Page 55 of Hercules

Lois’s exclamation, a near-perfect copy of the first two times she’d yelled it, shouldn’t be tempting Herc so strongly toward a third chuckle of response. But fuck it all, taming the reaction was as impossible as ordering his cock to deflate. Neither was going to happen, especially not now. Not how much joy her lust brought to his spirit. How much heat her pussy infused to his groin.

And now, how much sarcasm her exasperation ignited in his reflexes.

“What part of this feels like I’m kidding, Erastís?”

Only not really.

Their banter was a string of placeholders for other things. Stuff they were both still trying to figure out, disguised as exchanges of innuendo and flirtation that had intrigued, delighted, fascinated, and beguiled him over the last few hours. Or days? It could’ve even been months, and he wouldn’t have cared.

Because for every one of their lines of wicked wit, they added at least ten minutes to this ongoing—and awesomely intensifying—fuck party.

Party?

If any moment required a mental rewrite, it was that one. Usually he’d be seeking the word in Greek, but that wouldn’t do. Even those descriptions didn’t fit. Was there something in the other dozen languages he knew?

“Ohhhh. Dayyy-ermmm. Nahhh. You are nah kiddin’, baby.”

But why any of those when the perfection of a new tongue was here?

It was the dawn of Lois-ese. And he was very here for it.

He showed her so by taking advantage of their newest position on the bed—her back against his front, with her ass at his groin and her grip along his headboard—by securing an equally determined hold at the cute indentations of her waistline.

“Uhhhrrr. Yahsss.”

He grinned, joining it with a snarl of approval. “That’s it.” Teach me all the dialects. “Talk to me…”

She hummed but offered no new words. More coaxing, then? He backed it up by swiveling his hips, lining up his cockhead to the welcoming flesh between her legs. Then inward…

“Ahhh. That’s so…fuhhh…so fuhhh…”

And here she went, hitting him with more advanced phrasing. The part of the learning curve where some parts made sense, but not enough to plunge into a deeper conversation. It was sexy as fuck. An alluring siren’s song.

Still, he needed to ask for more intensive lessons.

“It’s what, little Scribester?” he murmured, sliding his mouth against her ear in tandem to the hand he trailed toward the silky curls between her thighs. And then farther in…

Farther…

“Come on. Tell me, Lois. Tell me all your beautiful things.”

He spoke it as he worked himself deeper between her walls, though he almost throttled all the way back out. Her responding shudder was that violent, making him wonder if his dick had suddenly grown poisonous spikes. But acting on the inclination was impossible as soon as her sex spasmed around him, compelling him in the opposite direction.

Swelling every last inch of him…

Until he was overtaken by his own furious frisson, a shiver of aching electricity that shot from the roots of his hair to the pads of his toes. It engulfed him like a lightning bolt scoring a direct hit on a cliff tree: everything about his support system was still intact, but his skeleton held up nothing but ash and air. Wild wind and blinding sparks.

Heat he funneled deeper into her.

Then deeper.

Swirling his hips. Sinking his cock. Seizing his hands, one into her hip and the other along her most sensitive center, as her cries got higher, faster, louder. But between them, she also gave him words.

“Herc. Oh, God. Oh, please.”

Beautiful, unforgettable words.

“Oh, please…what?”