Hera lightly drags her nails down my length,hereyes still closed. “Stop thinking so hard.”
“I’m not thinking of anything but you, Wife.” I pull her onto my lap with her back against my chest—a tight fit with the table—and shove her clothing down around her thighs. Just enough that she can lift herself and I can guide her back onto my cock. Even as close to coming as she was, she still has to squirm her way down my length, taking me one slow inch at a time.
It’s intoxicating to watch, even more so to feel. We never have sex in the day, saving ourdutyfor the late night, the lights all doused. I never get to see her. It’s a power play, but it’s an effective one. Too effective.
Right now, witnessing her sliding down my cock, it’s everything I can do not to come before she gets a chance to take me completely. I grab her hips and yank her down onto me, earning a breathy moan in the process.
I can’t afford to lose control, to forget the truth of this situation. She may be my wife, but she’s the enemy nonetheless. I slide a hand around her to press between her thighs, right against her clit, and catch her chin with my other hand, turning her face toward me. Her eyes are still closed. “Does your lover fuck you like this, Wife?”
She parts her lips slowly, as if coming out of a dream. I stroke her clit, undermining her ability to answer. Hera licks her lips, and I realize too late that I never should have given her this weapon to use against me. Jealousy has always cut both ways. “Yes,” she murmurs.“Ixion fucks me until I lose track of how many times I come.”
I don’t make a decision to move. One moment I’m staring into her achingly gorgeous face and the next I’m rising, shoving the table forward and bending her over it. And then I’m inside her again.
She cries out and arches back, giving me a better angle to take her from. It’s not enough. It will never be enough, because no matter how good I make her feel in this moment, the moment always ends. She’ll go right back to hating me just like she always does. And maybe that shit is mutual. Maybe I hate her, too. At least I hate how good she feels, how she opens herself to me when I’m buried inside her, and how quickly those doors slam in my face the moment the sex is finished.
Well, I’m nowhere near finished. Not with rage fueling me.
I pull out of her, ignoring her cry of protest, and spin her around to lift her onto the table. She stubbornly keeps her eyes shut, but she’s so damn soft, the woman I married nowhere in evidence, replaced by the one I only find in the midst of fucking.
I jerk her pants to her ankles, but they won’t make it past her boots and I’m too fucking impatient to attempt to remove them right now. Instead I tip her back and duck down to kneel between her spread thighs. “Does Ixion lick your pussy until your thighs are shaking and you’re begging for him to let you orgasm?”
She laces her fingers through my hair, already lifting her hips toward my mouth. “Of course,” she gasps. “He goes for hours.”
I can’t tell if she’s lying. It makes me wild with rage, with need, with the possessive yearning to mark her asmine. My Hera, my wife, the future mother of my children. I drag my tongue through her folds before I can think too hard on how that future may nevercome.
Hera pulls on my hair, and I allow her to guide me up to her clit, using the opportunity to press two fingers into her again and hook them just the way she likes. The moment I do, her head falls back and her thighs start to shake. “I hate you,” she whispers.
No, you don’t.
I don’t speak the words aloud, but I convey my disbelief in the way I roll my tongue against her clit. She tastes so fucking good that it threatens to overwhelm me. Ixion can go for hours? So will I if she’d just give me the chance.
Telling her as much will give her another weapon to use against me. I have to hold myself removed… Have to…
Hera comes, her thighs clamping around my head, her throat a long line as she moans her way through her orgasm. She’s still fluid and limp as I rise and pull her to the edge of the table. “Say yes.”
“Yes.” She wraps a fist around my cock and guides it to her entrance. This time, it’s easier to slide into her. I’m not fool enough to believe she actually welcomes me, but it feels too good to worry about it.
I pull her close, grinding into her as I cup the back of her neck and kiss her. She moans. Gods, she sounds like a different person when I’m inside her. Like someone who might actually care aboutme.
Not Zeus. Not the leader of Olympus. Not a member of a legacy family that can sketch their lineage back to the founding of this city.Me.Perseus. The one who will never sit easy on the throne. The one who is far too aware of all the ways he fails. But not in this. I might be king of a crumbling city, but my wife is still gripping my hips,urging me to fuck her harder, needing the pleasure I’m giving her, even if she tells me she hates me all the while.
I want this to last forever.
It won’t. It never does. One of the first things I learned in life is that good things always leave too soon. This time is no different. Hera orgasms, her pussy pulsing around my cock. There’s no hope of holding out, not when it feels so damned perfect. I grind into her, kissing her hard as I fill her.
I want to stay like this forever. To live in this peaceful moment where no one is asking anything of me and there are no impossible hurdles in my immediate future. A moment where my wife isn’t shoving away from me as if my very touch is burning her.
That desire has me shifting closer instead of away, pressing my forehead lightly to hers as our ragged exhales mingle. My nose bumps hers. It’s such a small touch, a near-innocent one, a sign I desperately want to take for intimacy even though I know better. We may have sex, but we don’t share intimacy, not in any way that matters. If there’s the shortest pause after we orgasm, a time of peace measured in heartbeats, neither of us have ever commented on it. We sure as fuck haven’t sought to extend it the way I’m doing now. “Hera…”
I know I’ve made a mistake the moment she tenses in response to my voice. Hera plants her hands on my chest. With her pants tangled around her ankles, there’s no smooth retreat. I have to duck under her legs, which is a fucking problem because it puts her pussy at face level, perfect and flushed with desire…and leaking my come.
My cock twitches, but a quick check of her face tells me she might pull her cute little switchblade if I keep touching her. It’salways like this with Hera: cold until I think I might die from it, but as soon as the lights go out, she burns me right up.
I reach out to help her off the table, but she knocks my hand away, her head ducked to avoid meeting my gaze. Alarm blares through me. This is wrong. She’s often furious after she comes, but never like this. Never brittle. I shove my cock back into my pants and give her some space. “Hera—”
“You’ve proven your point, Zeus.” She snaps my name hard enough that I flinch. “No matter what I do, I’ll never escape you.”
Her words hurt even more than the way she hurriedly pulls up her pants. I’m the worst kind of delusional to wish for a relationship that isn’t a constant fucking war. To wish for a spouse who wants me without restriction. To wish for…a lot of things. But this isn’t a normal part of our ongoing series of battles. She’s not attacking. She’sfleeing.And it scares the shit out of me. “You said yes.”
