footsteps on the stairs. She didn’t care. Maybe she wanted it even if the whole world was watching. Right here, right now, where even Gray-Eyed Athena could witness Phaedra’s rebellion. “Luke, please…”
“Please, what?”
Phaedra pressed her mouth to his throat, running her teeth over his skin without biting. “Please fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
The word tasted better than the pastry, better than sin. It was transgressive. Against all the rules. And it seemed to affect Luke as much to hear it as it did for her to say it. They were out in public; they were going to be caught. Phaedra was sure of it. But she was more afraid that Luke would stop.
He didn’t. With a rough jerking motion, he yanked Phaedra’s panties further down to her thighs, ripping them a little. Then he spun her and she caught herself with both hands on the gritty old stone wall. His breath was on the back of her neck, his body molding to hers, but this time, it wasn’t enough for Phaedra to go limp in his arms and let him do these sexy things to her.
To get him inside her, Phaedra had to wriggle her hips, arching for just the right angle. She gasped at the scrape of the sandstone against her cheek when he finally thrust all the way in, but she pushed back just as hard, meeting him stroke for stroke.
Surely he heard the voices too, the rowdy partyers who were already drunk at this hour, sightseeing at the citadel. They would stumble upon Luke and Phaedra at any moment, but it only added to the urgency.
Luke’s weight crushed her when he shifted for balance, grunting with powerful pumps of his hips. He’d learned her body. How to make her frantic by slowing his pace; how to elicit a whimper with pressure. To be known in such a way felt somehow sacred, strangely at odds with the profane way in which he refused to kiss her.
As a fury, Phaedra had always wondered why people chose the wrong path when the consequences were so dire. Now she knew. For Phaedra, it wasn’t that the promise of sweet, pleasurable reward was closer at hand than the consequences. It was just that this didn’t feel wrong. Sex with Luke felt like some pure, blessed gift of gods who had long since left the world’s stage, and this was all that remained of their divine passing.
Luke’s hair was damp with sweat and the grip of his hands seared imprints onto her body. It wasn’t all pleasure; she was painfully aware of her pants around her ankles, of her panties, the elastic band cutting into her thighs. Even more painfully aware of their imminent discovery.
“Someone’s coming,” she cried as their bodies slapped together. “Someone’s coming!”
“You are,” he said, angling his strokes to send her over the edge. Orgasmic ecstasy blinded her to all else. She was coming, and coming, and coming so hard nothing could stop it.
As she cried out, she heard the laughter of the tourists who came upon them. Later, she would vaguely remember their scandalized expressions. Someone turned away. Someone else whistled, uttering vulgar words of encouragement to Luke.
How Phaedra must have looked to them, head thrown back, breasts bouncing, getting fucked against an alleyway wall. Maybe they judged her; maybe they condemned her. But she wasn’t just a watcher anymore. They watched her , and that made her real.
Luke’s hand fisted in her hair as he finished. Then, and only then, did he tilt her head back for a kiss. And oh, did he kiss her. A kiss that began like some kind of combat only to fade slowly into something breathless and tender. Something which, like honor, could never be taken away from her.
Chapter Six
Later, strolling through the streets with Phaedra, Luke felt oddly content, as if his internal hunger was finally sated. Not just his hunger for sex. More than that. He’d been lonely and lost since going into hiding; he didn’t know himself at all. Now he felt like he was coming to terms with what he’d done and the fact that he wasn’t really
“Please, what?”
Phaedra pressed her mouth to his throat, running her teeth over his skin without biting. “Please fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
The word tasted better than the pastry, better than sin. It was transgressive. Against all the rules. And it seemed to affect Luke as much to hear it as it did for her to say it. They were out in public; they were going to be caught. Phaedra was sure of it. But she was more afraid that Luke would stop.
He didn’t. With a rough jerking motion, he yanked Phaedra’s panties further down to her thighs, ripping them a little. Then he spun her and she caught herself with both hands on the gritty old stone wall. His breath was on the back of her neck, his body molding to hers, but this time, it wasn’t enough for Phaedra to go limp in his arms and let him do these sexy things to her.
To get him inside her, Phaedra had to wriggle her hips, arching for just the right angle. She gasped at the scrape of the sandstone against her cheek when he finally thrust all the way in, but she pushed back just as hard, meeting him stroke for stroke.
Surely he heard the voices too, the rowdy partyers who were already drunk at this hour, sightseeing at the citadel. They would stumble upon Luke and Phaedra at any moment, but it only added to the urgency.
Luke’s weight crushed her when he shifted for balance, grunting with powerful pumps of his hips. He’d learned her body. How to make her frantic by slowing his pace; how to elicit a whimper with pressure. To be known in such a way felt somehow sacred, strangely at odds with the profane way in which he refused to kiss her.
As a fury, Phaedra had always wondered why people chose the wrong path when the consequences were so dire. Now she knew. For Phaedra, it wasn’t that the promise of sweet, pleasurable reward was closer at hand than the consequences. It was just that this didn’t feel wrong. Sex with Luke felt like some pure, blessed gift of gods who had long since left the world’s stage, and this was all that remained of their divine passing.
Luke’s hair was damp with sweat and the grip of his hands seared imprints onto her body. It wasn’t all pleasure; she was painfully aware of her pants around her ankles, of her panties, the elastic band cutting into her thighs. Even more painfully aware of their imminent discovery.
“Someone’s coming,” she cried as their bodies slapped together. “Someone’s coming!”
“You are,” he said, angling his strokes to send her over the edge. Orgasmic ecstasy blinded her to all else. She was coming, and coming, and coming so hard nothing could stop it.
As she cried out, she heard the laughter of the tourists who came upon them. Later, she would vaguely remember their scandalized expressions. Someone turned away. Someone else whistled, uttering vulgar words of encouragement to Luke.
How Phaedra must have looked to them, head thrown back, breasts bouncing, getting fucked against an alleyway wall. Maybe they judged her; maybe they condemned her. But she wasn’t just a watcher anymore. They watched her , and that made her real.
Luke’s hand fisted in her hair as he finished. Then, and only then, did he tilt her head back for a kiss. And oh, did he kiss her. A kiss that began like some kind of combat only to fade slowly into something breathless and tender. Something which, like honor, could never be taken away from her.
Chapter Six
Later, strolling through the streets with Phaedra, Luke felt oddly content, as if his internal hunger was finally sated. Not just his hunger for sex. More than that. He’d been lonely and lost since going into hiding; he didn’t know himself at all. Now he felt like he was coming to terms with what he’d done and the fact that he wasn’t really
Similar Books
