I glance at the bedside clock and register with mild surprise that it’s already past eight. Friday morning, and my calendar is full of meetings I should care about. My phone is probably exploding with messages from Miranda wondering where I am yet again. It doesn’t matter. Nothing outside this room holds any significance compared to the woman beside me.
There’s a soft clatter from downstairs—a pan against a stovetop perhaps, or dishes being arranged. Athena’s housekeeper must have arrived while we slept. Zeus, who was curled at our feet when I drifted off, is nowhere to be seen.
Athena drifts toward consciousness. Her eyes flutter open like she knows I’m watching, focusing slowly until they lock with mine. For a moment, we just stare at each other, neither speaking. Then she smiles, genuine and unguarded.
“Good morning,” she whispers, her voice husky with sleep.
I don’t reply with words. Instead, I lean forward and press my lips to hers. She responds immediately, her hand sliding up to cradle my face, her thumb stroking my cheek.
The kiss deepens naturally, and there’s no urgency, just a gradual unfolding of sensation. Her lips are soft, yielding in a way that contrasts with her usual dominance.
“I love you,” I murmur against her mouth, because I need to say it again in the daylight, need to make it real beyond the sanctuary of darkness.
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “I love you too,” she says, and then she smiles again, this time with a hint of mischief. “And I’m very happy you’re still here.”
“Did you think I’d run again?” I ask, tracing the line of her jaw.
“The thought crossed my mind.” Athena’s smile broadens,and she captures my hand, bringing my fingers to her lips. She sucks my index finger into her mouth, and I close my eyes and moan, instantly aroused. “But if you try, I won’t let you.”
She kisses me again, deeper, hungrier, while her hand slides from my face to my neck, then lower, tracing the curve of my spine. I arch into her touch, suddenly acutely aware that we’re both still naked beneath the sheets.
She rolls me onto my back, her body half-covering mine. Her tongue slides against mine, and I moan again, my hands tangling in her hair to pull her closer. Her thigh presses between my legs, creating a delicious pressure, and when she breaks the kiss to trail her lips down my neck, I tilt my head back, offering more of myself to her exploration.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispers, and her hand finds my breast. I gasp at the contact, running my hands down her back, feeling the subtle flex of muscles. Her waist, her hip, her thigh…
Her reaction is intense; I can tell she’s not used to being touched anymore. She trembles beneath my fingertips, a subtle vibration that betrays her vulnerability. When I trace her behind, she inhales sharply, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as if overwhelmed by the sensation. There’s an unfamiliar hesitancy in her reaction, a momentary tensing before she surrenders to my touch.
I gently shift us around so she’s on her back and lace my fingers through hers, bringing our hands over her head as I kiss her. I feel both need and hesitation in the kiss, but she relaxes more and more until finally, she closes her eyes and sighs as I cover her body with mine.
She whispers my name, moaning as I place a trail of kisses down her neck. I let go of her hands and move down, kissing and caressing her breasts. Her back arches as mytongue circles her nipple, her breathing becoming ragged. I lose myself in the taste of her skin, and every response from her body emboldens me.
Her fingers thread through my hair as I move lower, pressing kisses all over her abdomen and along the inside of her thigh. When my mouth finally finds her sex, she gasps, her hips rising to meet me. I take my time, exploring her with my tongue, learning what makes her moan, what makes her grip the sheets.
I feel privileged to be her first in so long. To witness her surrender. I can feel her thighs trembling, hear the catch in her breath when I find just the right spot. Her hips move against my mouth, seeking more pressure, and I grasp her thighs, holding her steady as I continue my gentle assault.
She tastes delicious and I savor every moment. Her breathing grows increasingly erratic, her moans louder, less controlled. I can feel her approaching the edge, her body tensing beneath me.
When she comes, it’s with a cry that seems torn from deep inside her. Her body arches off the bed, taut as a bowstring, before collapsing back into the sheets. I move up to hold her, cradling her against me while she shudders through the aftershocks.
She buries her face in my neck, her breathing ragged. I feel wetness against my skin and realize she’s crying. Silent tears that speak volumes about how long she’s denied herself intimacy.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, stroking her hair. “I’ve got you.”
Athena turns on her side to face me and we lie tangled together in silence. Her tears have left a dampness on my shoulder, but they’ve stopped now.
“Are you okay?” I whisper, inching back to meet her eyes.
“Yeah. It’s…you know…” She wipes at her eyes and frowns like she’s surprised to feel tears. I’m sure many would find it hard to imagine Athena Stavros crying, but to me, she couldn’t be farther from the intimidating standoffish woman in white.
“I know,” I whisper back. And I do. I know how she feels and understand her fears like no other. “It’s a lot.”
We’re both navigating this strange territory of second chances, relearning what it means to be open, to trust, to love. I press my forehead against hers and breathe her in. Her arms tighten around me as if she’s afraid I might vanish, and I hold her just as fiercely.
We gravitate toward each other again, our bodies seeking connection as naturally as breathing. Her lips find mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens. The taste of salt from her tears mingles with the sweetness of her mouth as she rolls me beneath her, reclaiming her dominance. Gone is the hesitation, the vulnerability replaced by a fierce hunger that matches my own. I arch up to meet her, my hands mapping the contours of her body with newfound familiarity.
We move in synchrony, a sensual dance of giving and taking. In this sacred space between heartbeats, we’re no longer two broken souls but something whole and complete.
FIFTY-TWO
