his bicep. “Wait.”
“You’re killing me, beautiful girl.” He exhales a shaky breath. “I’m trying to do right by you.”
“I know.” Still, I can’t quite make myself release him. My need for self-preservation battles with desire and something like empathy. I want him. He wants me. I might not be able to hold the careful line between us if we keep doing this, but my reasons for saying no slip away like the tide going out. “Eros.”
He doesn’t seem to breathe. “Yeah?”
“Would you accuse me of being incredibly fickle if I changed my mind?”
His slow grin is a different kind of foreplay. “I’d say I like you when you’re fickle.”
I don’t get this man. Before this marriage, he could have nearly anyone he wanted in Olympus. Why does he look at me like I just delivered his favorite present on Christmas morning? It’s so tempting to believe that he wants me that desperately, but allowing myself to believe that is a mistake. Lust and love aren’t the same thing, but my brain might get the two confused, especially when it comes to this man.
There’s no time to think about that, though, not with him easing down my body, taking the covers with him. I start to close my eyes, desperate to reclaim some of the rapidly closing distance between us, but he nips my thigh as he presses my legs wide. “Don’t shut me out, Psyche.”
“You ask too much.”
“I know.” He doesn’t sound the least bit sorry, either. Eros’s eyes have gone hot as he looks up my body. The way he drinks me in visually is something I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. He’s so contained the rest of the time, but the second I get naked, it’s like a beast is looking out at me through those blue eyes.
He dips his head and then his mouth is on my pussy. It’s different from yesterday afternoon, when he was a man on a mission, perfectly focused on my pleasure but wasting no time on making me come so hard, I saw stars.
There’s none of that furor now.
He’s almost lazy as he licks me. This is like the oral sex version of brunch, like he plans to linger and enjoy himself, and I don’t know how to feel about that. I’ve had a variety of partners who had a variety of feelings about oral sex, ranging from a box to check off to get to the good stuff to some kind of strange competition to prove how many times they can make me come. I don’t know that I’ve ever been with someone who seems to love it for its own sake, for the pleasure it brings them.
I never guessed how much hotter that would make the whole experience.
Eros lingers over every inch of my pussy, seeming to savor the exploration. It’s a slow tease, an idle strumming of pleasure that increases with every lick and then grows again each time he makes that sexy little growling noise against me, his hands tightening on my thighs as if he’s beside himself with need. He finally, finally, works his way up to my clit and rubs the flat of his tongue over me in little strokes.
I cry out, my back bowing. “More. Please, Eros. More.”
His rough laugh nearly makes me come on the spot. I might be able to go toe-to-toe with this man in every other arena, but in the bedroom, I’m hopelessly outmatched. Because it doesn’t feel like a match as his tongue plays over my clit. It just feels like pleasure, like two people pursuing the same goal with the same intensity. How am I supposed to remember that he’s the enemy when it’s everything I can do not to grab hold and ride his face until I come all over him?
He’s not the enemy.
The thought should comfort me. Instead, it makes Eros even more dangerous. I can’t bring myself to regret saying yes, though. Maybe I will later, but right now this feels too good to stop.