Electric Idol (Dark Olympus #2)(23)

Her frown fades, replaced by a look of intense curiosity. “And the other ways?”

“I work out.” I watch her face closely. “I fuck.”

Her complexion goes a bright tomato red, which is fascinating in the extreme. The only other time she’s looked ruffled is at the thought of her death. That I’ve affected her supports my growing suspicion that she’s just as attracted to me as I am to her.

“That won’t work.”

I blink. “It’s worked just fine for me up to this point.”

“I’m sure it has.” She recovers quickly and waves that away. “Sex is a great stress reliever.”

I push off the counter and stalk in her direction. Slowly. Giving her plenty of time to see me coming and decide what she’s going to do about it. “Do you fuck, Psyche?”

“That’s really none of your business.” Her voice goes a little breathy as I stop in front of her and lean forward, planting my hands on the counter on either side of her generous hips. “What are you doing?”

“Practice.” I’m a godsdamned liar, but it’s as good a reason as any. “You can’t jump every time I get within touching distance. No one will believe that we’re fucking like rabbits if you do.” Every time I say the word fucking, she flinches a little bit. That won’t do. That won’t do at all.

She reaches up cautiously, almost as if she expects me to bite her, and gingerly places her hands on my chest. “There? Can we continue the conversation now?”

What conversation? I can’t string two thoughts together with her hands on me, and she’s not doing anything but planting them on my pecs as if preparing to shove me off her. I fight a valiant battle with my body to keep from reacting like I’m a horny teenager being touched for the first time. I was never this ridiculous, even when I was sixteen. It doesn’t speak well to my sanity that she affects me on this level. We’re in trouble.

Kiss her.

Seduce her.

That will get it out of your system.

I ignore the whispered temptation and try to focus. “What conversation?”

“You can’t have sex with anyone.” Her fingers shift a little against my shirt. “I’m not polyamorous and everyone in my family knows it. They also realize that I’d gut my partner before I stayed with them after they cheated on me. You can’t be with anyone else while we’re married.”

I honestly hadn’t planned on it. Sex is exactly what I labeled it: a tool to help me let off some steam and wind down. I have a good time. My partners have a good time. Everyone has clear expectations. It might sound like I’m a user, but the truth is that I’m no prize and everyone in Olympus knows it. Anyone I try to date has to deal with the mother-in-law from Tartarus, and that’s not even touching on my reputation as her fixer. I’m the guy they fuck, the guy who gives them a ride on the wild side before they move on to safer choices to settle down with. That’s the way it is, and it’s always been enough for me.

That doesn’t mean I’m about to confess that truth to Psyche without prompting. Not when this is just another negotiation. “Psyche.” I like the way her name tastes on my tongue. I suspect I’ll like the way she tastes even more. “I have needs.”

“I suggest you get familiar with your hand, then.” She has a stubborn set to her brows that I enjoy far too much. “Or, if you want to get fancy, I’m more than capable of purchasing you one of those toys that mimic your hole of choice.”

That surprises a laugh out of me. “Will you be content with your hand or a little buzzy toy?”

“I have had dry spells before. More often than not in recent months, those dry spells have been the rule rather than the exception.” She shrugs as if it’s a fact of life and not a godsdamned tragedy.

I slide my hands closer to her, pressing my forearms to her hips. She jolts a little, and I raise my brows. “The surest way to have you settle into the idea of me touching you is through exposure therapy. Sex will speed up that process.”

She blinks those big hazel eyes at me. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. I thought you just suggested sex with you as exposure therapy.”

“I did.”

“You really have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not, so I ignore the question. “I’m attracted to you. You don’t find me overly repulsive.”

“Wow, you really do think highly of yourself.”

“I’m stating facts. Sex is the easiest way to fast-track to the results we want.” The easiest way to get exactly what I want.

Maybe it’ll be just another sexual encounter. Desire, sex, wake up the next morning with that need purged. We never have to do it again; we’re more than capable of sharing the same space without making things uncomfortable. She’s too good at playing the game to do otherwise, and control is never something I’ve had an issue with.

Until now.

“No. Absolutely not. I don’t know what you see when you look at me that makes you assume I’d happily have sex with a man who was set to murder me an hour ago, but I have higher standards than that.” She puts the slightest amount of pressure against my chest. “Back off, Eros. Now.”

I do as she asks, allowing her to push me several steps back. I want her in my bed, but I want her there willingly. “We can’t leave this apartment until you manage not to startle when I touch you.”