Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(46)

He slanted his head, those lips took mine, his tongue took mine and he gave me more.

* * * * *

Some time later, I was on top, Apollo inside me. I was sliding up slowly and down even slower, my face in his neck, my eyelids drooping.

I needed sleep. Like, bad.

But I had something to say.

Sliding down, filling myself full of him, my sex drenched with him and me, I pressed my face in his neck, slid my hand up the other side and brushed my thumb along his stubbled jaw.

“Thank you for not leaving me,” I whispered.

He had one hand resting lightly, almost casually on my ass. Paradoxically, he had one arm wrapped tightly, even possessively across my middle back.

At my words, both convulsed.

Powerfully.

I had no time to assess this reaction.

Because his voice said low and sweet, “Sleep, Maddie,” and my mind took that moment in a vague way to realize all throughout the night he’d called me nothing but Maddie, Madeleine, my dove or my poppy.

And this vague thought made my insides warm.

That was when I fell was asleep.

Chapter Nine

Heart Mighty As Goliath

Apollo did not sleep.

Maddie on top of him, her knees high and pressed tight to his sides taking some of her weight, his body gladly supported the rest of it.

Drifting his fingers through the silken weight, he smelled the citrus of her hair, the lavender scent of her skin, both mixed with the aroma of sweat and sex.

He stared at dark ceiling thinking he’d never smelled anything more beautiful.

And it was not Ilsa’s smell. After she bathed, Ilsa’s skin smelled of roses, her hair of mint.

Maddie shifted slightly and he naturally slid out of her. When he did, his seed mingled with her juices glided from her, drifting between the juncture of his thighs, their essence mixed, the most intimate parts of them joined, he stared at the ceiling thinking he’d never felt anything sweeter.

Further, he was struggling with why this would be so, considering the depth of love he had for his wife. Not to mention, the depth of passion they shared in their bed.

However, he’d never had anything with Ilsa like he’d had with Madeleine last night.

It was, of course, the adela tea.

But now he was no longer under the influence of adela tea and still these thoughts assailed him.

And last, he was thinking he’d made yet another colossal mistake.

He should have gagged her, tied her to the bed and left her.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he took advantage.

Coming unraveled by her entreaty, allured by her beauty and her touch, aroused by her sharing that she’d take care of herself if he left…gods, aroused by it all, he’d taken advantage.

He couldn’t even blame it on losing control. It was slipping but he hadn’t lost it.

No, he wanted her.

He wanted her before she pressed to him and begged, and he definitely wanted her during.

He’d made her swear no recriminations but she was under the influence of adela tea. He knew the effects of that brew. She didn’t know what she was saying but he knew she’d say anything to get what the tea made her need.

And he’d given it to her and in doing so, he took.

He had no trust of hers to break. If he had, he’d broken it in Fleuridia before he left her. But if he’d gained any since their reunion (which was doubtful), last night, he’d have shattered it.

When her eyes opened later that morning, the effects of the tea abated, she’d know it.

And she’d hate him for it.

He sighed, closing his eyes and ceasing running his fingers through her hair so he could wrap his arms around her, certain this was all he’d get. When she woke, she’d be lost to him.

For good.

There would be no winning her. It had only been a day and in that day, her adorable stubbornness, even her exasperating peevishness, he realized he wanted to win her more than he had before. And in her adorable stubbornness and exasperating peevishness, Apollo also realized the challenge of doing this was even more difficult than he earlier suspected.

Which made him wish to best it all the more.

Now it would be impossible.

Surprising him at the intensity of it, this knowledge felt like a weight crushing his chest.

But he’d had a broken dove in his hand and instead of setting about mending it, from near on the moment he brought her to his world, he’d done nothing but tighten his grip, fracturing her further.

He opened his eyes, sliding his hands over her soft skin, and in her sleep she pressed her face deeper into his neck, arched her torso into his slightly then relaxed on an unconscious fluttering sigh he felt in his gut.

And that was when he saw the flash of green that streaked across the room.

A warning shot.

Bloody hell.

He knew what that meant and he knew why she was coming.

It was she who left the tea.

His frame tightened and he gently slid Madeleine off his body. He rolled away from her and found his feet on the floor by the side of the bed. He had his breeches on with all the buttons done up when the green mist started swirling in the room. He’d pulled his sweater on and was standing with his hands on his h*ps when she formed three feet in front of him.

“You’ll speak quietly,” he commanded immediately. “Madeleine is sleeping.”