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He huffed an amused laugh as my whole body shook. He held me up, letting me collapse in his arms until I got my breath back.
“Apollo,” I breathed, forcing my legs to take my weight, and letting the door do some of the heavy lifting.
He was looking me over with a soft smile on his face that reached his eyes.
“Fuck, Harlow…” he said, shaking his head.
Suddenly I felt self-conscious. “What?”
He shook his head again as his tongue darted out and caught his bottom lip, closely followed by his teeth. He just stood there, with a bemused but sinfully cocky half-smirk on his face.
“What, Apollo?” I asked.
He reached forward and brushed the backs of his fingers down my cheek softly. So, so softly. I never thought he’d have a touch that gentle, that tender.
I relaxed as I looked at him. “What?” I asked more gently.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, almost like he was in awe.
I swallowed. “Thanks?”
In one swift motion, he pressed me against the door again. But this time it was softer, laced with something very different to burning passion. His nose nudged mine. As I tilted my head, he snuck in for another kiss. Slower, more languid.
My hands gravitated towards his belt, but he drew away to look at me.
He shook his head and pulled his cock away from me. “Not now,” he said.
I frowned.
“We need to get back,” he said, pressing a lingering kiss to my lips, as though that explained it.
He looked me over, as though checking if I was appropriate for public display. The half-smirk that lit his lips was all arrogance and pride. As he reached for the door handle behind me, his lips lingered near my ear.
“You might want to detour past the bathroom,” he whispered.
Then he was out the door and gone.
I took a moment to compose myself, smoothing my skirts back down over me like that would mask the fact that Apollo Callahan had just finger fucked me under his parents’ staircase during one of their fanciest parties of the year disguised as a casual get together. I felt flushed. I felt confused. Mostly, I felt sated. Apollo had felt good. He’d tasted good. He’d made me feel good.
On my way back to the others, I passed Valen exiting the kitchen. I felt heat flood my cheeks and hoped my makeup was enough to cover the redness.
I knew I didn’t owe him anything. He’d made it very clear where we stood. Even if he hadn’t, he and Apollo got to fuck around, so why shouldn’t I?
No, it wasn’t anything I felt I owed Valen, but I did feel the first stirrings of uncertainty about what I wanted. Did I want to be the fuck around kind? Not just with Valen, but Apollo, too. And what exactly did fucking around with Apollo mean? Was our relationship suddenly real? Or were we just in another circle of our own special limbo?
All I knew for sure just then was that…
My God and my angel.
My prince and my big, bad wolf.
I wanted them both.
Chapter Eighteen
When I’d got back the night before, Florence had been asleep. She’d left a note on the end of my bed saying she was sorry she couldn’t stay up any longer. So, I’d dropped into bed and stared at the ceiling for a few hours.
After sleeping fitfully for the rest of the night, I finally gave up trying to sleep at about seven and just sat on my bed and stared at Florence like I could wake her up with just the power of my mind.
