She tastes of sex. The realization is almost enough to stop me in my tracks, but Aphrodite wraps one bare leg around my waist, and control slips through my fingertips. I run a rough hand up her thigh and cup her ass under the slit of her dress. “No panties. What a little slut.”
“Your girlfriend likes it,” she gasps against my lips.
I kiss her again to shut her the fuck up. Gods, but I hate this woman. That alone should be enough to ensure I never touch her again, but my body hasn’t gotten the memo. I lift her and take one step…
Which is the moment my knee decides to remind me that it’s not on board with this abuse.
It buckles and then we’re falling. I manage to catch the back of Aphrodite’s head to ensure she doesn’t bounce it on the marble floor, but that means I take the brunt of the impact.
Godsdamn it, that hurts.
She doesn’t pause, one clever hand delving between us to make quick work of my pants. The witch is already trying to take control of this. She doesn’t give a fuck that my knee is one blazing starburst of pain or that I saved her from the worst of the impact. The only thing she gives a damn about is winning.
Yeah, fuck that.
I brace myself with a hand on the floor by her head and catch first one wrist and then the other. She curses a little, but I’m not in the mood to play. “Spread your legs.”
“You’re not in charge.”
“Right now, I am.” I press her wrists to her stomach, pinning them there. “Spread your fucking legs, wife.”
Her slow smile makes what little reasoning I have short out. Her words sweep away the rest. “Make me.”
“Never the easy way with you.” I should stop this now. There’s no way I come out on top of this situation; our wedding night more than proved that. I don’t care. I need to put her in her place, and if I have to drive her out of her mind with pleasure to do it, then damn it, I will.
I shift down her body and use my shoulders to force her legs open. For all her smart mouth, she doesn’t fight me, letting her legs fall wide. I spare the thought to wish for better lighting to see her properly, but there’s no time to pause with lust and rage in the driver’s seat.
“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.