Chapter Thirteen
She watched, trying to acknowledge every careening feeling in her brain and bones, as Apollo arranged an assortment of bathing accessories atop the vanity. Next to those, he slid a bath sheet that, even in its neatly folded state, looked big enough to dry an elephant.
Between amazement that someone would use all that stuff and jitters about needing a coding degree to operate his shower, she attempted to officiate the raging war between her logic and libido. A lost cause. The two refused to see any common ground.
In sanity’s defense, she had to keep taking rational breaths.
Kaw’s recon team was doing their best, but unless they won the probability jackpot and spotted Genny through an unguarded door or window, they all had to wait until Ito appeared in the open again.
Only then could they grab the bastard then torture—errr, coerce—him into disclosing where he was imprisoning her.
Until then, it was best to just wrap the rampaging thoughts around other subjects . . .
Other than the things her lecherous lusties churned at her.
But holy shit, those carnal beasts meant it.
From the bathroom lighting gilding the top of Apollo’s head to the contrast of his feet against the cobalt blue tiles and every inch of his shirtless self between, she was sharply, painfully aware of every element she’d fought to forget since first laying eyes on him.
All those calibers were so strong, she’d even forgotten the chandelier tines having a special mixer with her digestive system . . .
That was very much then, girl. And this is a now you have to keep under control.
“Think you’ll need anything else for your shower?”
“You mean the kitchen sink, perhaps?”
She managed to accent the line with a chuckle, but barely. How was she expected to churn up witty banter after his strange, soft rasp of a query, especially with him leaning his graceful limbs so gracefully against the vanity.
Her throat was instantly parched. Her limbs, fumbling and heavy. And why had her voice sounded like she’d smoked a pack a day for the last hundred years?
Because holy shit, he was a masterpiece.
Even more so as he slid one of those flawless feet closer to her. The other.
Funny thing about those feet. His stupidly stunning body was connected to them. And now, consuming more and more of her personal space with its excruciatingly close sinew. And angles. And heat. And—
“You need the kitchen sink too, Little Mothra? I’m happy to go fetch it for you.”
And then that voice.
Its baritone, reaching into her like some angel’s chant from a medieval poem or prophetic proverb . . .
Or an ancient god’s ballad.
“Don’t you dare go anywhere,” she croaked, though the sound seemed from far away.
She could barely pry her eyes open, with vision clouded by the same spell he’d cast over her senses.
In the green depths of his eyes, she beheld the endless verdancy of his homeland.
In the carved lines of his physique, she saw more than muscled perfection.
She comprehended his resiliency and strength, his determination yet also his obligation.
The wonder of what he was, but the weight of who he was.
So many layers seen by so few.
Because he’d deemed that it be that way. Because trust was no longer an easy word for someone like him. A being like him.
So breathtaking yet so faceted. Complicated. Unsure of how to balance himself anymore, always exchanging so much of his brilliance for his responsibilities, all the roles he had to play.
She knew how that felt. Being a different person for every occasion, whether the weight was welcome or not. It got exhausting. Grueling.
What would happen if they agreed to set themselves free? Even if just for a few minutes?
Only two questions, but they felt like two thousand.
Still, she welcomed all of them. Let them flash right up from her spirit and across her gaze, as well.
She watched, entranced, as Apollo’s stare ignited with the same defined lights.
The golds inside his greens, like dragons dancing with fireworks. Hope flirting with so much danger . . .
Danger . . .
Danger.
“Are you sure, Monster? Because if I stay . . . ”
She bit into her bottom lip, which really only made her want to do the same to his. “Shit,” she whispered.
Just . . . shit, shit, shit.
Because he hadn’t been wrong. If I stay. It meant more than the surface value of the words, and he knew it. One more sweeping stare across his face and she knew it too. But could she deal with it?
With him? Staying?
It’d be for longer than just now. So much longer than she was used to.
Not all the way down to her soul or anything, and not anything as idiotic as forever, but what was the happy medium between let’s-get-off-now-then-forget-about it and put-a-ring-on-my-finger-and-fuck-me-forever-baby?
How did she gauge that? Even after they wrapped up this crazy adventure, how long would Apollo Kyrios of Olympus stick to the rooms of her memories and walls of her psyche?
Could she dive into the nebula of that risk? Would it be worth it?
Once more, the barriers between her thoughts and her face had to be deteriorated to an all-time low. In the dragons that still invaded Apollo’s eyes, she watched that exact truth take over—
Before they became the serpents that took over his body, as well.
In the arms he slipped around the confines of her waist.
In the hitch of his hips, introducing the rod at their juncture to the shivering center of her belly.
In the way he tucked his head and captured the erupting moan from her lips with the feral growl from his.
He no longer hesitated about his invasion.
Without another pause, he pushed into her mouth. Slithered his tongue along hers. Devoured and deepened, not stopping until he got down to her damn tonsils.
Even then, raking everything inside her with a kiss that left no corners unexplored, no intentions misinterpreted. Still, as if just to make sure, he pulled back from her by a few inches, despite the tormented groan that escaped his lips.
The sound that spoke all the way to the clenching layers at her core. Then, within seconds, turned into a high whine in her throat.
“Stay, Apollo. Please.”
And then the words she somehow summoned after the most incredible kiss of her existence.
But she went just as numb again as Apollo nodded, a movement etching itself across the air like a glitching video feed.
She had no idea how to react, since she’d never seen a male look like a frisky frat boy and commanding dungeon master at once, so she gasped in gratitude when he took back over, again channeling his inner dragon.
“Yeah.” His purr was potent as smoke and devious as lava, spreading sensual fire from where he pressed it into her neck. “Yeah, my little lizard. Okay. I’m right here.”
Well, that did it. No way could she contain her confused laugh this time. “Little lizard?”
“What? And why not?” His chuckle remained low and sexy. “Lizards are the most perfect of the monsters, right?”
“They are?”
And what was up with her tone now? This couldn’t be legit. She was usually the wham-bam-thank-you-dude of let’s-get-horny time, so who was the breathy young woman flirting with the Greek god in her arms?
And then between her legs . . .
Yes, please. More of that part. Right the hell now.
So much for that lusty edict.
“Oh!” she managed to cry as Master Sun God himself introduced her to his master action plan instead.
With another practiced sweep of his mouth, he sucked every speck of air out of both her lungs.
In the same motion, he captured both sides of her ass with masterful grips of all ten fingers.
With that same strength, he readjusted her whole body at the same time.
Shifting her straight up . . .
Until the apex of her body notched perfectly along the center of his.
Onto the crest there, so long and hard. Commanding and compelling.
And worth holding her breath for . . .
Just a little while longer . . .
“Oh, dear God.”
Until he forced her to summon air for that sharp yelp.
“You rang, little lizard?”
“Apollo. For fuck’s sake!”
Then that one, erupting from her with the same violent deprivation. Even as the man simply drawled his out like—
—damn it—
Like a bratty frat boy toying with his pet lizard.
Except she’d never known any college kid who could move their hips like this.
And their tight, alluring ass. And their powerful, pulsing thighs.
Shit on a magical Greek shingle, were his knees involved in the motion too?
They had to be, considering how he lunged and rolled, alternately teasing yet stroking, spinning her senses higher yet lower . . .
Until her head fell back, her mouth fell open, and another scream ripped her larynx apart—only to be swallowed by another of this man’s wet, wonderful kisses.
At the same time, he clutched her backside with renewed purpose.
With that leverage, he upended them both.
Her world wheeled up and over until she stared down at this ruler of the cosmos, instead of up.
As if that stopped the god of the sun from incinerating her like that brightest star, with his gaze aglow and his hands afire . . .
Literally?
She shook her head with sharp purpose. Blinked her eyes with the same hard intention. But as soon as she refocused on the places where their bodies melded and their stares twined, the blazing brilliance was still there in Apollo’s energy.
The man really was burning at her.
Burning for her.
“Apollo,” she husked, the syllables scratchy and dazed. “What’s hap—”
“It’s okay.” He sounded just as parched but twice as desperate.
The hot pressure of his fingers confirmed her impression.
He was urgent with wanting her, and Wen reveled in her surety of that truth.
She rocked her head back and hissed as all ten of his digits seared her buttocks, bringing pain that was tolerable but memorable.
But permanent?
Oh God, how she hoped so.