Page 93 of The Truth About Myths
Isabel flushed. "You didn't hurt me when you—"
"Gave you pleasure beyond imagination?"
Isabel bit the inside of her cheek so as not to laugh. The man's conceit knew no bounds. "Well, if you must know, it was… wetter than I expected, and er… salty."
"Salty?" He growled against her neck and nipped her between her shoulder blades. "You wound me, wench."
She struggled, rubbing her naked breasts against the mattress. He flung himself atop her, kneading her waist and buttocks. His heat branded her thighs, and Isabel shuddered, a sensuous shiver blooming from the spot to her core.
"You slander my performance, but I'm as hard as a randy goat for you again." He thrust his hips against her derrière, and his hardness brushed against her entrance.
"Randy goat? I thought we were playing Zeus and Alcmene."
Another teasing thrust, this time penetrating her, just the tip.
"I'm very much flesh and blood, but when I'm inside you"—Henrique gave her another inch—"I feel close to the gods."
Her core tingled when he brushed against her, and she gasped. She didn't know there were other ways of making love.
"I shouldn't take you like a stallion mounting a mare. You deserve to be loved like a goddess."
Isabel stilled. If they did it like this, like mindless creatures, she wouldn't need to experience that intimacy again. Tilting her hips backward, she tried to lure him deeper.
He grabbed the indenture of her waist and paused above her. "You tempt me beyond words, Isa."
Flexing his knees, his breathing harsh, he buried himself to the hilt. Isabel screamed against the pillow. When she thought she would faint, he pulled her up against him into a kneeling position. A looming presence behind her, he grabbed her breasts, circling her nipples. Then he lowered his caresses to her stomach and finally to where they were joined. Isabel dropped her head against his chest, dizzy with pleasure. He massaged her wrists and pressed her spine until they were on all fours. He lowered himself atop her, his chest glued to her back. Isabel whimpered, breathless, her skin so sensitive she feared spontaneous combustion. The new position left her open to him. He possessed her with deep strokes. Pleasure built in a crescendo, but without looking into his eyes, it was hollow. She wanted more.
"I need—"
"What do you need, love?"
"You. I need you."
He flipped her onto her back. Hooking his hands under her knees, he came inside her. His eyes sought hers, and she allowed herself to be swept into the blue depths. The contact of their skin, heated and wet with perspiration, made her moan, and she clasped her arms around his neck. It assuaged something inside her, but it was never enough. She needed more.
He kept a steady, too-slow rhythm, touching her deeply for a spare second and then withdrawing completely. Isabel writhed on the bed, straining her hips, wanting more, wanting all.
Isabel cried out when he gave her a shallow thrust and pulled away. "Stay—inside. Please." She couldn't bear him gone for even the backlash of his thrusts.
Smiling, he kissed her mouth and thrust, burying himself inside her. "There. I won't leave you again."
He was so deep, he touched her soul.
Isabel burst into a thousand flames and whimpered, clasping her arms around him.
No, but I will.
One could get used to sleeping with Henrique. He was a natural source of heat. His aroma was clean, with a pleasant pine undertone. His purr was soothing, and his presence affected her in a way she couldn’t understand, much less describe. It was as if… Every day and every night, she labored to arrive somewhere. With him, tucked against his chest, his heart beating against her spine, she arrived. In his arms, she realized how exhausting it was to be always in control.
She savored the predawn hours until sunlight crept into the tower.
Henrique rolled to his back, one arm flung over his face, the sheets tangled around his legs. His mouth was soft, inviting. She shifted closer, her hand tingling to brush away a few strands from his forehead. It had been a night of myth. A flutter started in her stomach, a feeling of emptiness. What would happen if—No, she would not think about it. A ray of sunlight invaded the arrow slit, drawing a line between Henrique and her.
The night was over.
She stood, her legs weighted by invisible greaves. Her chest was so tight, as if Sophie had fastened a metal corset over her bedclothes. It was best this way. She could not renege on her duties. The cold slabs covering the floor frosted her feet. She was not betraying him. They had an agreement. One night. No guilt, no consequences. That was what he wanted and what she needed. It was broad daylight now, and passion could not last beyond Eros' shadows.
After tiptoeing to the table, she picked up his coat and brushed it against her cheek, cherishing the texture. The key was cold and hard against her palm, and she stared at it, resenting the brass piece as if it were responsible for all her woes.
