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.”