They had no guarantee of a happily-ever-after, but she wanted him bad, too. Every broody, darkly seductive inch of him.
“Ophelia?” he rasped, his body so, so, so close to hers...but not close enough.
“I want you,” she croaked.
His nostrils flared. “It wouldn’t change anything. Until the conclusion of my task, you will remain a prisoner here. If you show up on a battlefield, I will kill you. We’ll never be partners.”
She absorbed verbal blow after verbal blow, taking her medicine, unwilling to give up—then she smiled. Because she accepted what he hadn’t: This would change everything.
“I want you still, Halo.”
Faster than she could track, he grabbed and tossed her to the mattress, where she bounced, breathless.
“What is it you want from me?” He prowled at the side of the bed, a predator toying with prey. “Say it.”
“I want to have sex with you.” Rather than scramble upright, she stretched, getting comfortable. “Lots and lots of full penetration, fill me with every drop of your satisfaction sex.”
Black flooded his eyes, there and gone. “Why here? Why now? What do you gain from this?”
Ouch. Another doozy of a blow. But she could take a licking and keep on ticking.
Ophelia allowed her deepest, most secret emotions to overtake her face. Longing. Desire. Hope. Why not put everything on the line? If a harpy went down, she went down swinging.
“I gain you,” she said simply. “I might be, kind of, sort of falling for you. We mesh.” And there it was, the truth laid bare. No going back now. “You’re kind of wonderful sometimes. And if we can get past the whole you murdering me thing, I think we’ve really got a shot at something special.”
His mouth opened and closed, unintelligible sounds leaving him. “You are...falling for me?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You cuddle me and play games. Train me and recognize me. And you’re warm. And you smell good. And the pleasure you give me is immeasurable. And you’re intense and smart and you have so many muscles, and I want you so much, why are we even still talking right now? Put your hands on me, Halo. Touch me...and I’ll touch you too.”
23
Touch her? I must.
Halo brushed his fingertips along Ophelia’s midriff, where her tank top had risen above her jeans. Soft as silk.
More.
Entranced, he lifted the hem of her shirt. He shouldn’t instigate this contact—shouldn’t seek more. He should walk away. Nothing good could come from getting inside her. Except him. When he came inside her. Which he wouldn’t be doing.
But still he didn’t walk away. A bounty of femininity lay before him. Ophelia reclined on the comforter, her dark locks splayed over the covers, her dusky skin flushed, and her red lips parted. Light green irises devoured him, filleting his control. The most intense desire of his life razored his nerves.
He would kill to sink inside this woman. He had killed for the privilege. Why deny himself any longer?
No. He would deny himself. After conversing with the other Astra, he’d opted to encase Ophelia in a trinite coffin and put her in hibernation. Each warlord possessed the ability; to create entire realms, they’d learned to manipulate the atmosphere around them. His hope? Removing her from the task, rendering her unreachable to the Deathless, with no way to communicate with him or respond to an “invitation.”
The coffin and forced sleep might not work. There were no sureties—except her reaction. She would not forgive him for it. In fact, she might hate him. He shouldn’t care about her feelings. Their relationship was over. Her emotions had no bearing on the situation. But he cared.
Were they truly over? No more training at the coliseum? No providing food for her to earn or steal? No small hands constantly seeking him throughout the day, driving him mad?
He bit his tongue. Perhaps he didn’t need to put her to sleep for days to come. The next labor might not even involve any kind of combat. Hercules had only had to clean a mystical stable filled with thousands of immortal cattle.
Halo could do that. He could do anything—except kill the harpy again.
“Please, Halo.” She subtly thrust her hips, appearing starved. Dilated pupils. Panting breaths. A fever-flush he longed to feel pressed against his skin. His lips. “Touch me.”
Could he leave her in this needy state? Surely he wasn’t so cruel.
Welcoming your own defeat?
“Let me show you where I ache.” She whipped off her tank top, revealing a lacy bra the same light green as her irises. “Do you want to see, Halo?”
“Yes. No. Absolutely not.” He gritted his teeth. How could she want this? How could she want him? He’d done worse to her than he’d ever done to Five. “Put the tank back on. Now.”
“You mean take my pants off too? Okay.” She kicked off her boots and shimmied out of her jeans, revealing matching panties. Lacy and light green. A barely there scrap of material he could remove with a single claw. His fingers twitched involuntarily, his nail beds heating.