Page 38 of Desired By Eros

Instead of answering, she leaned back in, brushing her lips against his in a soft, lingering kiss that made his pulse race. It wasn’t hurried or uncertain this time—just sweet, intentional, and completely her.

He froze for a beat, stunned by the softness of her boldness, then gave in entirely. He moved his hands from her waist to her hips, his fingers splaying over the curves he’d only admired from a distance until now. She felt warm and soft under his touch, grounding him even as his thoughts spun.

When she pulled back slightly, her lips hovering just a breath away from his, she whispered, “I liked that.”

“So did I,” he murmured.

He captured her lips in another kiss that left them both breathless. As her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, he let his lips wander down to her neck. He pressed soft, deliberate kisses along the delicate skin, feeling her warmth radiating against his lips and the subtle, quickened beat of her pulse beneath them. Her scent was intoxicating, a mix of her usual natural sweetness and something heightened, more primal.

“How do you know you like it?” he murmured against her neck.

She took a breath, her voice soft but steady as she answered. “Well, my heart rate is elevated, and my skin feels warmer. There’s also this?—”

He smiled against her skin as she began to analyze her reaction. The clinical way she spoke was so uniquely Psyche. She wasn’t trying to sound impressive or calculated; she was simply being honest, and it was endearing.

He pulled back slightly, lifting his gaze to her face, and sure enough, she wore that unmistakable expression: her nose wrinkled slightly, her lips parted, her eyes alight with thought. This time, her eyes gleamed with a warm hazel hue.

She caught him staring, her brows lifting. “What?”

His grin was unrepentant. “Go on, tell me. What else are you feeling?”

She hesitated for a moment, then continued, her tone growing softer. “There’s this…light, fluttery feeling in my chest. And my skin—” Her fingers brushed her own arm absently. “It’s like it’s more sensitive. Even small touches feel…” She trailed off, her cheeks turning pink.

Eros tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Feel what?”

Her lips twitched, and she shot him a mock glare. “You know what I mean.”

He chuckled, leaning forward to press another kiss just below her jaw. “I do,” he said softly, “but I like hearing you say it.”

Eros nipped at her neck playfully, and she shivered under his touch. Still, she kept talking, her voice growing softer as she continued to describe the sensations she was experiencing. Her words fascinated him, and he tightened his hold on her waist, his grip protective but deliberate.

“Psyche, are we going to have sex?”

“Oh,” her breath hitched, and she stilled.

Eros pulled back, immediately gauging her reaction. Her brow furrowed as she searched for the right words. “It’s just…” she began, her voice tentative. “This day has been a lot, and I’m exhausted. I can’t have sex on top of that too.”

He studied her for a moment, taking in her honesty and her nervousness. “Right,” he said, his tone gentle. He began to loosen his hold, but her hand reached out to touch his forearm.

Her eyes searched his face with worry. “Oh no, did I offend you?” she asked quickly. “I like sex—it’s good physically—but I just can’t right now.”

His expression softened, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “Don’t worry, Psyche. Never apologize for knowing what you want or need, especially when it comes to sex.”

She relaxed at his words, her shoulders easing. “Okay,” she said quietly, a small smile playing on her lips.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

Her smile widened slightly, and she leaned into his touch. “Okay.”

“I can take rejection, Psyche,” he teased, his grin softening for the moment. “But let’s not pretend my ego is foolproof. A few more ‘no’s, and I might need therapy.”

Psyche’s lips twitched as she tried not to laugh. “You? Therapy? That would be interesting,” she said, a playful gleam in her eye. “Do you think the therapist would survive you?”

“Survive?” he asked with mock indignation. “I’m a delight. But I guess I’d have to start every session with, ‘Hi, I’m Eros, and I’ve just discovered that I can, in fact, be told no.’”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine, and shook her head. “It’s not rejection,” she said, nudging his arm. “It’s just…pacing.”

“Ah,” he said, tilting his head in exaggerated contemplation. “Pacing. The polite version of rejection.”

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