I offer my hand, a feral part of me crowing in victory when she sets her hand in mine. Such a small thing, allowing me to tug her to her feet, but it feels more significant than that. It feels like we really have started something meaningful. It’s foolish in the extreme to let myself believe that. Psyche might like the way I fuck, but she doesn’t like me.
She doesn’t hate me, though. She’s too good a person to let me touch her like this if she truly hated me. That’s a tiny ledge to stand on and wish for more, but I’ve been in more impossible situations and come out on top.
I maintain my grip on her hand and lead her into the bathroom. She doesn’t argue as I get the water going or when I follow her into the spray. For a moment, something wary lingers in her eyes. “If you could see the way you look at me. I don’t understand it.”
“What’s there to understand?” I can’t shut down my expression now. It’s a skill I’ve managed for as long as I can remember, closing out others and offering nothing I don’t intend to. But right here, right now, I’m an open book if she’s inclined to read me.
Psyche stares up into my face for a long moment, blushes, and ducks beneath the spray. I’m both disappointed and grateful for the reprieve. Some things are better left unsaid, especially when I’m still not sure how I’m feeling, when I’m riding the edge of control.
But she’s here in my shower and I am only human.
I grab the shampoo from her hand. “Let me.”
“Eros, that’s not necessary.”
“It has nothing to do with necessity and everything to do with the fact that I want to.” We just had sex. I should be sated, if temporarily. Instead, my need for her only seems to grow stronger. I pour the shampoo into my hands and get to work massaging it into the heavy length of her hair. She stays tense for a moment, but once she seems to realize that I have no intention of rushing, Psyche sighs and relaxes against me.
She might not realize the significance of this, but it’s impossible for me not to. She’s stopped fighting me somewhere along the way. This woman will never submit, will always be looking at a situation from a thousand different angles, but right now, she’s content to let me take care of her.
She…trusts me.
She shouldn’t. She has absolutely no evidence to support this. And yet here we are. It feels like a gift, one I certainly don’t deserve but will accept nonetheless.
We finish showering relatively quickly, and Psyche makes me wait while she dries her hair, but eventually we end up back in the bedroom together. She stares at the bed. “We don’t have to…”
“Psyche.” I wait for her to look at me to continue. “I want you. The sun isn’t up yet. Do you want more?”
It’s hard to tell in the shadows of the room, but I think she blushes. “I shouldn’t.”
“I didn’t ask what you thought you should do. I asked what you want to do.”
She exhales slowly. “Yes, Eros. I want more of you.”
Thank fuck. I pull her into my arms and brush her hair back from her face. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Let’s keep going.” I kiss her before she has a chance to fire off some smart-ass response.
Tonight. We have tonight. We can worry about tomorrow in the morning.
18
Psyche
I wake up in waves of sensation. The earthy scent of Eros against my skin. The warmth of him at my back, his arm a comforting weight over my waist, the bed’s luxurious sheets and comforter wrapped up around us to ward off the chill. The sweet ache of my body from everything we did last night.
I don’t want to open my eyes. If I open my eyes, this is over, and I’m not ready to step back onto the battleground. Later, I’ll be more worried about my hesitation, will probably curse myself seven times over for the moment of weakness after the ceremony. Another thing to add to Future Me’s tab. A terrible habit I’m settling into.
Eros’s arm tightens around me, his hand spreading to press to the spot just beneath my breasts. “Morning.”
Now there’s no pretending any longer. We’re both awake. It’s time to get up and talk through our next steps.
Except I don’t.
Instead, I arch back a little, pressing my ass to his hard cock. “Morning.”
His harsh exhale tickles the small hairs at the back of my neck. “The sun’s up.”
Damn him for insisting on pulling back the curtain and shining light on this situation. Would it be so hard to ignore the sliver of dawn showing through the window? I sigh. “Then I guess we should be up, too.”