His mouth watered, and he bent nearer. “Smell good,” he managed. “Bet you taste even better.” He inhaled deeply of the musky sweetness, then licked over the wet lace.
Her hips jerked toward him as a startled sound escaped her.
“Delicious.” He caught the sides of her panties and tugged them down, down, revealing swollen pink folds glistening in the firelight. “So pretty.”
He got her underwear off, tossing them somewhere behind him as he bent back to her. Parting her outer lips with his thumbs, he exposed the deeper pink inner lips, slick with wetness. “Gods, I have to taste,” he said, hearing his own guttural tone. The first lick made her cry out, made his eyes close with the pleasure of her taste. The second had her shivering under his mouth. And then he lost count. He speared her with his tongue, teased her clit with his lips and teeth, slipped his fingers deep inside her to stroke over a sensitive spot that made her sheath contract on him.
“Come for me,” he whispered, his teeth gently scraping over her clit as he pressed his fingers deep again. “Now, Mena.”
She came apart, her cry echoing in the room, her hips arching into his strokes. When she finally relaxed back onto the bed, he was dying.
Instead of focusing on the throbbing of his groin, however, he eased to his feet, helping her to a sitting position so he could tug her sweater up and off at last, revealing a bra that matched the discarded panties, ivory lace barely veiling the dark rose nipples he very desperately wanted to taste. He paused long enough to kiss her, loving the bite of her nails at his nape when he staked his claim. While he withdrew from the warm depths of her mouth, he unhooked the bra and peeled it away from her swollen breasts.
“Look at you,” he breathed, one forefinger lightly skimming over the creamy upper slope, lower, to the tight peak. “Beautiful.” He bent and sucked the tip into his mouth, lightly at first, teasing her with his tongue until she arched toward him, a soft moan reaching his ears.
He eased her backward, his mouth busy at her breast while he fumbled with the button and zipper at her hip so he could remove her skirt, too.
Finally, finally, he had her naked.
When he released her nipple a long time later, she shifted restlessly on the blanket, her hips rocking, begging silently. He propped himself up on one elbow to look at her. All creamy curves, tinted now with a rosy glow from her rising desire and the flickering firelight. His gaze skimmed over the tattoo low on her hip, intent on more intimate places now.
He slid one hand down over her belly to the nest of crisp curls between her thighs and dipped his fingers easily into her slippery folds. “I love that I can do this to you, Mena,” he whispered, catching her gaze when her lashes fluttered up. “And I’m dying to be inside you.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re too slow?” she whispered, her eyes shutting again for a second when he thrust three fingers inside her.
He chuckled. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t think you would have said that last night, either.” He twisted his fingers on the next stroke, so his thumb rasped over her clit, and a keening sound escaped her. “You’re so close.”
“Please, Ryder.” She forced her eyes open, the green irises only a thin circle around pupils dilated with need.
“I can’t resist such a lovely plea.” Reluctantly, he withdrew his fingers from her sheath and sat up. He swiftly stripped off his shirt, then pushed to his feet and unbuttoned, unzipped his jeans. He had to pause to kick off his boots before he could free himself of the jeans, and then he stopped, standing beside the bed to look over her again.
She was incredible. And he was incredibly lucky. He knew it.
He also knew she was nowhere near ready for him to be talking forever as he had that morning. Or for their dinner conversation.
But he needed her to know he meant it.
He climbed onto the bed, his knees parting her thighs even more, and planted his hands on either side of her shoulders. “Take me in, Mena.” He kissed her lightly.
Her warm fingers found him, paused to stroke, to squeeze.
“Mena.” He heard the warning in his tone, and knew she had, too, because her fingers stilled for a moment on his shaft, before continuing their slide up to the sensitive head of him.
He clenched his jaw against the pleasure of her fingers there. Hell, anywhere on him.
He bent and nipped at her shoulder, making her fingers tighten on him just a little. “You’re playing with fire.”
She shifted, one knee bending at his side, and she finally obeyed, guiding his erection, so the tip glided into slick folds.
His breath hissed out against her skin, and he heard hers catch in her throat. “In, Mena,” he ordered.
Her fingers eased him to her pussy, and he jerked his hips toward her, dislodging her fingers as he wedged himself halfway inside her before stopping.
“Oh Gods, don’t stop,” she whispered, her fingers sliding around to grip his ass.
He dropped to his elbows, pressing closer so her tight nipples burned his skin. “I’m not going to stop, baby.” He stroked her damp hair back from her flushed face with one hand. “I promise.” He slipped forward another inch, feeling her flesh tighten, then relax around his cock. “You feel so good, Mena.” He nudged her nose with his. “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” she teased, a hint of a smile touching her lips.
Ryder groaned, then jerked his hips, hard, so he seated himself fully inside her.
Her gasp made his pulse quicken.
“Like that?” He shifted his hips from side to side, rubbing her clit with the motion.
“Gods, yes.” Her fingers dug into him.
“Good.” He caught her mouth with his, demanding everything she had to give.
And she gave.
When he grew conscious again of what they were doing, his thrusts were quick and hard, harder. Her body shook around him, skin slick with sweat. Mine, he thought, she’s mine. It became a silent chant in his head with each thrust into her wet, clutching sheath.
When the climax broke over her, he caught her scream in his kiss, his own body demanding its release as well. He tried to resist, to draw out the pleasure a little longer, but with her trembling beneath him, her inner muscles milking and clutching at him, he failed, groaning as his orgasm exploded.
Philomena didn’t want to move. She thought she might have been lying beneath Ryder for hours, and she didn’t care. Her breathing moved at a normal rhythm at last, and her heart nearly so.
Ryder’s long fingers slid through her hair, slowly, his body still inside her and stirring with interest once more.
Heat touched her cheeks. She didn’t think she could do that again. It had been intense. More intense than anything she could recall. Far more intense than an indulgence or distraction should be.
He rolled to his back, keeping her tucked tightly against him, and the move wedged him deeper inside her.
“Oh.” She blushed, putting her face against his damp throat.
His low chuckle warmed the top of her head. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She shut her eyes. Better than fine, judging by the way her body felt suddenly slick and hot around him again.
One of his big hands slid down her back, then up, all the way to her nape. “That was amazing.” He kissed her hair. “I think you killed me.”
“Apparently not,” she said before she could stop herself.
His laughter shifted his chest beneath hers.
She blushed hotter, and when he cupped her chin in one hand, she resisted for a moment, then let him raise her face.
The wretched grin curved his lips, but his expression softened as his dark gaze met hers. “Come kiss me, Mena.”
Her gaze dropped to his lips, and her mouth watered. her nipples tightened once more against his chest. It was a really good thing the Medusa couldn’t get pregnant, she thought absently as she stretched to drop a soft kiss on his mouth. With chemistry like this, any normal couple without birt
h control would have a brood in no time.
When she would have lifted her head, he caught her nape and drew her down, his tongue sliding along her lower lip.
His other hand wedged between their bellies, his fingers sliding low enough to rub over her suddenly aching clit, making fresh heat burst in her middle.
When he released her mouth long moments later and her breath came raggedly again, he met her gaze. “That’s better,” he rasped. “I still haven’t managed to touch and taste every inch of you yet.”
Philomena blinked. “I don’t think I mind,” she admitted.
The cocky grin tugged at one corner of his mouth, and the finger stroking her clit paused. “I hate to break a promise.” With that he lifted her off of himself, and she stifled a moan of protest.
When she glanced down, she found him fully erect, glistening with the evidence of her own desire, and she swallowed. Hard.
Her attention was so distracted by the tempting sight of his erection that when he flipped her onto her belly and straddled her legs, she let out a yelp of surprise. His knees pinned her thighs together. “Ryder?”
“Shh.” His warm breath teased through her curls before he swept them away from her nape. He kissed her there, gently, his tongue flicking out over the same spot, and goosebumps lifted on her skin.
He teased her forever, his wet, open mouth sliding all over her back, her shoulders, even her butt. When he closed his teeth on her ass, she jerked beneath him. He laughed softly, then licked the spot to soothe her.
It had the opposite effect.
Her inner thighs were slick with wetness, and when she tried to lift against him, he simply held her still with his strong hands at her hips.
“Not done,” he hummed along her skin.
“Please.”
He kept kissing his way down the back of her leg, all the way to her heel. When he breathed over the sole of her foot, she jerked reflexively. He laughed, shifting to her other leg. He worked his way slowly up, nipping at her calf, licking the back of her knee, scraping his teeth along her thigh as he neared the spot where leg joined ass.
She tensed beneath his mouth.
“Are you nervous or impatient?” he asked, licking that spot.
Shocking heat jolted into her core, and she shut her eyes. “Both.”
He hummed a reply, then nipped the curve of her ass again.
Right before he wedged his hand between her thighs and into the wet folds there. “Ah, Gods,” he breathed against her skin. “How can I resist?” His fingers slipped inside her, three of them, stretching her as he pushed deep.
She whimpered. She didn’t want him to resist. She needed him to not resist. Her body lifted into his strokes without any effort on her part.
When the first wave broke, she lay panting and sheened in perspiration atop the blankets. When he pushed her thighs wider and lifted her hips to push into her from behind, she rocked back to meet each hard, desperate thrust, silently begging for the next release.
Ryder withdrew when she was on the very edge, her entire body shaking with the need, and she sobbed a protest.
He flipped her over, then pulled her astride him, jerking her hips down to sheath himself inside her aching body.
Philomena cried out at the deep thrust, bracing herself with her hands on his strong shoulders.
His jaw was set, his skin gleamed with sweat, his hands hard on her hips. “Come again, Mena. For me.”
She couldn’t resist him, or her own wild need, rocking her hips to meet his each time he jerked his up, seating his cock higher, harder inside her.
Gods, she was so close.
Ryder’s hard finger on her clit pushed her over the edge, and a ragged cry escaped her. Her entire body tightened, clutching at his, intensifying the scalding wash of his orgasm inside her.
She collapsed on his chest, dimly aware of the sobbing breaths rushing past her lips, of the way her body shuddered in the aftermath.
Ryder kept her secure in his arms, murmuring to her, one big hand brushing her wet hair away from her face.
Philomena nuzzled his chest, feeling the slickness beneath her cheek, and smiled a little. His heart still pounded too quickly under her ear, and she inhaled unsteadily.
If he kept this up, she’d never survive.
Her smile spread. He was definitely attentive to her needs, that was for sure.
His mouth slid over the top of her forehead, just at her hair, warming her.
The bed had finally stopped rocking, too, she realized. Who knew waterbeds were so much fun?
Ryder kissed her. “Sleep, baby.”
She considered that. She was tired, but not sleepy. Too much arousal still buzzed in her veins. She shook her head.
“Not ready to sleep yet?” He tipped her chin up.
She swallowed at the look in his eyes. And at the feel of his cock thickening inside her. Shook her head once more.
“What a shame.” He bent to kiss her, lazily.
The kiss warmed her all over again. A slow heat inched along her skin, thickened the blood in her veins, dampened her inner thighs.
It occurred to her much, much later, when her brain had finally shut down after two more spectacular orgasms that left her wrecked, the Harvesters wouldn’t have a chance to kill her: she would die of pleasure in Ryder’s bed.
It didn’t seem a bad alternative at the moment.
In the low light from the fire, Ryder watched her sleep. He’d gotten out of bed earlier to shut off the overhead lights and the lamps. Now, he lay awake, exhausted, but not ready to sleep.
He’d worn her out at last. For the moment.
Getting past her emotional barriers was going to be a whole lot harder than getting her into bed had been.
He glanced around the room, a smile tugging at his lips. The heart-shaped bed wasn’t so bad. Somehow, he’d missed the waterbed mention on the website when he’d made the reservation. Probably because he hadn’t anticipated sharing a bed with her quite so soon. He’d also missed the mention of the wineglass tub, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy it with her, too.
He had not yet, however, studied the tattoo on her hip. He knew it had started as a snake-shaped birthmark. Aggie had told him all of the Medusa’s descendants had one somewhere on their bodies. But only the woman who became the Medusa would gain the tattoo when the curse fell on her.
He didn’t want to disturb her to pull back the blankets and look now that she finally slept, though. It could wait till morning for closer inspection.
Still, it took him a long time to relax. He may have gotten her safely away, but he knew the Harvesters didn’t give up, and now they knew who she was, there was no safe place for her.
Not as long as she was the Medusa.
And eventually, she would refuse to keep running, demand to make a stand.
The thought taunted him, even in his dreams. When he woke, he was alert but didn’t feel rested. Good thing he could fall back on his years of military training, nights with next to no sleep while on a mission. He inhaled slowly, exhaled even more slowly.
Mena slept beside him, her breath warming his chest.
He slid his hand down her spine, curving around her ass, and pulled her nearer. His body was already on alert, and when her belly brushed it, his cock went fully erect.
He grinned in the dim light of early morning. Maybe he could wear her down simply by keeping her brain too wrecked to continue protesting his protection.
His smile faded.
Mena was way too smart for him to get away with such a ploy.
And he knew the barriers she kept around her emotions would take a long time and a lot of effort to breach. They had taken years to build up. He couldn’t expect to demolish them in a matter of hours.
But he was persistent. And patient. He’d learned the skills as a child. Honed them as an adult.
He brushed a kiss on her forehead.
Determined.
She stirred, shifting closer to him in her
sleep.
And he’d waited long enough for his Medusa.
Philomena Gregory was his, one way or another.
Chapter Five
Aristotle Tassos dropped to his knees beside his desk and bowed his head, heart racing. “My Lady,” he murmured.
“Your nephew is dead, Aristotle.”
His head jerked up, and he stifled the urge to blanch under the steely grey gaze of Athena. “My nephew?” He had a terrible feeling he knew to which nephew She referred.
“Yes. That fool Nestor. He was killed at the Medusa’s home.” She glared down at him. “Why did he not kill her?”
Another dead nephew. Ari swallowed, his mouth dry. Beneath his seventy-eight-year-old knees, the plush carpet was not plush enough. “I’m sorry, My Lady. I know he intended to--”
“Intended to.” Her lip curled with distaste. “It seems to me the Tassos family is only able to intend to do their job these days.” The tall woman in the flowing white gown folded Her arms over Her chest. “I grow weary of the lack of results.”
He bowed his head under Her furious gaze. “I am so sorry, My Lady. I vow to You, we will kill the monster.” He shut his eyes.
“Perhaps I should remind you,” She said after a moment, “there will be repercussions if this task is not carried out, Aristotle. I will vent my frustration with your family on you if this monster is not killed.”
He bowed lower. “I promise, it will be done.” He tried to slow his too-quick breathing.
When there was only silence in response to his words, he dared to lift his head a few inches.
The Goddess was gone.
He struggled to his feet and braced himself on the edge of his desk, his heart pounding too quickly. He concentrated on breathing evenly, trying to make his pulse slow. Perspiration dripped into his right eye, and he brushed it away, noting the shake of his fingers.
He moved carefully around the desk and dropped into his chair. He fumbled in the top right drawer until he found a pill box, popping a small white tablet into his mouth and swallowing it. After a moment, his heartbeat began to ease back into a more regular rhythm.
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