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, making sure he stayed buried inside her as they moved, and drove into her welcoming heat with a wildness that he normally wouldn’t allow. He was usually too worried about hurting a woman, but with Calliope the idea of “worry” was foreign. He felt her pleasure as deeply as he felt his own and he would know the moment she felt any pain. The connection between them was unbelievable, almost magical.
Magical…
The word sent worry flashing through his mind, but the second he met Calliope’s eyes, he was consumed again by the bliss of being inside this amazing woman. She was beautiful, sweet, and strong—not the type who would need to resort to spells to win a man’s heart.
Perhaps not your heart, but what of her freedom?
The whisper became a warning that nagged at his thoughts, but then Calliope whispered—
“Aaron, my love.”
And all thoughts of magic—or anything else—fled his mind.
He came hard, his heart aching with the same ferocity as his cock. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of, the woman he hadn’t believed existed. What did it matter if his love came from his heart or from some trick of magic? Surely this euphoria, this bliss was worth being the victim of deception?
And perhaps sleeping your life away isn’t so bad, either, as long as you have beautiful dreams.
The thought cut through him, a knife slid cleanly into the heart of his pleasure, and Aaron’s throat tightened until he could barely breathe, a part of him already mourning the death of the dream that was Calliope.
CHAPTER SIX
Calliope
Men were more complicated than she had assumed, even kind, brilliant lovers like Aaron. Of course, if he hadn’t been so generous in bed and so sweet and understanding about her infirmity, Calliope wasn’t sure she would think him so kind.
“Hurry up, Calliope. Night will be falling soon. Try to ride as if you weren’t a dead body slung across the saddle.”
In fact, she would probably think he was a first-rate ass.
“Put some effort into it, will you?” His voice made it clear how very little he thought of her riding skill.
She had told him she’d only ridden twice before and had done her best to keep up, struggling to keep pace with him even when the sensitive skin of her thighs and other bare parts chafed against the rough leather of the saddle. She wanted to ask him to stop so that she could change into her riding pants, but they were at the bottom of the pack and she didn’t want to delay them any further.
Still, her poor thighs were stinging something fierce…
“Aaron, are you sure we can’t stop for a moment? I think if I—”
“How many times have I requested your silence?” He barked the words over his shoulder from where he rode in front of her, not even bothering to turn and look her in the eye.
“Several,” she said, wounded by his tone. “But I—”
“Then keep your peace. We’re in a dangerous part of the country.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Nonsense, we’re not far from my own farm.”
“I won’t ask you again, Calliope. The next word you utter will be considered treason against your king and country.” He followed the words by kicking his mount, urging the poor beast into a canter after four hours of hard riding.
“Treason, indeed,” Calliope muttered, beginning to think truly treasonous thoughts about the ways she would like to make King Aaron pay for his rudeness.
She wished she were skilled at magic, especially transfiguration. Spending the afternoon as a lizard would teach that man to think twice before he behaved like a cold-blooded reptile. It was impossible to believe he was the same man who had made love to her with such tenderness, who had melted her heart so completely that she could not help but call him her love.
She had cried at the beauty of their passion, for Goddess’ sake!
But maybe that was what had made him act like a mean-spirited troll. Mother always said that a man who held your heart was a man who couldn’t be trusted. They were cruelest to those they cared for and even crueler to those who cared for them.
Or maybe your spell is simply wearing off.
For once, the voice in her head wasn’t one of the “others”, but her own inner muse. The herbs the healer at the castle had given her were even more effective than her tonics. She’d placed some under her tongue after lunch and hadn’t heard a whisper from the cast of characters usually gathered in her skull. She’d been wonderfully alone with her own thoughts.
