Page 53 of Hercules

When a rough sound emerged from him and he flicked his glance away, she forced it back with her hands at his scalp.

“Show me, Herc,” she grated out. “All of it.”

All of…you.

The words clamored to be free but clogged in her throat, feeling like too much. Too huge. But she meant them. Every syllable. Though this was all hardly a typical first date, she still craved to see the essence behind his intense eyes. To feel the sustenance that had sustained his soul for all these years.

To touch the loneliness that she recognized inside herself.

Because if she could get to his, maybe he could reach into hers. And then maybe…the emptiness wouldn’t feel so vast.

“Oh!”

And maybe he’d make it feel just like this.

The word erupted from her again, draining more from her lungs as his cock consumed more of her core. Then a third time, as he rocked his hips and plunged completely home. Holy shit, yes. Hitting that place so deep inside, where all her manners stopped and all her wild side began, given the right key to fling open the cage doors. The thing was, nobody had ever found that perfect fit. A number of nobly minded lovers had certainly tried, and she had a lot of fond gratitude for their very valiant efforts, but…

But…

If she’d only known it would finally take a demigod to get it right…

So. Awesomely. Right.

As in every new swirl of his masterful hips, directing his flesh to parts of her that had never been stroked like this before.

As in the equally carnal caresses of his body, sliding and pumping like he knew exactly what kind of a creature he was coaxing out of its cage—and now welcoming into his wilderness.

The fierce skies of his Olympian passion.

The raging fires of his Underworld lust.

The brutal landscape of the body that channeled them both, fitting her and filling her so perfectly with every lunge. Turning that dark secret lock, each and every time—

Until she shivered from it.

And gasped.

And pulsed.

And quivered.

And finally…ran.

Her awareness racing, her heartbeat thundering, her senses stretching. Everything in her mind and body at a full and joyous sprint, following Herc up a mountain of flames and fury and anticipation…

Don’t stop.

Set it all on fire.

Push hard.

Harder, Herc. Harder!

She was faintly conscious of her lips repeating the pleas, though they were all intersected by the huge huffs from her chugging lungs. But if his responding growls were any clear sign, he was a chugging lungs kind of guy. She just hoped his proclivities leaned the same way for greedy whimpers, because there was no human way to gulp back the porn star sounds invading her throat and lips. Noises she’d never made before. Had ever been tempted to make.

What on earth—and below it, for that matter—was going on?

The slap-it-on-a-T-shirt answer—It’s Different with a Demigod—wasn’t enough. No way. This wasn’t stuff that belonged in a souvenir stand. Hercules of Thebes was a custom-built machine for the center of a golden showcase. A rare, honed weapon in a high-end collector’s case.