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Absently, Divina combed her fingers through his long, black hair, while she held onto his shoulder. She didn’t really need to hold on now that she got the hang of riding him again, her body adjusting to better distribute her weight, anticipating the movements of his long-legged strides.
She couldn’t seem to help herself from touching him. She practically pulsated with the need to learn his shape and textures. He was a miraculous composition of so many beguiling contrasts.
“Feels good,” he murmured, leaning his head back slightly, inviting her to work toward his scalp.
As if her hands had a mind of their own, she crawled her eager fingers over his skull, kneading, massaging, then combing through the skeins of his silky mane.
“How are your wounds holding up?” she inquired, her voice taking on a bedroom intimacy without her mind’s permission.
“Better, thanks to your ministrations. I have always healed quickly, even in equine form. But now that I am centaur, I feel my strength returning even faster than before.”
“That’s good,” she hummed, continuing to sift her fingers through his hair, pausing once in a while to knead the back of his neck and trapezius muscles.
A low moan of pleasure thrummed through his throat.
And just like that, Divina’s drowsy comfort gave way to crackling heat.
“Why does it feel so different when you touch me thus?” he husked, his deep voice fraying with a low, vibrating groan.
“It felt good to have your hands on me before, but it was…different.”
He reached back for her hand on his shoulder, loosely laced their fingers together, and Divina stopped breathing altogether.
“Now…you make me feel…”
When he trailed off, she involuntarily leaned in closer, plastering her front against his back, laying her cheek against his silky mane.
“H-how do I make you feel?” she whispered, taking in a shaky breath, at the same time inhaling his unique male scent.
Sun-baked earth. Horse. Man. And a tantalizing musk that infiltrated her senses and enslaved her body.
What was it?
Divina was no flora expert, and certainly not of ancient Greece. But she knew enough to guess that the intense, heady aroma effervescing from his scent reminded her of freshly-cut mountain tea.
Perhaps it was part of his centaur diet. She caught a hint of it in the breeze as they journeyed through the village, stronger as they crossed over the hills, and stronger still the closer they came to the Pelion mountains.
She smelled it faintly in his skin and hair, and in his breath when he breathed on her. It filled her with…a sense of euphoria. But she didn’t know whether that clenching need within her was evoked by the scent…or the man who owned it.
She wondered what it tasted like on his breath. On his lips. On his tongue. Her hands trembled with the barely restrained yearning to take a hold of his face, to bring his mouth to hers. Her lips tingled as if bee-stung with the almost uncontrollable desire to kiss him.
Oh, this was so, so bad.
He stopped walking, pulling her hands from his shoulder and hair to wrap her arms around his chest beneath his arms, his own hands layered and entwined over hers, pressing her palms flat against his heated, naked skin.
Distantly, Divina realized they were alone. They’d pulled so far ahead of Sorin and Ere that she couldn’t see or hear her companions. There was no trace of Chewie either. There was just Andros, her and the mountains in the distance.
He turned his face to the side, giving her a quarter of his profile.
“I want you,” he said simply.
Honestly.
The words filled with unvarnished innocence and primal need. But also a possessive, growling undertone of male dominance.
“Do you want me?” he rumbled low.
He turned slightly more, though his sooty-lashed gaze was aimed to the ground rather than toward her face.
