Page 24 of Apollo

Lesser men.

Not breathtakingly beautiful gods.

Was that why she couldn’t move? Because he was literally made of stardust and magic, with the power in his pulling hands to prove it? With the same force in his twin greens riveted on her like interplanetary crystals? With all that intent acting on her senses as if he’d rented a billboard on Sunset Boulevard just to declare his illicit, incendiary intent?

Yeah, sweetheart. You got it right. I’m going to take over your lips with mine now.

And by all the gods of his homeland, he did.

First much softer than she expected—wanted?—but quickly hypnotizing her with the rolling, needing motions that seemed to involve his whole mouth . . .

Except his tongue.

Thankfully that came soon after, as a groan vibrated from his throat and echoed clear into hers. Before she could send any response of her own, he plunged into her mouth with wet, lusty force—and didn’t stop until she was so consumed by his hunger and heat, all she could do was hang on for the surging, sensual ride.

The ride . . .

It was an apt comparison, though she’d never been a thrill ride girl. Sky diving into a czar’s castle for a drug lord? She was first in line. Hitting Mach speed to catch a corporate cheater on the run? That jet joystick was officially her bitch. But surrendering to a container no bigger than a go-cart, on a track she hadn’t designed or inspected? Just no.

The recognition slammed her with a terrible question.

So why him? Why now?

She’d only meant the question for her head, but it was her soul that spoke up with the answer.

Apollo of Olympus is a thrill ride you can never take. A fall you can never risk.

At once, she pulled back. Far enough to catch some air but not enough to ignore her chest still heaving hard against his. Every thunderous beat of her heart confirmed it. A heart in which there could be no room for a presence like his. A connection that would consume then endanger her. Perhaps lethally.

Not just her.

Genny . . .

“Well, now you look really uncomfortable.” The man’s observation, borrowing from his earlier tease, wasn’t suffused with that kind charm anymore—yet its rumbling concern made it a hotter ignition to her attraction. “Hey. What is it?” he prompted in a lower husk. “Too much? Too rushed? Irowen?”

Not fast enough.

God help her, she nearly gave in and said it out loud. Maybe she just should have. Maybe she should have grabbed his face, kissed him hard, then guided his mouth between her legs and gotten things going into a hot, heavy release for them both. Quick and easy, fast and forgettable, just like a favorite drive-through order. Weren’t orgasms pretty much the same thing? An intense taste and then crumbs and leftover fries into the trash. Bang. Boom. Done-sies.

“No,” she finally eked out, clearing her throat to free it of the wobble. “You’re fine. It was fine. I just—”

“Fine?”

“Shit,” she grumbled, moving to stroke the insult out of his terse jaw. If only the allure of his matching pout didn’t call so adamantly to her fingertips. “I didn’t mean . . . It was better than fine. Seriously. It’s just . . . ”

Shit, the silent sequel, especially as her fingers slid across his lips as if magnetized there. They were such perfect lips. Not too full but full enough; the kind she’d expect to see on a statue of him in some museum, except as far from cold marble as she could imagine.

“Just what?”

Well, there was the frigid stone, carved into every syllable of his sub-guttural growl. Her nerves reacted to the order first, shivering and stiffening, before spreading and becoming her all-over squirm.

“It just . . . you scare me, okay? Since you’re being a pushy cookie about the whole subject, that’s the issue. Happy?”

Okay, she might have pulled the punch a little on that one. Cookie wasn’t her first insult of choice, but god or not, the XY chromosomes were strong in this one, and he’d need a little mojo to go back out and hunt his eventual conquest for the night. So why did he look as if she hadn’t been so generous? She seriously should’ve just gone with something out of Genny’s lexicon, like needy weenies or hardup pup, especially with his stupefied stare providing so much instant justification.

“I scare you?”

Well that, along with his dorky huff, surely locked his Game Over screen. At least enough that he’d back off and—