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His teeth close on the delicate tendons in my neck, and he bites down. Hard enough to sting, to leave a mark, but not to hurt, not with anticipation singing through me. It pulls a high, desperate sound out of my throat, pleasure clenching inside my belly like a fist.
I scrabble at his armor, trying to find anything that looks like a buckle or a tie. My fingers feel clumsy, like I’m drunk on lust and pleasure, ready to break apart at any second. Ares’s hand slips down my spine to rest at the vulnerable curve where my back meets my hips, and he lifts me up just enough that when he rolls his hips forward in a devastating, powerful grind, I have to hang on for dear life or risk breaking apart at the seams.
Somehow, he finds the buckles for my armor. God of War, I guess he’s way more used to things like that than I am. I barely notice, still clinging to him, trying to press up, to follow the slow, deliberate motion of his hips, to get him slotted exactly where I’m aching for him, where I feel like I might die if I don’t have him.
One second, I’m clad to the neck in black and red scales. The next, my bare skin is exposed to the air, and I’m left with nothing but my leather pants and boots. Ares leans back enough to throw the armor down the hall, like it’s personally offended him. Without the press of his body, the air in the hallway feels downright chilly, and my nipples pebble in the breeze.
Ares doesn’t fall forward, or claw at the rest of my armor like I half-expect him to. Instead, he looks down at me, where I’m sprawled on the floor of his castle’s hallway, my hair a tangled, sweaty halo around my head. His brow is furrowed, and for a second, he almost looks angry.
TWELVE
PEN
The abrupt change in his expression worries me enough that I try to fight my way back to something like awareness.
But I feel like I’m swimming through honey: something golden and sweet that drags me back down.
Then, Ares ducks his head, and his mouth closes over my breast. His teeth rake, ever so delicately over my nipple before he soothes it with his tongue.
I throw my head back, my spine curving, shoving my breasts up at him like an offering. His free hand comes up, thumb passing gently over the opposite nipple in gentle circles, like he worries it’s feeling neglected.
Teeth close over the stiffened peak again, in the gentlest bite, and my breath stutters in my throat. I toss my head, trying to vent some of my need, to move, to push, to take, and a little cry slips out of my mouth.
I crack my eyes open to find Ares watching me intently, his dark eyes hot enough to burn. He’s studying me, mapping out my responses, I realize. He’s taking note of what makes me cry out, what makes me writhe in place, what makes my hips buck up helplessly, seeking friction, anything. I’d always thought Athena was the strategist, but it seems Ares is a master of this particular battlefield, too.
I slide my hands into Ares’s dark hair, and drag his mouth back to mine. The kiss is scorching, desperate, and I rake my teeth over his tongue, revelling in the groan it drags out of him.
I want more. I need more. My skin feels too tight and swollen, like everything I’m feeling is just too much to contain. I twist my hips, arching up, and the hand on my back slides down to cup my ass, holding me up for the next powerful thrust of his hips.
The move has me tearing my mouth away from his with a breathy little scream, and Ares snarls down in his throat. He sits back on his knees, dragging me up with him until I’m sitting in his lap, the hot, throbbing peaks of my breasts mashed against his leather armor. The friction is delicious, but I want more.
In one powerful move, Ares stands, carrying me with him like I weigh nothing. I tighten my legs around his hips reflexively, but he probably can keep me from falling with one hand under my butt and the one between the delicate wings of my shoulder blades.
It takes two strides for him to carry us both over to the wall, and his knuckles press against the rough stone there, pinning me in place while his other hand drops to the waistband of my pants. He claws the leather down my thighs, and I think about dragging my mouth away from the skin of his shoulder long enough to tell him the boots will have to come off first, but I don’t bother. I don’t even think I can speak if I tried.
I have to unwrap my legs long enough for him to yank and tug my pants and boots off, and he throws them down the hallway just like my armor. However rough he is at getting the last of my clothes off, the hands that come back to cup my hips are gentle, almost reverent. Callused fingers slide over my skin, mapping me, knowing me, cupping my thighs, my ribs, thumbing over my nipples, and sliding up into my hair to cradle my skull.
There’s something incredibly frustrating yet electrifying about the fact that I’m completely naked, and yet Ares is still clad, neck to toe, in armor. The sight of my pale, bare foot on the ground next to his boot sends a shiver running down my spine, caught somewhere between fear and elation.
Ares pulls back, his forehead resting against mine so he can watch my eyes. Those slow, careful fingers slide over the fragile cage of my ribs, over the wing of my hip, and lower. He’s handling me like I’m something delicate, something precious, and I have to bite my lip to keep from whimpering.
Big, thick fingers brush against me, feeling where I’m hot and swollen and aching for him. Just a gentle, barely there pressure, and I feel like I’m going to scream.
He’s still watching me, dark eyes locked onto mine. He watches me squirm, fighting to stay still. And then a slow, wolfish smile spreads across his handsome face, and he thrusts a finger inside me, all the way to the knuckle, and a low, breathy shriek slips out of my mouth as pleasure rips up my spine like a wave.
I arch, spine curling, my head twisting to the side as I cry out. Ares keeps moving, pumping his hand like a piston, the tempo never faltering, even as my muscles flutter and shiver around him. He only pauses once, long enough to cram a second finger in beside the first, and something close to a sob comes tumbling out of my mouth.
The stone is rough against my bare back, but I don’t care. I can barely think about anything but his hands on my body, and the golden weight in my veins, pleasure dripping down my spine like warm wax.
Ares swears under his breath, and the wall behind me disappears. I fall backwards, my heart leaping up into my throat at the sudden shift. His hands are still on me, keeping me pulled tight against his body, and we fall together.
I land on something soft with a bounce, and Ares lands above me, braced on his hands and knees so he doesn’t crush me when we come to a stop. I have a brief second to glance around and realize that he must have used his control over the realm to move us, because the hallway is gone and now I’m sprawled on soft sheets over a decadent bed that could sleep ten.
Ares strips off his breast plate, revealing deep bronze skin pulled tight over iron muscles and decorated by scars. It’s the work of a few seconds for him to kick off his boots and the rest of his armor, and I barely have a few moments to run my hands reverently over his chest. He’s all hard, lean muscle, but his skin is soft, and the juxtaposition is fascinating to me. Then he’s over top of me, and if I thought he was a searing flame before, he’s a wildfire now.
His hands slide over me like he’s starving for me, clutching, stroking, keeping me pulled as close as he can. His mouth feeds at mine, nipping my lips until I gasp, and then taking the chance to thrust his tongue inside. I can feel him pressed against my belly, scorching hot and throbbing, and I grind my hips up, my legs tight against his ribs, trying to steer him where I want him to go.
Ares manages to tear himself back, his dark eyes searching my face again. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find it, because he flashes me another savage grin, and then I feel the broad, blunt head of him pressing against me.
