Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
In the morning, I’ll wake up to find him gone and I’ll hate him all the more for his absence. And maybe I’ll hate myself a little for the sliver of disappointment I can’t quite banish. I’ve always had more than my fair share of hate to spread around.
He grips my hips, pulling me down in a grinding motion while he presses against the sides of my mound with his thumbs. The squeeze isn’t direct contact to my clit, but after coming so hard from his tongue, I’m sensitive to the point of pain. It’s as if Zeus has a map of my pleasure in a way that no one else ever has. He’s so fucking methodical that I think he clocked me on our wedding night. He’s only gotten better since then.
Bastard.
Through it all, he never says a word. Not even when I lose control and dig my nails into his chest. “More!”
He gives me more. He always gives me more. Until I overflow with it, my body going tight and hot and gushing all over him. Normally, it’s enough to pull him over the edge with me, to end this awful, wonderful moment where nothing makes sense. Then we’ll clean up and retreat to our respective sides of the bed and sleep. Or he sleeps. I lie there, filled with loathing for him, for this city, and for myself.
Not tonight. He rolls us and shifts back to kneel between my legs, pressing my thighs wide until I’m bent in half. Then he’s inside me again, fucking me in long, punishing strokes that rub deliciously inside me. I don’t mean to reach for him. I sure as fuck don’t mean to grab his hips and pull him deeper yet. “Harder,” I gasp.
He doesn’t hesitate to give me exactly what I ask for. It should be enough to make me feel in control, but I’m the one unraveling and he’s still the perfect ice king. He fucks me like he’s mad at me, like he’s punishing me, but that doesn’t make any sense because who punishes with pleasure?
My orgasm has barely faded and it’s already building again, even stronger this time. If I were more in control, I would shove him off and walk away, leaving him with only his hand for comfort. But I’m too greedy. Instead of pushing him away, I pull him closer and then it’s too late—I’m coming again, and this time he’s coming with me.
In this one perfect moment, my mind is still. I’m not a peaceful person by nature, but I can almost wrap my hands around the concept of it. The fact that my husband is the source of the sensation is beyond my ability to reconcile. So I don’t. I’ve lived with plenty of dichotomies in my life; what’s one more?
Zeus’s hands flex on my thighs, holding me open even as my body pulses from the strength of the orgasm, drawing me back into the present. “No more, Hera.”
I blink into the near-perfect darkness. I can’t even see his outline above me. Why is he talking to me? We don’t talk in bed. “What?”
“You’re discreet enough that not even MuseWatch has caught wind of your lover, but I don’t give a fuck. I don’t want him here.”
My…lover.
It takes my pleasure-drunk brain a beat to catch up. He means Ixion. He’s jealous of Ixion. The thought would make me laugh if I had the breath for it. I’m not fool enough to sleep with anyone except Zeus, not when the parentage of my parasite is so vital to my plans and, by extension, the safety of my family. That’s why I accepted this marriage, after all—to protect my sisters.
But admitting that Ixion and I aren’t having sex feels like giving away a piece of vital information—and power with it. Especially when I’m sure Zeus’s late nights at the office aren’t spent alone. I see the way people watch him. Even though he’s not charismatic like his father, he’s got power and that’s enough to make him attractive to a certain type of person. Ganymede missed becoming Hera and now he practically throws himself at Zeus every chance he gets. And he’s just one person. There are a dozen more young, beautiful things willing to play paramour, and those are only the ones I know about.
Not that I’m jealous. I’m not. I don’t care what my husband gets up to as long as it keeps him distracted from what I’m up to.
“Hera,” he growls. “I don’t demand much of you, but I’ll be damned before I let you make me a cuckold in my own home.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell the truth, but that’s just the endorphins from sex clouding my thinking. If Zeus believes the reason I’m sneaking around is because I’m fucking the head of my bodyguards, then he won’t be worrying about what I’m actually doing. Mainly: plotting his death.