Chapter 15 Hera
Hera
Today it feels like the world has spun around me, faster and faster, until there’s no safe space.
Not my sisters, not my mother, not the city I’ve only recently claimed as mine.
Not until I stepped through the door of this penthouse and found this man waiting for me.
Poison words, each harsher than the next, and yet it’s familiar and… yes, safe.
The day I stop lying to my husband is the day I lose this safe space.
Even knowing that, I allow my head to rest on his shoulder as he carries me through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom we share. His pulse beats steadily despite the dramatics on the balcony.
I almost pushed him.
There was a split second there, a moment of pure desperation, when I actually started to move forward, to shove him over the railing.
A perfect ending to mirror his father’s death: a sad accident, or maybe a desperate personal choice.
Except I couldn’t do it. All these months of plotting, of lining up events to kill him… for nothing.
Zeus steps into our bedroom and kicks the door shut behind him. “Callisto.”
I never should have exposed this particular weakness. The only people who still call me Callisto are my sisters. Not even my mother does, too pleased with my ascension to Hera. Giving this intimacy to him? Unthinkable.
I want him to say my name again. Again and again and again.
I wriggle until he sets me on my feet and then plant my hands on his chest, walking him back toward the bed.
If he’s kind to me now, I don’t know if I’ll ever reclaim the coldness I need to get through this greater conflict.
There needs to be ice in my veins to protect my family. “Take off your clothes.”
For a moment, I think he might argue, might try to claim control again, but some decision is made in my favor behind those heated blue eyes.
He holds my gaze as he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off.
His belt whisks through the loops with a sound that makes my thighs shake.
His pants are next, sliding down muscular thighs and then kicked away. I realize my mistake too late.
The lights are still on.
We’ve only had sex like this twice—once on our wedding night and once earlier today—and both affected me too deeply, even with my eyes closed. Worse now, because there are no nerves to distract me from the sheer beauty of his naked body.
Or from the scars.
I cross to him and press my hand to the line of nearly perfect circles running from his stomach up to the center of his chest. Cigarette burns.
I’ve seen the like in the orphanage, though these are so old, they’re nearly clear and shiny, barely raised at all.
I lift my gaze to Zeus’s—except he’s not Zeus in this moment, is he?
He’s Perseus.
There’s no need to ask who did this. Only one person would dare touch one of the Kasios family, let alone the heir.
The king of monsters, the one who harmed Circe and so many others, the one who sent my sister running into the arms of Hades, the one who imprinted his violence and ambition into the blood and bones of every single one of his children.
If I trusted Perseus enough to open the door to my heart even a sliver, I would ask him about his childhood.
I would confess that there’s no lover in my bed, secret or otherwise, and there hasn’t been since I agreed to marry him.
I would tell him all the fucked-up shit that happened today.
Even if he isn’t one to comfort, I have no doubt he’d destroy both Hermes and Circe… if he could find them.
It’s too late. There’s no hope for us. If I can’t bring myself to shove him off a building, I’m still not going to step between him and the bullet coming for him, regardless of who holds the gun. Hermes or Circe, the end result is the same.
I don’t ask him about the scars. I pretend not to notice the raw look on his face. Instead, I walk to the light switch and flick it off.
Guilt threatens to rise in the new blanket of shadows covering us, in the way he exhales so carefully.
I cross back to him and press my hands to his chest again, this time to push him down onto the bed.
The moonlight coming through the window is too bright, showing the long lines of his body as he props himself on his elbows to watch me undress.
There’s no telling how much detail he can see, but I make quick work of my clothing and straddle his hips.
“I want it hard and fast.” No point in pretending I don’t need this.
Truth be told, there hasn’t been a reason to pretend I’m going through the motions for a long time, but I’ll die before I admit it.
“No.”
The simple word is the only warning I get before he rolls us, pinning me easily in my shock. Zeus never tells me no. Not when it comes to sex. “What?”
“It’s a simple word, Callisto.” Gone is the sharp bite of his words, replaced by something deep and sensual.
It scares me. Not because I’m afraid of what he might do to me, but because it’s never been like this.
We’ve always been two bodies meeting in pleasure, colliding in orgasms, wrestling for dominance.
It’s harsh and demanding and so much pleasure that, at times, I feel like I might die of it.
Even earlier today in the bar, there was no softness, only carefully honed cruelty.
I don’t know what to do with soft. It threatens to buckle things inside me that I need to stay strong. I say the only thing I can, the only thing that I know hurts him. “I hate you.”
“I know.” He catches my hands and presses them on either side of my head. “You might need hard and fast, but I need to feel you come apart on my tongue.”
I open my mouth to argue…I think…but nothing comes out except, “Okay.”
Perseus—because, damn it, this is Perseus, not Zeus—kisses me and releases my hands.
I barely have time to register the freedom before he drags his mouth down my sternum and over my stomach.
He pauses and I have a moment of pure panic wondering if he notices the faint curve that wasn’t there a few weeks ago.
It’s not enough to scream pregnant, but my clothes aren’t fitting properly anymore, and Perseus is the only one who’s ever this close to me.
But he doesn’t sit up and accuse me of hiding a pregnancy from him.
He keeps descending to push my thighs wide, baring me completely.
There’s no space for shyness, not that he gives me the opportunity to even consider experiencing it.
Not when his mouth immediately covers me, his tongue parting my folds to roll against my clit.
We fucked earlier today and I came multiple times.
I shouldn’t be hovering on the edge because of a single lick.
Then he does it again.
“Fuck,” I breathe. I dig my hands into his hair, not trying to guide him, just holding on and letting him take care of me. Because even as I tell myself I’m imagining things, that’s what this feels like. It’s not cold, it’s not frenzy. It’s…care?
That doesn’t make any sense, but there’s no space to think. He presses one finger and then two into me, a slow finger fuck as if he intends to go all night. Every curl drags his touch over my G-spot, coiling my pleasure tighter.
I love this moment during fucking. Every touch is perfect. My need is so large that my skin may split from it. Time ceases to have meaning. When I feel like this, it’s almost as if we could keep going forever. It feels like magic.
I’ve only ever experienced it with him.
Which isn’t to say I’ve never had good sex before.
My first girlfriend after moving to the city was all frenzy in the bedroom and we could go for hours before exhaustion finally set in.
That’s not what this is. From the very beginning, Perseus has set out with a terrifying intent to know my body.
There’s no wasted movement, no fumbling around in enthusiasm. There’s only perfection.
He presses his thumb and ring finger to either side of my folds, creating pressure with each stroke, pressure he matches with his tongue. “Oh fuck.” I’m so close, I’m shaking, my body feeling like it belongs to someone else…like it belongs to him. “Perseus, please.”
He freezes. “Say it again.” The words are hot against my flesh. “Now.”
Three strokes and there’s nothing left of my resistance. My back bows, my orgasm cresting hard enough to hurt in the best way possible. “Perseus.”
“That’s right, Wife.” He doesn’t pick up his pace, but his tone has gone ragged in a way I’ve never heard before. “You come so perfectly.”
A second orgasm draws a scream from my lips. Or maybe it’s a continuation of the first. I don’t know. I can’t think. It’s glorious.
This time, when he moves up my body to settle between my thighs, there’s no breath left to tell him I hate him. I have no words at all—except one. “Perseus.” I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him closer. “Perseus.”
His exhale is a fragile, trembling thing, but there’s no hesitation as he guides his cock into me. He’s never anything other than perfectly possessed. Tonight is no different. He moves into me slowly, thoroughly, using every bit of his knowledge with the clear intent to drive me to new peaks.
He fucks every thought out of my head, every worry, every fear. It will all be there in the morning, waiting to pounce the moment I open my eyes. But right now, in the dark, tasting myself on his lips, there’s nothing but us.
“There you go, Callisto.” He kisses my neck, wedges his arms beneath my body to hold me to him as if even the miniscule space between us is too much.
I know better than to believe this to mean anything at all, but I’m too scattered by pleasure to remember why.
I shatter into a million pieces again and again, and every time, he’s right there to gather each one and hold them safe in my moment of perfect weakness.
“I’ve got you, Wife. I…” His strokes lose their steady rhythm.
Even this is somehow perfect, too. I hold him closer as he follows me over the edge, as he grinds into me, as he fills me.
His heart pounds against his chest—against my chest where it presses to him—in the exact frantic rhythm as mine.
I can’t think properly, but I make no effort to try as I cling to my husband.
I’ve been adrift, will be adrift again, but in this moment, he’s the only solid thing that exists.
As if he’s in agreement, he holds me closer instead of moving away and presses a gentle kiss to my temple. “Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.”
What can wait until morning? I’m barely able to think. I don’t remember closing my eyes, but they feel fused shut. I nod slowly. “Okay. Until morning.”
He eases to the side, but only enough to settle on the mattress next to me.
I refuse to feel grateful that he doesn’t go far…
but I am. Especially when he pulls me into the cradle of his body and wraps his strong arms around me.
My muscles and bones weigh a thousand pounds.
Even if I wanted to, I can’t dredge up the effort to climb out of our bed and leave him.
I…don’t want to.
He kisses the nape of my neck. “Sleep, Wife. I’m here. You’re safe.”
Fool that I am, I actually believe him.