Page 49 of Hercules

Gorging his sights on the lush angles of her face. Delving his gaze even deeper into those gold-tinted eyes. Indulging his hands with the gentle curves of her body, accentuated by the sensual tailoring of her sleek leather…

And at last, slipping his touch beneath it.

Not far. Only an inch beneath the bottom edge of her skirt. Though with the length of this garment, inches translated into miles—and a rough query could become an unignorable demand.

Thankfully, the woman beneath him hadn’t slackened an inch of her rapt attention. Her throat noticeably undulated, communicating she’d heard the silent summons—except her lips didn’t move to give him an answer.

God damn it, Lois. I need your answer.

This time, he wasn’t exaggerating. Because this time, he was being watched by someone else—from the past. He felt the ghost. He knew her. And while Meg and her assuring sanction were here, laced into the fabric of his soul and the fibers of his passion, they’d be converted to sackcloth if he forced his way into Lois Lance’s pussy.

Despite how it was already weeping for him.

He was as sure of it as the air in his lungs. The vast spaces that filled with deep breaths of her intimate scent, despite his fingers’ shallow breach beneath her skirt. But it didn’t matter. He needed her words. Her own certainty. The one ideal syllable from her lips…

“Yes.”

That one.

“Yes, Herc,” she emphasized, changing so much of the air with that gorgeous, needy husk. “That’s exactly what I w—oh!”

There were times for savoring such pretty, pouting whispers. Now wasn’t one of them. Herc broke into her assertion by using his own mouth—directly on the center of her thighs. In the same motion he curled fists into the vent flaps at the back of her skirt, no longer able to hold back on pulling them as hard as he could.

“Oh!” The repetition ripped from her lips in perfect conjunction with the dark thwoz of his hands destroying the back seam of her outfit, and the erotic snap of her panties beneath his teeth. The faintest inclination toward an apology flitted through his mind, until he identified it as the stupidity it was.

He wasn’t sorry. Not one damn bit.

He even wondered about getting away with tearing the rest of the leather too.

Better priorities took over. The taste of her essence, orange wine and feminine berries, on his tongue. The feel of her body, clenching and sopping, as he snuck the tip of his taste buds inside her.

Forbidden territory…

He pulled out.

But weeping for him…

So back in.

Until a rough whimper spilled from her lips, twined with the tangle of her hands in his hair.

But he didn’t withdraw all the way.

Only far enough to tease at the sensitive space between her sex and her ass, circling the quivering tissues until her thighs pulsed against his ears and she was damn close to bloodying his hair follicles.

But still…not yet.

“Herc. Oh, for the love of…Herc!”

Not until now.

The final notes of her plea, like a kitten and a dolphin attempting to harmonize, made him grin against her flesh. It was the most off-key aria he’d ever heard, which made it the most ideal tune in his recent memory. For that matter, in many of his far-off ones too.

He wanted more.

But only after he took her lips again.

But there was the the rub—more than figuratively.