“Percy.” Her voice was a whine, a sound she’d never heard coming from her lips. “I want—” She didn’t know, not exactly, only that he had everything she needed. And for once, she felt as though he could give it to her. “Please.”
He cursed, low and fluently, under his breath, and reached up her sides, thumbs skimming her ribs, until he reached the tender underside of her breasts. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes, I—I think so.”
That same thumb slid over her peaked nipple, and she let out a squeak of surprise at the bloom of pleasure. The tension between her legs notched a little higher. All the other times they’d come together, he’d touched her, and although some part of her had enjoyed it, nothing had ever felt like this. In the end, just as he abandoned his place in her bed, he’d abandoned those attempts to please her. And so, as a result, this heat, the restless, needy coil in her lower belly, winding tighter with every movement of his hands and roll of her hips, was entirely new.
His nightshirt, damp from her arousal, served to prevent flesh touching flesh. And perhaps that was a good thing, even if the hollowness, thewanting, only grew with every brush of his hands against her.
Sweet torture. Delicious torment. Endless, unquenchable desire.
She wanted more, yet did not know how to ask for it.
“Please,” she pleaded, only half aware of what she was saying.
He sat up, bringing his face closer to hers, but instead of her lips, he pressed his mouth against her breast. Hot, wet tongue dampened the material, sending another pang of pleasure through her.
“Percy.” His name caught between her teeth.
“Take it,” he urged, fingers flexing against her hip. “Take everything you want from me.”
For years, she had been doing just that. How selfish. How short-sighted, when they could have been doingthisfor all that time.
Her breaths grew shorter. Fractured. He hissed through his teeth as she ground down on him; even though the layers of clothing, she felt him twitch. She felt half mad in her lust, like she had discarded every artifice she had been wearing. There was nothing between them but this mutual, desperate, all-consuming want.
He sucked her breasts, flicking her nipples with his tongue, cupping them with his hands, murmuring praise over and over, as though he was as lost as she. She already knew his restraint lay tattered behind them both. His hand at her waist urged on her, encouraging her to continue her gyrations against him even as her body trembled and her movements grew jerky.
Everything was out of control.
The pleasure in her body tightened.
“Please,” he said, his turn to beg, though she didn’t know what for. He thrust up into her, the movement seeming involuntary, as though he could not quite stop himself. “Please, Cecy. I want to see your face.”
The heat gathered between her legs, pleasure that pulsed and tightened with every brush of his length against her folds. Closer, closer, until she could see nothing but the dim outline of his face, eyes locked on hers, every line of his features tense. He rocked against her again, or perhaps she rocked against him, and she broke.
An eruption of heat and pleasure, a river breaking its dam, rushed through her, roaring and almost violent in its intensity. She gasped, moaned, shuddered even as Percy told her to be silent, to be quiet, to say his name again because he needed her, he needed to hear her say it, and she thought perhaps she did, only she could be certain of nothing but the way her body felt, endless waves of perfect pleasure.
Only when it faded, when she came back to herself and found Percy’s arms locked tight around her, did she realise that he was still talking. Murmuring about how perfect she was, how much he adored her, how much he wanted her, still wanted her, wanted everything. And she shifted against him again, the sudden flash of pleasure blinding.
Her breath trembled on its way out, and she moved again, testing her limits, wondering whether it was too much—if she could take it, if she needed space between them—when Percy moaned. The sound slipped from his lips like a prayer, or perhaps a curse, and he stiffened under her, his erection pulsating. Hot dampness soaked into the nightgown separating them, and after a belated second, she understood that he had reached his climax, too.
The last vestiges of sleep left her, and she buried her head in Percy’s shoulder. His hand came to cradle her head, gentledespite his deep, panting breaths. Awareness slowly filtered through. She was straddling him, her legs on either side of his hips and his arms fully enfolded around her. The dampness between her legs wasn’t unpleasant enough to encourage her to move—and she wasn’t entirely sure she could, anyway. Her legs trembled and she felt as though the strength had drained from her limbs.
Well, that was . . . That was . . . It had been magical.
And it had been with herhusband.
There was no difference between him and Odysseus, after all. No reason for her to lock up. Nothing to obstruct this delight.
“Are you all right?” he murmured, breath still a little shaky by her ear.
She had been the one to undo him.
And he had been the one to shred her into pieces and put them back together again.
She felt reborn.
“I think so,” she said. “I—” She almost wanted to ask if this had been enough to persuade him to take her as his wife once again, in every meaning of the word. But perhaps, although she wanted it more than anything, it would be more tactful to wait.
