Page 45 of Hercules

Rephrase. How to kiss.

Because dear God, this was one of those.

The kind that belonged on a screen somewhere, if only so she could immortalize it by rewinding a zillion times to stare, slack-jawed, at how sensual something like this could be without her mouth wide open and her tongue fully stroking along his. And though the thoughts were obviously there, she didn’t yearn for any of that right now.

This…was more than enough.

This was heat and pressure and permission. A hello but also a can I? Wetness and neediness…

And greediness.

Not just what Lois felt from him. The desire, pent-up from such a long abstinence of his body and soul, that she desperately and direly wanted to provide.

But this was also about the sanction for herself.

The passion she always wrote about but constantly denied herself. The decision. The yes you can that she never indulged, even with lovers who’d been willing and able to take her to those heights. The tethers weren’t their fault. The reins were under her fingers, always tightened as soon as she felt sex turning into passion and affection edging toward—well, anything more.

Galloping to those speeds wasn’t an option.

Racing at their machs was out of the question.

Not the cadence of her heart, the pulses of her pussy, or the commitment of her spirit. Dear God, especially not that. She had dreams, damn it. Things to do. Goals to accomplish. A whole society called Hollywood to conquer. “Relationships” were for people who could relax. Who were happy with what they’d done already. Who could coast a bit. Or a lot.

Lois despised coasting.

She was born to fly.

Or so she’d promised herself…until a few hours ago.

Who was she kidding? It had been a full six months ago—on that day when she’d first been face-to-face with Natasha and offered that massive open door she’d been dreaming of. Instead, little by little, it had become an excuse to—gulp—coast.

Tonight that trajectory had changed. Likely permanently.

Funny thing was, Lois wasn’t sure she particularly cared.

She’d not written anything new in a couple of weeks, but her motivation for the craft hadn’t wavered. It was her dream to imagine new worlds, create new vistas. In those universes, to perhaps find the missing pieces of herself too. Well, here she was living such an adventure, beyond even what her imagination could ever conjure—with a tour guide who blew even that acme off the summit of her mind.

For once, if only for tonight, she wanted to gallop with him.

To let him grab her reins—and order her fantasies to run free.

To know that even though this was a temporary space, it was a completely open one. Perhaps the two were intertwined, given full existence because of that braid. And that was more than okay by her. This fleeting time would be all the more incredible for it. Minutes she’d never forget, finally unchained from the treadmill of constantly running from connection…devotion. Tonight, with Herc’s help, she was going to discover both. And she could help him with a rediscovery.

Together they’d embrace the bonds that meant new strength. They’d find the together to banish their vast alones. And perhaps, if they were lucky, it’d turn into valuable emotional epoxy…sealing the vast cracks they’d both brought to this room.

The fissures he’d already been so damn brave to show her. A courageousness that awed and humbled her—and all but dictated that she should match now, right? That she needed to acknowledge and return by giving him the exact same thing. Her broken parts. All the corners in her own alone that needed so much of the glue.

Just find your spine and girl boss this shit, Lois Lance. Live up to the name.

Tell him why it isn’t even your real name…

But holy shit, her spine was missing. As Herc rolled his head in, working his lips more urgently and tightly against hers, every other bone in her body melted along with those vertebrae and discs. Nothing was left but a liquified outline, emulsifying under the steady heat of his pressure and attention.

She was butter and caramel. Crayons and watercolors. The rod to his reactor. Absorbing his heat, unable to stop the slow buildup…

Until she wasn’t.

As he pulled away, enough of her awareness snapped back online to recognize her fast, shallow breaths. And her lungs, pumping to meet that demand. And her vision, fuzzy but coherent, still filled with the beautiful nearness of his face. The intense focus of his dark aquas. And, so slow it was barely noticeable, the dazed shake of his head.