Electric Idol (Dark Olympus #2)(91)

I take her hand, enjoying the way she lets me. It’s easier to focus on that point of contact, on measuring the steps it takes to bring us into the kitchen, than it is to circle back to what she said earlier.

She cares about me.

She cares if I’m harmed, even by my own actions.

I don’t know what to do with that. Part of me wants to crow my victory to the heavens, and the rest just muddles over what the fuck she even means. I am not someone who needs to be protected. I am the knife in the dark, the threat ready to be leveled at any enemy that arises. What the fuck do I need a shield for?

Except that’s what Psyche is offering, in her way. Perhaps not a shield; a better description of what she’s offering me is a safe place to land. Both ideas are as foreign to me as sprouting wings from my back and taking flight.

“Sandwich?”

“Sure.”

I get to work putting one together for each of us as she watches me. It strikes me all over again how easy it is to be with Psyche. Even when we’re pushing at each other or fucking until I can’t think straight, we’ve slid into each other’s lives nearly seamlessly. It’s a gift I never thought to expect. It makes me…want things. Things I was certain weren’t for me.

Like children. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted kids, Psyche?”

She jolts. “What?”

I cut her sandwich in half and slide her plate across the counter to her. “It’s a simple enough question.”

“I…” She looks at her plate and then looks at me. “Yeah. I did. It wasn’t just a ploy to make you empathize with me. I really do want a family.”

A month ago, I would have laughed anyone out of the room if they suggested I might actually want the same. But ever since our conversation with Zeus, I haven’t been able to get the image of that kind of future with Psyche out of my head. I want it all. It doesn’t matter if she deserves better than me. No other partner is going to readily burn down the fucking world for her the way I will. I don’t know if I’d be a good dad—it’s not like I have anything resembling a role model for that—but I think we could muddle through parenting. Together.

I know better than to tell her where my head’s at right now. We have a giant hurdle to get over before we can talk about anything resembling the future. Even then, if we successfully remove the threat my mother poses, that also removes any reason we have to be married to each other. I won’t be able to make her stay; even I’m not ruthless enough to force her into forever if she wants her freedom.

Uncomfortable, desperate thoughts.

What the fuck am I going to do?

We finish eating in silence. What else is there to say? I simultaneously want to tether her to me forever and stay quiet to avoid saying something that neither of us can take back. Admitting to caring is one thing. Telling her the truth rumbling inside me is out of the question. I can barely admit it to myself.

I love her.

I try the words out as we brush our teeth, a slice of domesticity that must be so mundane for everyday couples but that I want to encase forever in my memory because this, too, is irreplaceable. All these little moments with her are new and novel, and if something happens to her or this blows up in my face, I’ll have to sell this fucking penthouse and move away because Psyche’s managed to imprint herself on every bit of space in the short time we’ve been together.

I’ll never be able to sleep in my bed remembering all the pleasure we’ve dealt each other there. Never cook in my kitchen without replaying every word of every conversation we’ve had there. And the foyer? Forget about it.

She hasn’t even had a chance to add items to the main space the way she plans. I won’t be able to live here wondering what changes she would have made if given enough time. It will kill me.

“Eros.”

I realize I’ve been staring at myself in the mirror far too long and shake my head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

No. Not even a little bit. I turn to her. It would be so simple to kiss her and do away with the need for any more words tonight. I know her body offers salvation that I can find nowhere else. But we’ve moved beyond just fucking, and I think we both know it. “Psyche.”

She twists her hair around one finger, her brows pulling together into a frown. “Yes?”

“I…” Fuck, why is this so hard? I clear my throat and try again. “I need you tonight.”

Her expression softens. “Okay.”

That nearly makes me laugh; I would if there was enough air in this room to fill my lungs. “You’re not going to ask me what I need from you before agreeing?”

“No.” She gives a small smile. “Why? Should I be terrified?”

If she knew what was going on in my head, the way I want to tie her to me in every way possible, she might be. I rub the back of my hand over my chest. “I…want to hold you tonight.”

That seems to surprise her. “Hold me? I thought for sure you were about to propose some freaky sex stuff.”

“Maybe later.” I should. She’s already admitted that she can’t separate sex and emotional attachment, so seducing her is the surefire way to ensure she falls for me just as hard as I’ve fallen for her.

Tonight, though, it’s not what I need. I need her body next to mine, the press of her against me, while I lie there and measure her steady breathing. I just need to fucking hold her. I look away, flushing despite my best efforts. “It’s fine. Forget it.”