Electric Idol (Dark Olympus #2)(25)

To shift the power of this partnership in my direction, at least a little.

With that in mind, I head to the door and open it… Only to find Eros stretched out on the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of lounge pants. I stop short. He was handsome in a tux and perfection in an expensive gray suit. He shouldn’t be able to get better than perfection. It’s not logical in the least, but somehow Eros in lounge pants is so much worse. He’s barefoot.

I stare at his feet. They’re nice feet, I think? I’m not exactly a person who has strong opinions about feet, but this casual vulnerability symbolizes a kind of intimacy that has every alarm in my head blaring a warning. “What are you doing?”

“It’s late. I’m tired.” He pats the bed next to him, the muscles in his arm flexing, which draws my attention to how nice his chest is, which leads me down…

I jerk my gaze away from his hips. “We still have to talk.”

“We’ll talk in the morning. There’s nothing left to say tonight.” I can’t really see his blue eyes from here, but there’s a set to his mouth that tells me this isn’t a battle I’m going to win. Eros pats the bed again, this time in a blatant command. “Come here, Psyche.”

I’m going to spend a significant amount of time sleeping next to him. I suppose it’s logical to start tonight. “Normally I sleep naked.” Gods, why did I just say that out loud?

“Normally, so do I. However, you’ve taken sex off the table for the time being, so I think it’s prudent to keep some clothing in place.”

Prudent. I swallow down a borderline hysterical laugh and pad to the side of the bed. I know it’s all in my head, but the closer I get to him, the thicker the air seems around me. Whether it’s pulling me in or pushing me away is up for debate. I reluctantly undo my jeans. I might be too exhausted to fight him on sleeping arrangements, but there’s one thing I can’t let slide. “Correction: I’ve taken sex off the table permanently.”

“It’s open for discussion.”

“It’s really not.” It can’t be. I slide out of my jeans, achingly aware of how intensely Eros watches me. Getting anything close to naked with a new person is awkward and makes me feel so fucking vulnerable in a way I hate. And that’s with someone I trust enough to get physical with. I brace myself as I look at his face, not sure what to expect. I’ve seen the people Eros surrounds himself with. They are all the peak of what Olympus considers physical perfection. Thin bodies. Flawless skin. Beautiful in a very specific way.

I am hardly that. It’s something that I’m reminded of constantly, especially with the public life I’ve chosen. There’s no escaping the way societal expectations scrape against my reality.

I love my body. I’ve fought so incredibly hard to love my body, even if some days that feels like an ambition instead of truth. I’m still painfully aware that not everyone feels the same.

After a short debate with myself, I take off my sweater, leaving me in a tank top and panties. As I refuse to sleep in a bra, I wrestle my way out of it without removing my shirt.

There’s nothing else to stall with, so I finally look at Eros.

He’s staring at me as if he wants to consume me bite by bite, savoring each morsel. Every muscle in his body is locked, and there’s no mistaking the hard length pressing against the front of his lounge pants. Lust. It’s pure lust, and it’s so strong it feels like it’s filling up the room between us.

I cannot, under any circumstances, let him touch me again.

I clear my throat. “Scoot over.”

“It’s a king-sized mattress. There’s plenty of room.” He has that mild tone again, and the only verbal sign that he’s affected is a slight deepening of the timbre. “Stop arguing and get in my bed, Psyche.”

The only thing worse than sliding beneath those blankets is standing here and letting him devour me with his gaze, so I obey. For a moment, I foolishly assume that Eros will sleep on top of the covers and give us the illusion of separation, but he stands long enough to peel back the comforter and sheets and climb into bed next to me.

This is a bad idea. Correction: this is such a terrible idea that bad doesn’t begin to encapsulate it.

Tomorrow…

I shoot up to a sitting position. “I have to make some calls.” Anything to prolong the need to turn off the lights.

He moves faster than I anticipate, looping an arm around my waist and pulling me back against his chest. “Stop.”

I freeze. Holy shit, I can feel his cock pressing against my ass, and that’s not even getting into all the bare skin shifting against my bare skin and, gods, it’s been so long since I touched someone like this. Surely that’s why my body is strumming happily in this new position even as my mind screams danger ahead. “What are you doing, Eros?”

His breath ghosts against the sensitive spot behind my ear. “Instead of making those calls, we’re going public with our relationship.”

“We don’t have a relationship.” I don’t know why I’m arguing. This is the plan, after all.

“We do now.”

I close my eyes, but that only makes the spell his proximity weaves stronger. He’s still got his arm around me, which means his forearm is pressing against my breasts and, gods, my nipples are pebbling beneath my shirt. “We talked about this. There’s no way my sisters will believe our relationship, especially if we go public before I tell them I’m, ah, in love with you.”