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He needs me to recreate that strength. This world needs my help. I pat the top of the altar. “Give me a boost.”
Lifting me by my rounded ass, he sits me so that I’m almost eye level with him. The shadow of his horns and those of the statue above us cross at the junction of my thick thighs like an X on a treasure map.
Someone has been in before us to leave a mound of cushions and blankets, along with a huge chalice full of wine. Two jeweled goblets, a platter of breads with oils and vinegars, and an ornate box complete the odd collection that mixes sacrosanct with sexy times.
Lifting one of the fancy goblets, I sniff. The scents of berries and plums hit my nose as I swirl the liquid. “Bess wasn’t kidding about sacred wine.”
Leander doesn’t smile. He hasn’t taken his hands off my legs, standing between my parted thighs as though he can’t decide whether to kiss me or carry me out of here. The worry in his gaze makes me want to smooth his black hair that always seems intent on sticking out in every which way. There’s no rushing him when he’s in king mode like this, although deciding what to do here shouldn’t require as much thinking as he uses in planning reinforcements to the realm’s boundary wards or keeping his people fed through the next year. The magic that needs to happen between us? It’s simple. Or at least it is when I strip away shame, judgment, and the endless what-ifs.
What happens in the labyrinth, stays in the labyrinth.
If only I could stay a while longer. Time. Leander promised me time to think, to hide while I figure out life. But there will never be enough hours, days, or years. Unless magic returns in full and there’s a realm I can hide in where the months pass like days in my world. Where I might find happiness.
“You hold the power here,” Leander tells me. The echo of his voice bounces off stone and back at me, as if he speaks in stereo.
“Then I say we try.” I sip from the cup, savoring the rich flavors on my tongue before offering the same to him. He doesn’t move. Stillness stretches between us, the sound of my heart loud in my ears. I shouldn’t push. Old me wouldn’t. The one who believed the lies my ex spun, who listened to the mean taunts of bullies.
But I’m not her. Not when a king—a god if I glance up at his statue—looks at me as if I hold the answer to everything. Setting the goblet aside, I widen my thighs and give a verbal shove. “Don’t you want me?”
His sternness doesn’t waver. “More than anything.”
Aww, Leander. His words, his actions, his raw need for me—those twist open the barbed wire I’ve kept wrapped around my heart. Unwilling to let someone in for fear of being sliced apart as my ex did, or abandoned as my father left me and my mom. For years, I’ve kept myself untouchable, and it took someone who calls himself a monster to be heroic enough to fight his way inside. Hopefully, loving him won’t kill me. But damn, what a way it would be to go.
I untie the complicated short dress that Bess had made for me. It holds my breasts up, flows over my belly, and flirts around my ass and thighs like a gravity-defying dream. Yet a simple tug has it falling open to reveal that I’m naked underneath. Leander’s gaze goes hot, his breathing ragged, and his hands tighten on me.
I can’t resist a sly grin, one that proves I know my worth. I’m a freaking prize. “Then I present all of me as an offering. What are you going to do about it, bull god?”
16
MEG
Leander yanks me off the altar so fast that my breath whooshes out of me. My dress falls into a pool at his hooves with a swish of silk. He must’ve held back on his strength until now because he whips me to him as if I’m a doll instead of a full-grown woman. I could be scared. Perhaps I should be. But I’m not. No, I’m more turned on than ever.
Locking my legs around him, I hang on while he palms my naked ass with one hand while reaching to the altar with his other. Fabric rustles as he drags cushions and blankets out of the stack.
“An offering so great must be cherished.” He arranges the pillows and covers until he’s made half a human-sized bed at the edge of the altar.
Metal clacks with the heavy chalice wobbling back and forth against the marble. The scent of spilled wine makes the lingering taste of the same on my tongue go tart.
When he sits me on the altar again and pushes me back, I take my time settling like the goddess he’s treating me as surely would. His gaze doesn’t leave my breasts, my curves, my hips as I tease and taunt. I could blame the temple, the altar, the fact that I feel like a temptress stretched across something supposed to be holy. But mostly it’s Leander acting as though I’m the only divine thing here. I trace my hands over my nipples, not stopping when they tighten under my touch. “A good offering then?”
“The best.” His voice has gone rough, and the rumble makes me shiver, despite the heat of his body just having been pressed against me and the flush of my skin with his stare fixed on me. “A feast,” he says.
“Guess you’d better skip straight to the main course.” The challenge comes out of my mouth before I can think it through. Who is this femme fatale who believes she’s beauty enough to take on the beast?
Me. That’s who.
“What was it you said before?” He traces his hands from my shoulders to my breasts, pausing to stroke the sides and underneath before continuing a slow, lazy path to my sex. “You can’t threaten me with a good time?”
“Something like that.” I can barely choke out the answer, wouldn’t be able to give him the correct version of the cliché if I tried. Not with him drawing circles on my skin in lazy strokes, as if he could tease me for hours. Hell, he might. Perhaps it’d be his version of punishing me for pushing him to bring me here.
Tension builds inside me, climbing higher and higher until I know that only a repeat of the orgasms he gave me before will relieve the heavy ache. Except he stops touching me between my thighs. He backs away, and I want to scream. Panic flares at the possibility that I might stay in this aroused state until he decides differently. I reach to take care of my own pleasure, but he captures my hand.
“No.” The command comes out in his king tone, and I hesitate because damn, it’s hot, and my body naturally complies with the order, even with prickles breaking out over my skin. “You offered yourself to me, so your ability to come? It’s mine. The denial of the same? That’s mine, too.”
I freeze, the impact of his words hitting me. Leander’s no impatient boy who can be baited into losing his control. He’s a friggin’ immortal who literally has all the time in the world to tease me into a frenzy. As if proving me right, he dips a finger into the goblet I sipped from, the wine glistening on his skin.
“Let’s see if the sacred wine tastes sweeter with my offering,” he says, and trails the same finger over my nipple. The cold liquid, the warmth of his skin, the heated flush of mine—the sensations swirl through me like my jumbled thoughts. I don’t move, letting the drops trickle along the side of my breast. If he wants to play the waiting game, I can win at that, too.
