No. It’s never like this. “You’re saying sex hasn’t been like this before for you?”
She looks away and I allow it. I’m feeling pretty fucking vulnerable all of a sudden, too. Psyche shakes her head. “No, it’s not like this with other people. It hasn’t been bad or anything, just different.”
A part of me wants to shy away from admitting it’s the same for me, but the larger part wants to use this knowledge to bind us together even tighter. I press one finger to her chin, guiding her face back to me. “It hasn’t been like this for me, either.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I won’t. I promise. We lie to other people, but not to each other. Not going forward.” I hesitate, but the vulnerability in her eyes draws forth the truth. “I seduce, Psyche. I’m actually quite good at it when I’m so inclined. I never lose control enough to be overwhelming. Not with anyone but you.”
“Oh.”
I give her a mock frown. “Oh? That’s all you have to say?”
She trails her fingers up my arm and back down again. “Eros?”
“Yeah?”
“We haven’t left the bed yet.”
I grin and press her back against the mattress. “We sure as fuck haven’t.”
20
Psyche
I’ve never been a reckless woman. I’ve bent over backward to ensure that I could anticipate any outcome, could be several steps ahead of any opponents. As a daughter of Demeter, carelessness has consequences and so I’ve avoided it.
Until now.
Spending the day in bed with Eros is a mistake. I know it’s a mistake, but every time I consider getting up and facing the rest of the world, he kisses me or touches me or, gods, just looks at me. And then we’re off again, working each other into a frenzy of lust and need. If it were just that, maybe I could convince myself that I haven’t veered off the path to the point of no return, haven’t driven this plan right off a cliff. Except we spend several hours catnapping, curled around each other as if we’re newlyweds in truth, rather than pretending to be simply to serve a purpose.
By the time I can no longer ignore the growling sounds my stomach makes, it’s early evening. I shove him back and practically throw myself off the bed. “I need to eat. I need to shower.”
“I’ll join you.”
“No!” I scramble back a step, panic rising because of how badly I actually do want him to join me. I need distance, and I need it now. “Give me a few, okay?”
Eros watches me closely, and it’s painful to witness his walls come back up. I hadn’t even realized they’d inched down at some point during the day. Before I can change my mind, he’s back to the coldly calculating man I’ve known him to be up to this point. “Take your time. I’ll put together something to eat.”
“Okay.” I barely wait for him to pull on a pair of pants and leave the room before I grab my phone and rush into the bathroom. It seems silly to lock the door, but I’ll take anything to make me feel more centered right now. I turn on the water and stare at myself in the mirror.
I look like a mess.
There’s whisker burn on my neck and chest and, really, my entire body. Red marks from Eros’s fingers pressing into my hips and thighs will likely turn into bruises later. The sensory memory threatens to overwhelm me, and I shiver. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have slept with him. Instead of thinking about our next move and about how to counter whatever lies Aphrodite decides to spin, I’m thinking about how good it felt when he slid his hand between my legs and…
Gods.
I grip my phone tightly, but who am I supposed to call? Callisto? She’s going to rip me a new one the first opportunity she gets. Persephone? She’s already made her thoughts on this marriage clear; she’s not going to have sympathy that I’m suddenly having second thoughts about the whole thing. Not to mention if she found out what the other option was…
No, I can’t call her. I can’t call anyone.
I take a deep breath and set the phone on the counter. This isn’t the first time Olympus life has overwhelmed me. I already have the tools I need to steady the ground beneath my feet. I hope.
Despite my promise to be quick—not to mention the relatively late hour—I take a decently long shower and then put myself together, piece by piece. Hair dried and straightened. Subtle but flawless makeup. I duck into the spare bedroom and pull on a pair of leggings, knit socks, and my favorite oversize sweater. Relaxed, but photo ready. It’s enough. It has to be.
I make myself take the time to stage a photograph in the fading sunlight filtering through Eros’s giant windows. It’s not up to my usual standards, and it takes me ten pictures to nail the soft and happy smile that I’m aiming for, but it’ll do until I can get some more content created in the morning. I type out a happy, sappy caption as I head down the hallway.