I honestly hadn’t planned on it. Sex is exactly what I labeled it: a tool to help me let off some steam and wind down. I have a good time. My partners have a good time. Everyone has clear expectations. It might sound like I’m a user, but the truth is that I’m no prize and everyone in Olympus knows it. Anyone I try to date has to deal with the mother-in-law from Tartarus, and that’s not even touching on my reputation as her fixer. I’m the guy they fuck, the guy who gives them a ride on the wild side before they move on to safer choices to settle down with. That’s the way it is, and it’s always been enough for me.
That doesn’t mean I’m about to confess that truth to Psyche without prompting. Not when this is just another negotiation. “Psyche.” I like the way her name tastes on my tongue. I suspect I’ll like the way she tastes even more. “I have needs.”
“I suggest you get familiar with your hand, then.” She has a stubborn set to her brows that I enjoy far too much. “Or, if you want to get fancy, I’m more than capable of purchasing you one of those toys that mimic your hole of choice.”
That surprises a laugh out of me. “Will you be content with your hand or a little buzzy toy?”
“I have had dry spells before. More often than not in recent months, those dry spells have been the rule rather than the exception.” She shrugs as if it’s a fact of life and not a godsdamned tragedy.
I slide my hands closer to her, pressing my forearms to her hips. She jolts a little, and I raise my brows. “The surest way to have you settle into the idea of me touching you is through exposure therapy. Sex will speed up that process.”
She blinks those big hazel eyes at me. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. I thought you just suggested sex with you as exposure therapy.”
“I did.”
“You really have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”
I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not, so I ignore the question. “I’m attracted to you. You don’t find me overly repulsive.”
“Wow, you really do think highly of yourself.”
“I’m stating facts. Sex is the easiest way to fast-track to the results we want.” The easiest way to get exactly what I want.
Maybe it’ll be just another sexual encounter. Desire, sex, wake up the next morning with that need purged. We never have to do it again; we’re more than capable of sharing the same space without making things uncomfortable. She’s too good at playing the game to do otherwise, and control is never something I’ve had an issue with.
Until now.
“No. Absolutely not. I don’t know what you see when you look at me that makes you assume I’d happily have sex with a man who was set to murder me an hour ago, but I have higher standards than that.” She puts the slightest amount of pressure against my chest. “Back off, Eros. Now.”
I do as she asks, allowing her to push me several steps back. I want her in my bed, but I want her there willingly. “We can’t leave this apartment until you manage not to startle when I touch you.”
“I’ll be fine by morning.” She makes a show of looking around. “Now, do you have a spare bedroom?”
“Psyche.” I wait for her to look at me. I do have a spare bedroom and it’s more than adequate for her needs. But I want Psyche in my bed, and I’ll play dirty to get her there, even if it’s just to sleep. “I meant it about exposure therapy. If not sex, then sleeping next to each other will do in a pinch.”
“No.”
“It’s nonnegotiable.”
“There are plenty of couples who don’t share bedrooms. My mother and her second husband never slept together.”
I raise my brows. “The existence of you and Persephone suggests otherwise.”
She’s so damn cute when she blushes. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Stop trying to distract me.”
“Love match.” I speak the words slowly. “If we’ve lost our minds enough to rush through with a marriage, then it would be strange if you flinch every time I get close enough to touch you.”
“I’ll work on it. We don’t have to sleep in the same bed to accomplish our goals.”
I’m already tired of this argument. “You don’t want to play?” I motion behind me. “There’s the door. I won’t hurt you, but my mother will send someone else. If you want to try your chances surviving the week, you’re more than welcome to.” It’s a bluff. I can’t let her leave. Not when the consequences for both of us are so damn high.
She looks at me like she hates me, but I can live with that, because she turns toward the hallway leading deeper into the house. “Let’s finish the tour of this monstrosity of a penthouse.”