Her parents babbled like confused babes, but Borasco’s smirk only narrowed further, flashes of his darker self threatening to break through.
“Perhaps you should let the Lady choose for herself?” Soren twisted toward her, his hooded face obscured. “Psyche?”
“Nonsense,” her father managed to gripe. “These are matters for men to discuss, not ignorant women.”
Her ire flamed, but she bit her tongue. Her father had no notion of with whom he dealt. Who did that make the ignorant one?
“I wholeheartedly agree, my King.” Borasco bowed toward him. “After all, you did not offer your consent for the agreement, did you?”
Oh, the bastard. She curled her nails into her palms, but Soren whispered toward her, “Shield your eyes, Arete, and trust in me.”
***
The moment Psyche braced her arm over her face, Eros lowered his hood. The crowd gasped in a rolling murmur, but he forced their tongues to hold.
None could speak his name.
Psyche would remain safe.
“Psyche is mine.” The illumination from within his true form spread across the hall, silencing the humans and causing the King, Queen, and their two daughters to falter before him.
“My Lord—” King Vasilios squawked, unable to speak Eros’s name. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for honoring my family by choosing our most beloved daughter. However, please, understand, Lord Borasco has offered to wed her as a sign of his intent to cherish her.”
Ha! More like, an intent to exploit her.
Eros grasped the King’s true request. Gold, power. It was always the same, with humans and gods.
“My Lord,” Borasco bowed before the King. “I must protest this rude interruption. We had an agreement.”
“Aye, true.” King Vasilios scratched his long white beard before addressing Eros. “I cannot in good conscience break my oath to Lord Borasco and bequeath my most cherished daughter to you without some assurance of her proper care and treatment. As such, I’m afraid I must either request that you offer her the same…or forfeit your claims.”
A flash of cunning flickered in King Vasilios’s dim grey eyes. Why, the old bastard. Either he didn’t think Eros would press the issue, or he sought favor with the gods by having his daughter marry one.
But Eros hadn’t come this close to attaining Psyche’s affections only to relinquish them so easily. Suddenly, he knew precisely what he should do next. “Then I will wed her instead.”
A hiss passed through the crowd. A god wed a mortal? Unheard of. If he concentrated, the wave of snide remarks on Mount Olympus carried to his ears.
Eros perused Psyche, who knelt with her head cradled in her hands, obediently trusting him, and he sensed he would do anything to save her from this fate. In the deepest places of his heart, where he hid his most secret desires, he wished for her to be his in ways not even he could fathom.
If wedding her delivered him one step closer to those, well, then…
“Ah, ah, you would honor us by doing so,” the King stammered, “but what I truly meant was Lord Borasco offered us—”
“More gold?” Eros scoffed. This King would bleed every drop from their arrangement. “Trade routes. Lands. You presume I could not offer you more?” He sliced a hand through the air in derision. “More gold than your castle can hold.” The castle filled with coins and jewels, piles twice as high as any man. “More routes and lands than your mind can fathom.” The map on the wall bled with the blue hue of the castle’s banners.
“My Lord, that is so very generous.” The King fell to his knees. “As a token of my gratitude, please accept this humble dowry.” He swept his hand toward the tiny chest.
Eros scowled at the pathetic greed of these humans. “Keep your puny treasures, King, but in exchange, you will never seek out Psyche again. She is mine.”
He closed his hood over his face and strode to her side, aiding her to stand. “Forgive me for presuming to purchase your hand, my sweet Psyche, but if you would have me as your honored husband, I will vow to fulfill everything I have spoken. I will cherish you, protect and shelter you. Never will I let anyone cause you harm again.”
Tears misted in her vibrant green eyes. She pressed her lips firmly together, the tears spilling over. “Yes.” She lifted wet lashes to smile at him. “Yes, I am yours.”
Eros struggled not to kiss those soft damp cheeks, instead forcing himself to nod at the priest, who gaped between awe and fear.
Hastily, the priest stumbled through the ceremony, and Eros didn’t follow his words, lost as he was in Psyche’s eyes.
In the torturously long seconds before she would be his forever.
Miraculously, the priest finally cleared his throat and declared them wed.
And then she was his.
***
Psyche’s head spun as one moment she was about to wed that bastard Borasco in her family’s Great Hall, and the next, Soren had rescued her. Not only to claim her as his, but to wed her as well.
Now, they stood together in the ballroom of his castle, where only hours earlier, she’d feared her future. Wrapped in his sure embrace, her fate shone at her with a loving glow. There was nothing to fear in Soren’s arms. She was his wife, and he her husband.
Nothing would stand between them.
Her hands trembled as she raised them to his face, hoping against hope that she might view the male she’d wed.
That her blind trust be rewarded.
Soren seized her hand, allowing her fingers to explore but not to lower his hood. “I’m afraid the terms of my curse have not altered.”
Sighing, she hunched her shoulders in defeat.
He nuzzled his face into her hand, the bristles of his short beard scratching across her palm. “Then I will pray to Eros to let me view my husband.” Her heart leapt at calling Soren hers.
“On our wedding night? Nay, Arete,” he nibbled the tips of her fingers, “this night belongs to no one but me.”
Shivers jolted down her spine. Indeed. How had she forgotten those books?
“Never did I dare to hope I would be the unworthy male to claim all of you, sweet,” he purred into her ear, his lips brushing her skin with the lightest of caresses.
“Now that you are? What will you do with me?” Her breath came light and airy, her breasts tight against her bodice.
“I will play you, love, until our symphony is complete.”
She whimpered at his lips, trailing the column of her throat and feathering with the lightest of kisses. “If you are to play me so gently, I might evaporate in your arms.”
“Oh, never fear,” he scooped her into his arms, “I have only just begun.”
She laughed while he carried her into his darkened chamber and laid her on the edge of his bed, feet toward the middle. Blackness enveloped them, so she couldn’t even detect her hand in front of her eyes.
His demanding fingers hiked up her skirts, and warmth flicked across her opening. His tongue laved her and he bent over her, his feet on either side of her, bringing his shaft to her face. She cradled him through the front of his breeches, tracing that long hard ridge.
He groaned and rocked his hips, so she tugged down his breeches and bared him to her touch. His eager length prodded inside her mouth, warm and thick, and filling her in a delightfully sensuous rhythm.
The wetness between her thighs grew heated, her breasts weighted, and a spiking hunger crashed through her core. Seconds from implosion, Soren retreated, teasingly circling her flesh as he collapsed onto the bed beside her.
“Not quite so fast, my love,” he chuckled. “Patience.”
Pouting, she wriggled to sit. “I’ll be plenty patient enough once you’re thrusting inside me.”
He dove forward and caged her in. “I think I’ll have to bite that wanton tongue of yours.” His mouth pressed against hers, his tongue demanding she part her lips.
Instead, she parted her legs, spreading them wide so he sank between them.
&
nbsp; She smoothed her hands along his buttocks, exploring that firm rounded flesh with delight. Her body pulsed with yearnings only he could fulfill. Whatever his true form was, her husband was intoxicatingly attractive.
He grunted against her mouth, retreating instead to flick his tongue across her neck below her ear. “Psyche,” he groaned, “I want you all at once and inch by inch at the same time.” He lowered his head as though torn. “Tell me, what am I to do with you.”
She curled her toes in eager anticipation. “Everything.”
Eros growled low at Psyche’s teasing tone. Yet, she was serious. His new bride would permit him anything. He sensed her trust, her wishes. As the god of erotic love, the language of her body was no mystery to him.
She was anxious and a little tense, yet so very eager and ready.
By now, every god on Olympus—and a good number of humans—had learned of his union to a mortal. To her.
They would deem him insane.
Claimed by madness.
Perhaps he had been, because as he peered at this remarkable female, each beating of his heart told him he’d made the right decision.
That someday, somehow, he would find a way to bring her into his world.
“Ah, my sweet, impatient wife.” He nuzzled her neck while slipping her clothing from her body, then undressing himself. Sliding his nude body along hers, he reveled in the delicious contact. He’d been the bedmate of many a creature, and always, the object of their lust.
With Psyche, he was more.
This wasn’t about attraction—for either of them—though his ballocks threatened to explode.
Their connection ran deeper, stronger than most beings could ever fathom.
He pressed a soft kiss to her lips and settled between her thighs. The slickness of her honey eased him in as he guided his tip to her entrance. The demands of her body would do the rest. With him, she would suffer no pain or discomfort. She whimpered, her hips rising to meet his, and his heart raced to match hers.
He thrust inside her, swift and firm, filling her.
Becoming the one they were meant to be.
“Psyche.” He pressed his forehead to hers and strained against devouring her like a rabid animal.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know how to control how much I want you.” He released the truth, hoping he hadn’t frightened her.
“Good.” She caressed her nose against his. “Because I don’t either.” She shoved her hips upward, swallowing him deeper. “I want you, Soren. Whatever you can give to me, I will take.”
He groaned as a frenzied madness claimed him, demanding he pump into her with relentless fury. She cried and bit his shoulder, her nails digging into his backside while her hips bucked with equal urgency. No creature he’d ever mated with had caused him to lose himself. There was no fighting this.
Eros closed his eyes and surrendered.
Growling, he shoved away and flipped her over, settling atop her like some wild beast. He thrust between her legs and caged her in with his arms, demanding her complete surrender. And she did, arching against him with her soft moans and sultry mewls.
As the god of eroticism, he’d always been able to regulate his urges and passions, yet with Psyche, savage and primal instincts stirred within him. The yearnings to both devour and worship her mingled inside his blood, rushing through every inch of his body.
He couldn’t possess enough of her to satisfy him; he’d never been so sated in his entire existence.
Not only his rigid cock, but other parts of him as well. His head, his chest, the tips of his fingers, down to the curling of his toes. The expanse of him fell in devotion to her.
It was so damned gratifying.
He nibbled the luscious skin of her right shoulder, his tongue tracing her scarred flesh. Righteous anger burned anew in him. He’d never been one for punishing mortals or causing afflictions. Other gods were better suited to those pursuits. Eros solved his problems with eroticism and negotiation. However, the sight of those scars made him clench his jaw and wish the culprit were one he might affect swift physical violence upon.
In this one moment, he longed to be as carefree in his brutality as Ares or Nemesis. He would avenge Psyche. Protect. Possess. Honor her with his devotion.
“Soren?” Psyche wiggled beneath him suggestively.
“Yes, Arete?”
“If you are finished, there is something I would very much like to try.” She coaxed him off and he rolled onto his back.
Curiosity hummed through his body while she straddled him, her lithe body fitting perfectly atop his. “Something you saw in one of my books?” He braced his hands on either side of her hips, guiding her to impale herself on his rigidness.
“Mmmhmm.” She purred as she settled deeper, her panting irregular and strained. “It looked so…” Her slender fingers wandered across his flesh, past their connection to dip between his legs. She seized a handful of his ballocks and squeezed, tightening her grasp until he groaned and thrust his hips, urging her to keep at it.
“How is this?” she murmured.
Beads of perspiration forming on his forehead, he gave a jerky nod and grunted, “Aye.”
She rolled his flesh about in her hand, a triumphant smirk on her lips. “Your books said pleasure can be heightened by pain. Is that what you like?”
What I like… Damn, but he didn’t think any of his lovers had cared to ask him that question. They’d always just assumed the god of erotic love existed to fulfill their fantasies.
Psyche’s inquiry shouldn’t surprise him. She wasn’t like anyone else.
Eros hummed an encouragement and pressed his hand atop hers, increasing the pressure until his ballocks were ready to explode. “Pain,” he grated, “arouses me, aye. Don’t be shy in employing it with me.” He released her hand to her own exploration of his desires. Mayhap, he would discover new ones with her.
“Mmm.” She leaned across him and pinched his nipple with her other hand. “A good thing I’m a fast learner, then.”
Gritting his teeth against her stimulating ministrations, he directed her hips forward and back, up and down, her climax escalating and fortifying so intensely it coursed through him, too. They cried out together, him rising to cradle her body in his embrace. Thick shots of heat burst from him, firing inside her. As a god, he was potent. As the god of erotic love, he was mighty indeed.
Psyche’s release claimed a fierce grip on her, the muscles of her sex clamping around him while he poured himself inside her. He coaxed her gratification higher, draining every ounce of her strength, until she had no breath remaining to scream with and collapsed against him with heavy shudders.
After, he pressed a kiss to her damp forehead while she continued to quiver in his arms. “Now, Psyche, you are mine.”
***
Psyche pressed her cheek against Soren’s firm chest and dared not move a muscle. What they just shared had been exquisite. Far more beautiful than anything she’d viewed in his books or dreamed in her fantasies. She didn’t wish for this moment to ever end. The only thing that marred its perfection was her inability to view her husband’s face.
Or to learn his true name.
The heady scent of their lovemaking lingered in the air, an erotic reminder of their spent passions. Sighing, she curled tighter against him. He shifted to the back of the bed, his thickness remaining inside her, and cradled her in his steel arms. If only she were able to convince him with her words that she would care for him, no matter his true form.
Would that even be enough?
“What distresses you, my love?” He stroked her cheek gently. “Are you not satisfied?”
She laughed. “More than satisfied, you wicked beast.” Twisting, she smiled at him through the darkness. “It’s only, I wish I could see you. I would not—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Please, don’t. Let us revel in this moment and not concern ourselves with the future. One day, you will. Until that day, this is wh
at you can have of me. I beg you, let it be enough.”
His plea cut through her. Was she being selfish? Yes, yet Soren was as anguished as she at their plight. The best thing she had to offer him was her faith. “It is.” She cupped her palm against his cheek. “I promise, it is enough.”
“Thank you.” He grasped her hand and pressed a light kiss to her palm. “I hope that wasn’t the only intriguing act in my books which caught your interest.” He nipped at the tips of her fingers and guided her onto her back.
Shivers of anticipation coursed through her. Though she ought to be spent, flames of yearning sparked within her body, demanding he quench them. “Oh yes, but I fear you may not be up to the task of performing them all.” She laughed at his rumble in response to her taunt.
“Challenge accepted. By the time this night is over, Psyche, you’re going to bear the mark of me upon every inch of your lovely body.” He grabbed her knees and spread them wide, his tongue flicking across her while his fingers rubbed her nub, slick with their essences. “I want my seed…everywhere,” he grunted, painting the wetness along her skin. He teased her nub, making her swell and ache for him.
“I don’t…I can’t…” She tossed her head, her legs trembling and weak, and yet the hunger climbed so high, she might perish if he didn’t fulfill her.
“Aye, you can, and you will.” His firm command flooded heat inside her and a wave of ecstasy thrashed through her, threatening to wash her away in its wake.
“Stay with me, Psyche,” Soren’s sure tone captured her, holding her steady while she writhed against the sheets. Her breaths labored and her skin damp with perspiration, she finally crashed onto the ground once more, so close to having reached the heavens.
“Well?” No mistaking the masculine grin in his tone that curled her toes. “Are you ready for my next lesson, Psyche?”
***
Groaning, Eros shuffled from his bed as the first rays of dawn crept across the chamber floor. Psyche slept beside him, her light, even breathing indicating she still recuperated from last night.
Last. Night.
Holy Hades, what had he been thinking? He scraped a hand down the side of his face. Wed to a mortal? The other gods would deem him more frenzied than a centaur succumbing to the lyssa. Far worse, he’d seduced Psyche beyond recovery. The acts they’d shared, he’d never performed that way with anyone. Ever.
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