Electric Idol (Dark Olympus #2)(101)
It strikes me all over again that we have time. We can act out every fantasy, explore every nuance of the thing that’s flared to life between us. I roll my hips, rubbing myself along his length. “One condition.”
“Name it.”
I grin down at him, so happy I feel downright buoyant. “Take me in front of every mirror in this house, Husband. Let’s put them to good use.”
He pulls me down into a devastating kiss. “That will take years, Wife.”
“Good.”
He smiles against my lips. “That’s my girl.” Eros reaches between us, and I lift my hips so he can notch his cock at my entrance. I keep kissing him as I work myself down his length, guided along by his hands on my hips.
It’s only when he’s seated fully inside me that I sit up and brace my hands on his chest. “I love you.”
His smile is wide and happy and free of any shadows. “Say it again.”
I ride him slowly, reassuring both of us with touch and pleasure that this is real, that it’s not going anywhere. “I love you.”
Eros slides a hand down to press to my clit, so that every stroke winds my pleasure tighter, hotter. “Again, Wife.”
“Again? Really?” I moan and pick up the pace.
“I’ll never get tired of hearing you say it.” He tightens his grip on my hip, urging me to move a little faster, chasing the orgasm I can already feel building deep inside me. “I love you, too. Psyche. So fucking much.”
Between his words and his touch, I’m lost. My orgasm crashes through me, drawing a cry from my lips. “I love you!”
Eros topples me to the bed and then he’s thrusting into me, harder and faster, his expression a mask of need and love. He wraps his arms around me, holding me to him as he grinds into me, chasing his pleasure. I dig my nails into his ass to pull him closer, needing this moment of connection as much as he does. When he comes, he buries his face in my neck.
He goes to slide off me, but I’m having none of it. I wrap my legs around his waist and hold him close. “Not yet. I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
“You never have to let me go.” He presses a kiss to my neck and leverages himself up so he can look down at me. Eros gives me a crooked smile. “Look at us. Beauty and her Beast. Happily ever after and everything. Maybe fairy tales do exist.”
“You’re much prettier than the Beast ever was.”
He gives a rough laugh. “And yet much more of a beast than he could ever be.”
“I don’t care. Beast, monster, man, it doesn’t matter to me. You’re mine, Eros Ambrosia.” I tilt my head up and brush a kiss over his lips. “And I’m yours.”
Epilogue
Eros
“Are you ready?”
“Almost.” I finish buttoning up my shirt and check my appearance in the reflection. I look fine. Better than fine. This is a new suit, one of Juliette’s designs, and the fit is so damn superior, I see why she charges what she does. The deep purple should be ridiculous, but it looks great. One wouldn’t know by looking at me that my stomach is a mess of nerves.
Psyche leans against the doorway. She’s as picture-ready as always, wearing a bright floral top with a deep-pink skirt that bells out to stop just below her knees. “Stop stalling or we’re going to be late.”
“We could always skip it.” I stalk toward her. “I could strip you out of that cute skirt thing and lose track of time.”
“Eros.” She smiles, though her hazel eyes are serious. “You have nothing to be nervous about. It’s just dinner at my mother’s.”
“It’s Sunday dinner at your mother’s, with your entire family.” It’s also the first one we’ve managed to make in the month since Aphrodite was exiled. As Zeus feared, my mother created more than enough trouble on her way out. She named Eris as her heir, which sent the entire upper city into wave after wave of whispers. I hadn’t even realized Eris was working beneath Aphrodite, though apparently she’d been doing it for years. Her appointment means two of the Thirteen are from the Kasios family, which has everyone speculating on how that will affect the power balance going forward.
Eris, of course, hasn’t seen fit to reassure anyone. I suspect she’s thriving off the chaos.
Demeter has been busy putting out political fires and circling the new Aphrodite warily, trying to figure out where they stand. And now Ares is sick, and it’s not looking like he’ll recover…
Yeah, shit has been fucked up in Olympus.
Ironic that it’s been the happiest month of my life.
As I follow Psyche out of our room and into the kitchen to grab the wine I bought to bring to dinner, evidence of that happiness is everywhere I look. The key bowl Psyche bought at the winter market in the lower city with its jaunty color scheme of pink, yellow, and teal. The matching personalized glasses—a tumbler for her and a wineglass for me—on the drying rack, the stylized script etched into it reading Hers and His. She has entirely too much fun taking photographs of us drinking from those for her social media.
The dining room table always has fresh flowers on it, and they always seem to match whatever Psyche is wearing when she buys them. Even though I tease her about being vain, I love it. It feels like she leaves a little piece of her in the penthouse when she’s out.