Again, he didn’t speak as he pushed her back down again, his hands at the buttons of her jeans, pulling at them, undoing them. Then he was jerking down the denim to the tops of her thighs, taking her underwear with them, and somehow the fact that he didn’t undress her entirely or himself, was intensely erotic. As if he couldn’t wait.
A curse escaped him as he looked down at her, all exposed for him, in a language that was at once foreign to her and familiar at the same time. And a dim part of her tried to puzzle it out, but then he was jerking at the denim, shifting as he spread her thighs so he could kneel between them. Positioning himself, and then stretching over her. And she could feel the hot, hard length of him pressing against her entrance, then sliding in slowly. Deep and then getting deeper.
She groaned. He felt big and it hurt, but it was a good pain. She didn’t want him to stop. Strange tears started in her eyes, and then suddenly it didn’t hurt any more and there was only him, filling her so completely that she hadn’t known she’d been empty until this moment. She hadn’t known that she’d ever wanted someone there, but she had. She’d wanted him. He was still for a moment, the blazing intensity of his gaze looking down into hers, and she felt her body adjust. He fit her like he’d been made for her.
Then he began to move, and everything became desperate, the ache inside her building until she didn’t think she could bear it. Yet she wanted more, because even though the friction was driving her mad, it somehow wasn’t enough.
She twisted beneath him, her hands against his bare chest, her nails digging in, heedless of his scars. ‘Ares,’ she gasped. ‘Ares... More. Please...’
His mouth took hers, her desperate pleas lost, and then his hand was down between her thighs, his fingers applying the most exquisite pressure right where she needed it most. Then he gave one hard thrust and she felt as if the whole world was coming apart and her right along with it.
Dimly, in the corner of her mind that wasn’t quite lost, she was conscious of his own movements, faster, harder. Then he gave a low, guttural roar, before he joined her, lying in pieces before the fire.
CHAPTER SIX
ARESLAYTHEREfor a full minute, completely and utterly stunned. He hadn’t expected this to happen, not any of it. He’d thought she’d be upset when he’d told her about Athena, not that she’d touch his face and kiss him. And he certainly hadn’t expected her to then turn so soft and hot in his hands that he hadn’t been able to resist her.
He hadn’t expected to pull her down onto the rug in front of the fire, to be so lost that he hadn’t even bothered to undress her properly, his only thought to get inside her as quickly as possible.
What he’d expected was another six months of her getting to know him and mastering his own desire until—if!—she decided she wanted to remain married to him.
What happened to your control? You didn’t even bother to use protection.
He gritted his teeth, trying not to be furious with himself as well as ignoring the odd possessiveness at the thought of her being pregnant with his child.
He’d promised Naya children and he’d meant to provide them, and he’d honestly thought he’d be more detached about the idea of having children with someone else and yet... He wasn’t quite as detached as he’d thought he’d be.
You weren’t supposed to touch her. You were supposed to wait.
The fury at himself twisted tighter, but he shoved it away. It was too late to get wound up about it now. She’d touched him and it was he who’d gone up in flames. He’d let himself go too long without a woman, let himself be overcome by desire and by the look in her eyes when he’d told her about Athena, as if he’d handed her the moon and the stars on a plate, and every single one of his controls had vanished.
He had no one but himself to blame for it. He had to do better.
He lifted his head and looked down at her.
Rose’s face was flushed, small tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail clustered around her damp forehead in tiny threads of gold. Her eyes were very wide, staring at him, the firelight gilding the tips of her lashes.
She looked just as shocked as he felt.
‘Are you all right?’ His voice sounded even rougher than it normally was. ‘I hurt you.’ It wasn’t a question. He’d felt her tense as he’d pushed inside her. And he’d tried to stop then, but...
It had been years.Years.The feel of her, the heat of her, the scent of her body and the sounds she’d made, everything so soft and silky and smooth...
He’d forgotten how incredible it felt to sink into a woman’s body, to feel her clench around him, to hear her sighs in his ears as he gave her pleasure. To feel her welcome him and enclose him...ah,Theos, how could he have forgotten all of that?
Perhaps he’d denied himself too long and that was why it had been so good. He just missed sex. Nothing to do with Rose in particular.
‘It hurt a little bit. But not really.’ She was staring at him as if she’d never seen anything like him in all her life. ‘Ares...is it always like that?’
He liked that expression on her face. It made everything male in him, the parts of himself he’d almost forgotten, growl with satisfaction. ‘Not always,’ he said roughly, remembering the first few fumbling times before he’d met Naya.
He shifted slightly so he wasn’t lying on top of her, realising as he did so that he was getting hard again, and that he didn’t want to push himself away from her completely. What he wanted was to strip her clothes off her, feast on her naked body until he had her screaming, and then he wanted to be inside her again, feeling the tight clasp of her sex around his, moving inside her until they both lost their minds.
Except that losing his mind had never been part of his promise to Naya. Children, he’d promised her, nothing more. Then again, it was just physical pleasure, that’s all, and certainly nothing lasting.
Enjoying sex with Rose didn’t mean anything.
‘What is it?’ she asked, a crease between her brows, obviously noticing his abstraction. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you—’