She desperately wanted more.
Soren’s heavy breath penetrated the silence and he raised his hand to trace the soft bristles across her collarbone. Its gentle tickle curled her toes and she closed her eyes, moaning.
He repeated his strokes, dipping the tip into various colors, gliding its delicate bristles along her shoulder, her chest, and spiraling around her nipples until they stood hard and pebbled. Leaning forward, he blew cool air onto them, making her shudder in pleasure. Then he guided the bristles lower, swirling lovely patterns across her abdomen and thighs. He circled her, painting her skin as he’d promised. Making her into his work of art.
Soon, even the tops of her feet were green and black. Psyche twirled about, admiring the sparkling shimmer of the paint on her skin. “Well, now that you’re finished, what will you do with me?”
He rose from painting her toes and purred into her ear, “Who said I was finished?”
“You’ve painted all of me.” The muscles of her throat tightened and her lips parted with inquiry.
“No, not all.” Eros swirled the bristles into a rosy hue of paint. “Spread your legs for me, sweetling.”
Finally grasping his meaning, she licked her lips. Slowly, she widened her stance, parting those lovely slender thighs and revealing the silky pink flesh within.
He groaned, so tempted to lave his tongue across her hidden depths. Yet he forced his hand to grip the handle and continue his painting. He was seducing her mind as well as her body.
No point in enticing one without the other, not if his goal was to claim her heart.
Yesterday had been bloody torturous for him and today was proving the same. He’d not enjoyed a female’s company in a century, and that damned arrow had made his blood boil.
Gritting his teeth, Eros knelt behind Psyche and grazed the tip of the paintbrush between her legs, along the luscious folds of her sex. She gasped so sweetly he fought against taking her right then and there.
Instead, he swept the brush back and forth, smoothing it along her flesh until every bared inch was covered. Forcing himself to stand, he viewed his masterpiece and grunted in satisfaction. “Now, Arete, you are finished.”
She pressed her lips together, the red paint on them blushing bright. “I can’t be finished, because I’m about to explode.”
It was true. He sensed the heightened state of her arousal, the tension in her core that demanded release. How easy it would be to grab her hips and slide himself right inside. Eros tossed aside the brush, paint spraying the priceless tiles, and fisted his hand at his side, then opened his palm and clenched it again. He knew what she needed; he just wasn’t certain he could provide it without claiming anything more.
Restraint had never been an art he’d practiced and he was truly loathing the lesson.
Part of it was his fault, of course, because this wasn’t any ordinary paint. The dye contained a balm meant to stimulate desires. He flicked his tongue across his lips, his mouth drying at the anticipation. Hmm. The paint was entirely edible, too.
“I want you to take me,” her voice shook as she widened her stance, “like the pictures.”
Oh, those damned books. He should have burned them all, rather than have her head filled with their carnal suggestions.
Inhaling through his nose, he steeled himself. He was the bloody god of erotic love. Surely, he could pleasure a female with restraint.
Eros fell to his knees behind Psyche and skimmed his palms upward along the lush curves of her bottom. A pity he would ruin his masterpiece. Squeezing, he gave her a sharp slap, enticing a squeak from her lips. After affecting a beard across his jaw, he snared his hands around her waist and flicked his tongue along one plump round of her backside, slanting forward to suckle her flesh. One lick and suddenly his lips had to be everywhere. He couldn’t even blame the paint, either. Psyche’s nectar was simply too mouth-watering.
He wrenched her backward against him, planting his face between her thighs. She squealed in delight as she straddled his shoulders, writhing against him, her toes seeking purchase on the ground. He lifted her, spearing his tongue inside her. One leg on either side of his shoulders, he feasted upon her, laving his tongue, nipping his teeth, and suckling with his lips.
She tasted so addictive, he couldn’t get enough. His forceful strokes jostled her until she toppled forward, and he positioned her legs around his neck, plunging deeper. She whimpered, her legs trembling and her climax nearing. He sensed her desperation; it fueled his own.
He couldn’t stop.
He’d never not been able to stop.
Her slender fingers danced across his breeches and along his straining arousal. She tugged him free and her velvety lips closed around his tip. Eros roared, slamming his hips forward and thrusting himself inside that lush, sleek mouth while delving his tongue deep inside her.
Her inner muscles clamped around his tongue as a scream parted her lips.
Intoxicated by the rush of her release, he lost control of his, and his cock twitched in fierce jerks, spurting forth his essence into her mouth. She moaned and suckled, drinking him dry.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
Eros peeled her mouth off him and set her onto the tiles, spreading her thighs and groaning at the inviting flush of her sex. He lowered his hand to his length, palming the rigid, unsated weight of his erection.
Damn Hades, he craved this so badly.
She did, too, her legs parted for him, the slippery coating of her desire awaiting him with a beckoning welcome.
His chest heaved, perspiration mingling with the smudged paint on his skin. His body was aflame for her, for unfulfilled and unprecedented passions stirring within him. If he took her like this, all would be over. Lost. The rosy bloom of vigor across her flesh, snuffed out.
Gone.
Panting, Psyche raised her hand. “I’m spent, Soren.”
“What?” He whipped his head back and forth to fling away the haze.
“That was incredible but,” she closed her legs, “no more right now.”
Mighty Zeus, where did she find the resolve to refuse him? No one ever had before. He sank on his heels, admiring her even more. “Those are the sweetest words you have ever spoken to me.”
***
Psyche blinked, easing the tension in her muscles. She hadn’t been certain how Soren would react to her rejection, yet he seemed relieved. Her mind sparked with an inkling why. “Will you grant me three questions today?”
He clucked. “You are persistent.”
She beamed at him. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Drawing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them. “The other maidens. Were your relationships with them…intimate?”
“Aye.”
Indeed, she’d concluded as much. She traced one finger through a splatter of paint on the floor. “By your choice or theirs?”
He puffed and reclined as she did, stretching out his long legs. “Both.”
She pursed her lips at his shadowed haze. “Be honest.”
He cleared his throat. “Aye, well, one might state the fires of passion burned more brightly within them.”
“I thought so,” she murmured, snatching his hand. “Come with me.” Her purpose was to offer him what none of the other maidens had been able to. The more she learned of him, the more she grasped his prior relationships had only ever focused on the physical.
“Wait, don’t you wish for a third question?” He towed their linked hands toward him.
“No,” she winked, “not yet.” She tugged on his hand and bade him follow her to the atrium. The paint, while once erotic and stimulating, clung to her skin with a stifling stickiness. At the edge of the pool, she released his hand and called over her shoulder, “My final question for today is this, ‘If you could be any type of beast, what would you be?’ ” Laughing, she dove into the cool waters. A moment later, she thrust above the surface and shook out her wet locks. A sonorous splash splattered behind her and she spun around.
If she didn’t know he was Soren, she would be terrified. Even so, her muscles quivered.
“Why did you ask me such a frivolous question?” the panther questioned her in the beast’s deep timbre.
“Not frivolous.” She extended her hand to pet his silky fur. “I told you, I wish to learn who you are. Besides, you should learn who I am, too. I’m not the maiden who will bade you to bathe with her, only to abuse your trust. Though you pleasure my body with such sweet ecstasy, it will never overshadow how I feel about you.”
The panther tilted its head. “And how do you feel about me?”
“That is something you’ll have to determine on your own.” Curving her lips, she scooped water into her hands and splashed it at him.
He sputtered and his gleaming eyes narrowed. “Now, you’ve done it. Face my wrath, sweetling.”
As he charged, she dove beneath the surface, kicking from his clawed clutches. The moment she surfaced, he was right there, in front of her. With a tremendous sweep of his tail, he caused a wall of water to spray at her.
The panther chuckled as she sputtered the water from her mouth.
“Oh, you beast,” she roared, diving forward with one hand braced for retaliation.
Before she could splash him, he plunged beneath the surface, and she kicked about, spinning to locate him.
“Come out, unless you’re afraid of one tiny female,” she called, but a clamping weight seized her legs and dragged her under.
She sucked in a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut as he hauled her into the depths of the pool. Not a panther’s claws, but a man’s arms closed about her, spinning her around. Lips, hot and fervent, claimed hers, and when she should have suffered a burning in her lungs, they instead filled with crisp air.
Psyche melted into Soren’s kiss, savoring the strength of his firm lips pressed against hers. While she would love to open her eyes and view his face, she refused to be like that other maiden who’d bathed with him.
Through her trust, her blind faith, she would prove to him.
She was different.
***
Eros paced the ballroom the entire night, stalking the rose for any hint of change. After their bath, Psyche had retired to her chamber and fallen into a deep slumber. He’d attempted to rest beside her, but the stirrings inside him wouldn’t be quietened. Restlessness festered in his bones. His nagging concern over the Wind Borne’s presence wouldn’t leave him be. Apollo’s plot against his mother made no sense. His mother’s response, even less. Somewhere in the midst of everything, he suspected Psyche played a larger role than Aphrodite had revealed.
Apollo’s priestess had used her. The Wind Borne had attempted to abduct her.
It would seem, Psyche was in high demand. But why?
Her beauty was immense, true, yet there must be more to her value. He squinted into the morning sunshine. If only he could determine what. Huffing, Eros ascended the stairs and scanned her chamber, searching for Psyche. Her bed was cold, long abandoned. He flashed to the dining hall only to find it equally dismissed. Where could she be?
He prowled through the corridor, into the gardens, and sniffed. There. Psyche’s succulent floral scent drifted toward him. Following it, he strode into the maze, frowning at the freshly clipped hedges. He hadn’t commanded the automatons to tend the gardens, had he?
Rounding a corner, he spotted a flutter of pink silk. Aha. He swooped forward, and purred, “It’s rather early to be shearing bushes, don’t you think?”
Psyche released a gasp and spun toward him, brandishing clippers as long as her arms. “Oh, it’s you.” She tsked. “Well, someone has to. Your castle is in such disrepair. I can’t even enjoy a stroll in these lovely gardens.”
“Aye,” he placed a hand on her arm, halting her mid-clip, “but that’s what the servants are for.”
She shifted toward him, keen eyes peering into his shadows, making him shuffle his feet. “I’ve spent more time with the servants in my father’s castle than with those of my own station. They taught me many tasks, from cleaning out the stables to dusting the candelabras. There is much pride to be found in honest work, Soren.” She cast him a brilliant smile that squeezed his heart. “You should try it sometime.”
“Should I?” He whisked around her, stalking behind Psyche to kiss her exposed neck. “What would I learn, Arete, that I have not already?”
Chiming a laugh, she placed the shears in his hand. “Why don’t you take these and we’ll find out?” The challenge in her arched brow was too much to resist. Gods didn’t perform labors—those were for servants and mortals, yet he refused to back down. If he did as she requested, she’d view him as more than a spoiled Lord—or a beast.
“Humph.” He accepted the clippers and seized the challenge. The gardens were a place he usually avoided—too many painful memories—but for her, he would brave them. “Where should I begin?”
“Everywhere.” She smirked at him, but then waved her hand toward a hedge. “This one. It’s so overgrown, it’s blocking the path.”
Indeed, it was. Intentionally. “Nay, I cannot shear this one.” He strode to another. “That place is off-limits, Psyche.”
Her fine brows knit together. “Rule three?”
“Yes.” He snipped a vine with vigor. His preference would be to never visit that place again.
She linked her fingers together in front of her skirts. “Then we shall trim the rest of them, and someday, we’ll tend to that one, together.”
He tossed his head, scoffing. If only that could be possible.
***
Psyche studied Soren carefully as the morning progressed. What had begun as a dare quickly spun into a heated determination. He tackled the task of trimming the shrubbery with vigor, clipping it into tidy subordination.
After a while, she requested a pair of shears and he fetched them for her. Then, she flaunted her skills, a smidgen, by carving out a pair of doves.
He observed her handiwork and promptly countered with a twisting serpent.
Their competition grew from there, and now, the maze was littered with enough leafy creatures to fill a menagerie.
She set down her shears and bobbed her head in satisfaction at her swan.
“Pretty,” Soren called from across the pathway. “But not nearly as impressive as this.”
She spun toward his creation, squinting and treading closer to make it out. The shrub appeared to be a…man? His impressive phallus rigidly awaited the moment of penetrating the female who posed on all fours at his feet.
“Oh, ho, no.” She stormed toward the erotic pair and, snatching his shears, snipped off the inappropriate erection. “Not here, Soren. Children might see.” Her cheeks flushed hot at his boldness.
He plucked the severed phallus from the ground. “You can’t do that to the poor lad.” Snickering, he attempted to reattach it, but the phallus wouldn’t stick. “Besides, what children?”
She cursed her tongue. What children, indeed. When she’d blurted those words, had she truly pictured their little darlings running freely through this maze?
Such a foolish notion.
“Ah, nothing. I meant the servants. They are so innocent.”
“Nay,” his droning purr echoed behind her, his steel arms encircling her waist. “I believe you meant ours. Would you wish for children, Psyche?” His hand slipped lower, gathering the silk of her skirts.
She suppressed a moan, unsure of how to answer. Never as the daughter of the King had she wished for a family of her own—because surely that would mean she’d been sold as a wife to some horrid man.
Hmm. Children with Soren? In this enchanted place? She twisted in his arms, hating the shadow
s clouding his face. “With you, yes.” She swayed forward, her mouth seeking his, but he released her.
“You wish for a dream then, sweetling. I fear I am cursed to never experience such joy.”
Psyche frowned, biting her lip. “Because you cannot, or because you will not?”
“Argh,” he snapped. “What difference does it make?”
“Every difference.” She inclined her head toward the darkness encompassing him. “The gods may have cursed you, Soren, but they do not control your fate. No one does.”
“Other than the Fates.” He chuckled and she smiled at his jest.
“Indeed.” Extending her hand, she grasped for his. “No matter what, you have me, to stand by your side and…” She halted her declaration. The truth was, she had a new mission. The beast wasn’t the enemy—that foe was the one who’d cursed him. If she could uncover who it was, she might bargain with them and free Soren.
In turn, free them all.
It must begin with this—would Soren accept her hand?
***
Eros regarded Psyche’s offered hand and swallowed thickly. Why in Hades was she determined to free him? To stand by him? What the bloody hell had she stopped herself from uttering?
He didn’t deserve such loyalty, or such faith.
If she guessed his true nature, she’d not offer either.
He certainly wasn’t worthy. Why, he’d spent centuries wallowing in his tortured fate, instead of attempting to drive through it.
Here stood this one small mortal, her entire being willing to tread paths dangerous and unfathomable with him.
“Psyche, I…” He stared at her hand, then the ground.
“You don’t have to be alone anymore, Soren,” she whispered gently, stepping toward him.
His shoulders deflated from the weight of his burdens. “I see that, but I’m not worthy of your aid, not yet.” Too long had he forsaken his duties. He was the god of erotic love and he’d not spread any in a very long time.
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