Page 68 of Apollo

“You heard me.” His voice was a matching grate as he ordered his legs to carry him forward, every step an exercise in erotic torment. His fingers twitched from the craving to sharpen her breasts even more. “I said speak, woman. Exactly what were you going to repeat to your god on high?”

Beneath his scrutiny, her lips trembled with a misty smile. Though the tremors resounded through her body, especially the muscled stretches along her inner thighs, she jutted her chin to align her gaze with his. Her greens were as startling and spellbinding as the moment she’d first pierced him with their focus, on her back in a pool of her own blood.

She was just as slick and slippery now—only twice as trapped for his ultimate capture.

“Ah. Okay. Let me try to remember,” she uttered then, her wry sarcasm poked into little spaces between the breathy words. “Wasn’t it something about me being wet and pleading and uncomfortable?”

Against his every inner decree to refrain, a smile tapped the edges of his own mouth. It lingered too long to hide from her, but he also made sure she noticed the lusty tension beneath his jaw.

“And are you, right now?” he derided, once more close enough to frame her chin with a determined tug of his fingers. “Wet?”

Her mouth opened more. As he slid his thumb in, along the pad of her welcoming tongue, she nodded.

“Hm. And pleading?”

She closed her mouth around his digit. Rolled her tongue up and down its length. Then whimpered out her answer.

Apollo forced in a steadying breath before concluding, “And . . . uncomfortable?”

Irowen released his thumb. But he kept it close, pushing at the pads of her lips, as she husked, “Not enough.”

Well, damn.

The words might have left him audibly, as well, but he wasn’t sure. Not when the sky itself conspired with this enchantress, who’d surely been staging a masquerade on him these last twelve hours. Her brush with death had to have been a game, her “fatigue” and “heartache” mere ploys to delight in his wonderment now . . .

As lightning blinked boldly from the clouds, exposing a new vision of her nudity.

The dripping tracks along her form, like phosphorescent vines beneath a full moon, outlined her curves and muscles in bright shades of blue and red and gold. He was stunned and immobile, while every bright path was an entreaty to reach in and touch.

Touch . . .

Please, Lordship of Light.

Touch . . .

“Irowen,” he implored in return. Fuck. “What . . . is . . . ”

While his logic assembled the answer—this was what his paranormal touch and the lightning charges on the air had wrought—deeper parts of his soul greedily stuck with the illusion. Reality, whatever the hell that was right now, could wait. For just this moment, in this vast gale and this timeless garden, she was his unique, exquisite creation: a storm siren for him alone to woo and worship, capture and claim.

“Oh, my goodness.” Soft strands of awe filled her voice when she raised a leg and circled it around his waist. “Look. You spawned a new Glow Worm.”

He chuckled and palmed her cheek. “No, Sweetheart. I created a new butterfly.”

She sighed past a smile, and he captured both with his own lips. She was cherry-sweet yet sinfully spicy, especially as she opened her mouth to accept him in full. Her heated need was irresistible, pulling him to step in and crush his chest to hers. His heartbeat thudded, matching the cadence of the clouds, as his cock borrowed more than its fair share of the electricity overhead.

When they dragged their mouths apart, he indulged a long moment to examine the uplifted angles of her face. Rain and agony raced across her eyebrows, crunched the length of her nose, and gripped the planes of her cheekbones. Still, she quirked up her lips in a sassy smile while roping her other leg around his ribs.

“A butterfly, eh?” she offered in a coarse whisper. “Then make me soar, Your Godship.” As if knowing what the words would do to him, she bucked the crux of her hips against that matching part of him. “I mean, I have to know if this boy glows too.”

Apollo lowered his mouth and took hers in another mushy but urgent coupling. Holy hell, what she did to every pore of his skin just from how she relished making out with him . . .

“With you, little Mothra, nothing would surprise me.”

She pushed her face up and nipped his bottom lip. “You going to let me see?”

He dipped his head, going for a punishing nibble of his own along her jaw. “You going to keep your promise and plead for it?”

She reacted exactly as he hoped. Her reply was gloriously glottal, fighting its way up her taut throat. “Please, Apollo. Will you take out your cock for me?”