She stroked a single finger through his chest hairs and when he made to move shook her head firmly. “Don’t. I’m not finished.”
His eyes narrowed, but he only said, “As you will.”
She bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling and traced through the divided muscles of his belly to his navel. She circled that lightly, watching as his belly contracted in reaction. Farther down she followed the trail of dark hair that led to his groin. His penis lay slightly to the side, pulsing. His foreskin had pulled back, revealing his glistening head. She stared frankly, for if he found her lovely, she found him devastating.
She ducked and took him into her mouth, warm and bitter, without waiting to think or ask if it was permissible. She wanted him—all of him.
He jackknifed at her sudden movement, and she saw, out of the corners of her eyes, his hands hovering, fingers spread, on either side of her head, as if he didn’t know quite what to do.
Well, neither did she—she’d never done this before—but she wasn’t going to let inexperience keep her from this moment.
She sucked lightly at the head, tasting bitter salt, holding him to her mouth with both hands. She ran her tongue slowly around the silky head and then along the edge of his taut foreskin.
He moaned above, though she doubted this was helping him much. After all, it was nothing like the motion he made inside her.
That led to another thought and she gave him an open-mouthed kiss before looking up. “What do you do when you’re alone?”
He blinked sleepily, eyes widening. “What?”
He must know exactly what she meant. A corner of her mouth kicked up. Had she shocked him? “Show me, please.”
She sat back, releasing her hold on him. She watched as he grasped himself with his right hand, pausing.
She bent and kissed him again, the moisture at the tip slipping over her lips. She looked up into his eyes from her position and whispered, “Please?”
His nostrils flared and he nodded, stroking his closed fist up, and then palming the head to spread the seeping moisture around. He stroked down, much faster and stronger than she would’ve done herself, and she watched in absolute fascination. How often did he do this? And what did he think about when he did?
She looked up to see that he’d flung his arm across his eyes like a debauched faun, the muscle of his upper arm bunched, the tufts of underarm hair strangely erotic. She leaned forward, licking his chest as his fist bumped against her belly and he started.
“Don’t stop,” she husked, scooting closer, and closer still until his hand was rubbing against her with every stroke, his knuckles brushing through her lips. She ground her pelvis down on his hand as she drew aside the arm covering his eyes and took his face in her hands, kissing him deeply.
He placed his hand on her bottom, urging her closer as he aimed himself, and with one thrust entered her. She leaned forward so that the angle pressed the apex of her slit against his pelvic bone. Then she began to ride him, fast and hard, grinding against him with every downstroke, using him to pleasure herself. She was trembling, her body melting with the heat and desire they made between them, and she watched him as she rode his cock. He swallowed, his eyes on her, his upper lip curled.
Until she saw stars and she had to close her own eyes. She swiveled against him, finding that spot—that perfect spot of friction and heat—and sobbed aloud as she came, her body liquid with melting desire.
He took her hips and thrust forcefully up into her as she curled down into him, holding on as he slammed repeatedly into her, finding his own release. Finding his own point of desire.
And afterward, as she lay exhausted against him, tracing a finger through his sweat-dampened hair, she wondered if there was a way back to her old life after this.
Or if he’d led her into a maze in which she’d be lost forever.
Chapter Eighteen
The monster watched Ariadne with his beautiful eyes as she tended to him. When she was finished he made to stand, but stumbled, swaying. Impulsively she wrapped her arms about his muscled waist to steady him. He looked down at her curiously, then led her to a bower, where he offered her berries and clean water. And although he did not speak, she thought there was intelligence in his soft brown gaze…
—From The Minotaur
Apollo crept down the corridor toward his uncle’s study.
Well. As much as a man his size could creep.
It was past midnight and as far as he could tell all the guests were asleep, including Lily. He’d had to leave her sweet warmth to go investigating, and he hoped it wouldn’t take long.
He wanted to return to her.
The door to his uncle’s study was unlocked, thank God, and he ducked inside as quietly as he could. It wasn’t a very big room. A single bookshelf appeared to hold ledgers, with a table and chair in front of it, while a desk and chair stood at one end near a fireplace.
Apollo crossed to the desk and set the candle he’d brought on a corner. The top of the desk held only a jar of quills and an inkpot on a blotter. He went around the desk and sat in the chair to try the middle of the three drawers that ran across the front of the desk. It was unlocked and he drew it easily open to find a thin pile of papers, a pencil, and a penknife. Nothing else.