Chapter Seventy-Eight
Feralyn
I felt him before I saw him.
The hairs on the back of my neck danced, awareness tingled across my skin, and the hint of his freshly showered skin drifted into my bedroom.
After thoroughly using my body this morning, then carrying me to the shower and washing away his scent but not his bite marks, Helios had put me back in my bed and headed to the home gym.
For over an hour, I’d heard his music, but then it’d gotten quiet. As quiet as it was now, but I knew he was there, and my unintentional game of coyness was backfiring.
I looked up.
Leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, his hair damp, his arms crossed, his biceps bulging, his slow, seemingly lazy gaze dragged the length of me, but there was nothing lazy about Helios.
He didn’t say anything as his eyes met mine.
Even after everything he’d done to my body, shyness flushed my cheeks, but he still didn’t comment.
This was new, Helios not talking.
New and uncomfortable….
Which he intended.
He was up to something.
Sitting on the floor where I’d been sorting a pile of books I’d corralled but still didn’t have a new bookcase for, I picked up my glass of water from its perch on a stack of camera manuals and sipped.
Helios tracked my lips like he owned them.
Because he did.
For the past week, all we’d done was have sex and eat.
Except sex wasn’t the right word for it.
We fucked. Like animals.
Then, after, when I was full of his seed and his sweat covered my body, his lips would touch mine so softly, it hurt. That was when he would make love to me. Sometimes with his body, but always with his mouth.
With his kiss, with his words.
With that gray-blue stare that penetrated my soul.
But this, right now? It wasn’t that.
Helios tipped his chin. “Get your leathers on.”
The corners of my mouth curled up.
He smirked. “Fucking thought so.”
“What?”
“You know damn well what, you little speed junkie.” He shoved off the doorframe. “Five fucking minutes. Be ready.” He stalked to his intact bedroom where all of his clothes still were.
My room was another story.
There was a mattress on the floor, still in the middle of the room. A pile of books I’d pushed into a corner. Torn curtains that fluttered chaotically in the breeze when the sliders were open, and one picture of me and Helios, on the floor, leaned against the wall. And that was it.
Helios had cleared everything else away.
All of my rage debris had been bagged or carried out, my salvageable clothes folded or hung in the closet, then he’d meticulously vacuumed—twice.
Once his cleansing of my rage and his guilt were complete, he’d stalked into the living room, where he’d both banished me before he’d started cleaning and threatened to spank my ass if I walked on my cut feet.
Carefully picking me up, he’d taken me back into my room like he was carrying his queen to her throne, and he’d laid me on the same mattress he’d found me on earlier that day.
Then he’d fucked me so hard, I was crying, and he was swearing.
After, he’d gathered my abused body into his arms and brought my mouth to his.
I love you. I love you. I fucking love you.
The declaration still haunted me.
And made my core pulse and desire weep every time I thought of it.
“I don’t fucking hear leathers going on!”
Helios’s booming voice kicking me back to the present, I scrambled to my feet. Then I rushed into my closet.