The Deep End of the Sea (19 page)

My lips brush ever so lightly against his. It’s lovely, just absolutely the most lovely sensation, because tingles flare up and down my body and my head swims and I burn and float and all that happened was the delicate slide of skin against skin.

There.

My first real kiss.

I pull back, ever so slightly, but a low moan escapes him. And then his hand is in my hair, bringing my face back, and our mouths come together again. This is no brush, though, no soft slide: this is his mouth, on mine and mine on his, and oh stars above and everything wonderful in the world, this ... impossibly
this
is more beautiful than what happened before. But I have no time to process it, because his lips are moving against mine and it is everything,
everything
I could have ever dreamed it would be.

I’m melting right into him. My body melts right into a useless puddle of nerves and heat and it’s just soaking right into him, it has to be. Because I can’t feel anything other than his mouth on mine, his breath against my skin, and I don’t think I want to feel anything right now if it wasn’t one of these things.

I love him.

His tongue touches the seam of my mouth and I gasp, and then it’s in my mouth, twining with my tongue and all of that melting that just happened happens all over again. Something in me switches on, some need that tells me I must do the same with him, and when I do—when I ease my tongue into his mouth—he makes that same, low groan that just might be my new favorite sound in the world.

For the first time in two thousand plus years, time stands still. I pray it stays that way, because this moment here?

Divine.

He shifts in the chaise, his mouth never leaving mine, until he’s above me. My heart thunders in my chest as I reach up both hands and dig them in his hair, just like I’d imagined earlier. I’m drunk, and I can’t blame any of it on the champagne. It’s all him, and of how he makes me feel.

When we come up for air, we’re both breathing heavily, and as I gaze up in his eyes, so bright green in the moonlight, I can’t even begin to piece together all of the sensations wracking my body right now.

“Dusa ...” he murmurs, my name word barely voiced against the songs from crickets and frogs surrounding us.

Don’t do it,
I think.
Don’t tell me what just happened between us was a mistake, because if you do, I don’t think I can survive that. I’m not ready for this dream to be done.

His head shifts just a tiny bit so he can press a lingering kiss against the corner of my mouth. “In case it wasn’t patently clear, that was me finally telling you how much I love you.”

My hands, currently on his shoulders, still. Surely, he did not just say what I think he did? Because—

“I am in love with you,” he whispers against my mouth. “Desperately. Hopelessly. In. Love. With.
You
.”

Something long-lost yet effervescent bubbles up in me, threatening to tear me apart in its efforts to burst free: joy. Blissful, radiant, incandescent joy. “That’s a good thing,” I whisper in return, a hand coming to cup his dear face. “Because I’m in the same situation.”

I can feel his mouth curve against mine. “You’re also hopelessly in love with you?”

I can’t help it. The elation filling every single one of my cells won’t let me do anything else—I laugh. And then I kiss him again: deeply, so he has no doubt of what I mean.

I can’t stop touching him. He can’t stop touching me. Even now, as I lay back in his arms once more, staring up at the stars, one of his hands runs lightly up and down my waist; the other twines through my hair. I’m tracing patterns on his chest, marveling how there is no awkwardness, no fear as I lay here with him—just love, all-consuming, effervescent gorgeous love.

“So,” he murmurs, his mouth lingering against the top of my head as he leaves a kiss there, “when did you finally decide to give me a chance?”

I play with one of the buttons on his shirt. “What do you mean?”

Another lingering kiss finds its way to my forehead. “I’ve been waiting a very long time for you to wise up and realize your feelings toward me.”

My fingers pause in their effort to undo his button.
“What?”

I feel his chuckle before I hear it. “Was that unclear, too? Wow. I’m apparently horrible at this. But that’s okay—as long as I finally have you in my arms, I’m more than content.”

I shift and lean myself up on an elbow so I can look him in the face. He looks content. Amused. Happier than I’ve ever seen him before.

But surely, there is no way his feelings for me could be older than just a few weeks old. Friendship, yes. I have no doubt about the validity of our friendship. But love? There is no way he was ever in love with me, because I was a monster who killed people.

“What’s the matter,
kardia mou
?” he asks me softly, a hand smoothing stray strands of my hair away from my face.

He calls me his heart, but he is mine and has been for so long. “I love you,” I tell him. I let every last ounce of that very real, very valid feeling coat every syllable I speak. I’ve never said those three words out loud before. And now, now I want to say them all the time, as often as I can, as long as his ears are the ones to hear them.

He groans quietly, his lips finding my neck, and I arch toward them. “I cannot tell you how long I’ve dreamed of this ... being here, with you,” he tells me, his words soft and sweet and hot all at the same time. “I’ve imagined it thousands of times, in a thousand different ways, but ... you taste better than anything I could have ever imagined in even my best dreams. And believe me, there have been plenty of those kind when it comes to you.”

I struggle to focus as one of his hands runs the length from my waist to my breast. The arm propping me up turns to jelly, making it difficult to stay upright. He catches me easily, his mouth once more claiming mine. I shiver when his fingers dance across my skin to circle my breast, cupping it in a way no other man has done before.

I fall apart all over again.

“Do you know what I used to dream about?” he murmurs in my ear as his hand drifts to my other breast.

I manage to whisper, “What?” even as he steals my breath away when he lightly pinches my nipple. I jerk, but not from pain. No, there’s only delirious, delicious pleasure here. This must be what odes were written about, infinite movies attempt to depict, books desperate to describe—the perfect, exquisite sensation of lust and love all rolled into one.

“What you sound like when you’re kissed.” His mouth brushes mine. “What your body would feel like under mine.” His index finger traces a light circle around my hardening nipple. “What you would taste like.” His teeth lightly graze my neck. “What it feels like to hear you tell me you love me, too. I cannot tell you how delighted I am to finally have those answers. How it makes me feel like I’ve been given the best gifts in the entire universe.”

My eyes go blurry; too much happiness threatens to spill out. After all that I’ve done, after all I’ve gone through, how did I ever deserve this? Him? “Then listen closely. I love you, Hermes. I. Love.
You
.”

He groans. And then I gasp when his lips travel to meet where his hand is, my back arching so he can easily capture my breast, still hidden behind my dress, in his mouth. Oh, sweet stars in the skies, surely Zeus has just struck me with one of his lightning bolts because I have been electrocuted. Nerve endings I didn’t even know were there before flare to life, turning achy and hot.

I need something—desperately need it, but I don’t know what it is.

Suddenly, he pulls away from me and calls out something in that language of Olympus I don’t understand, his hoarse voice ringing out across the courtyard. Faint rustling follows.

I struggle to form coherent words. “What did you just say?”

An embarrassed smile slides across his tempting lips. “I basically told the Automatons patrolling the villa that if they came within a two thousand feet of us tonight without me or you giving explicit permission first, I’d personally ensure that they would lose their jobs.”

It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in before I jerk into a sitting position over him. “Have we been
watched
?”

He leans up on his elbows, eyes drifting to my chest. This, of course, makes my embarrassment grow tenfold. “Dusa. Love.” He eyes finally meet mine. How do they manage to pierce me so? “No. They—while I certainly never guessed that this would happen tonight, I always make sure that when you and I are together, it’s just us. They are on the property, yes. They are within a safe distance if needed.” He lets out that wonderful exasperated breath of a laugh. “The only people here ... it’s just us. I would never expose you to anything that I would ever think would harm you—not even if my lust threatens to get the better of me.”

I want to look around the patio, ensure for myself that his words are true, but he’s captured my attention so fully. “We’re alone?”

He nods, biting his lower lip, like he’s worried that I’ll somehow take back what I’ve said, how I feel. What we’ve done.

For some reason, that undoes me. This god—this powerful, popular, wonderful god has fallen in love with
me
. All that bad luck I thought I’d cultivated over the years evaporates out of my pores. Because I am the absolute luckiest girl to ever live in this moment.

He gave me my first real kiss. He’s given me his love, his friendship, and his devotion. But I am suddenly greedy, because I want more than that. I want to entirely erase what’s come before. It’s been two thousand years, yes, but I want that memory completely overwritten in my life with one from this man here.

So slowly, oh so slowly, I reach down and grab the hem of my dress. He’s still up on his elbows, watching me as if he would rather cease existing than look at anything else. It empowers me, makes me feel like in this moment, I am calling the shots.

Me. I am choosing to do this. Me
. My choice.

“Medusa,” he half-whispers, half-moans, using my whole name for the first time in forever. Something hard presses against my bottom, and I revel in it—proof of his desire for me. Rather than terrifying me like it did so long ago on another man, I now ache at the thought of it being in me.

I pull the dress over my head, tossing it on the ground nearby.

His breath rushes in loudly, and I can’t help but blush. He stares at me for what feels like forever, eyes moving up and down my bare body, trembling in the warm breeze. Then he looks up at me, eyes wide and yet glazed, mouth slightly parted with no words coming out. He tries to say something but all that manages to come out is that delicious moan that heats me every further.

A thrill shoots through me. Have I rendered him speechless?

I reach up and free my hair, haphazardly arranged in a loose bun. It spills across my shoulders, earning me yet another audible inhale from Hermes. I delight in how his hand trembles when he reaches up to touch a strand of hair grazing the tips of one of my breasts. His fingers brush against the peak and something in me tightens and strains.

His voice is husky. “Are you sure?”

The fact that he’s asking, that he’s waiting for permission makes me all the more sure. I nod, my hair swaying around my shoulders.

His fingers still in their tracings. “I need to hear it,” he whispers. “Please.”

Part of me is terrified to say it. Because, as sure as I am, it also means there’s no turning back. Tiny insecurities surface: what if, despite how much I love him, it’s just as painful as the last time? But I also know it could be beautiful—everything else tonight has been.

As I have done for years, I place my trust in his hands; only this time, I do not just trust him with my heart, but my body, too. My words are just as soft and shaky as his. “I want to make love to you.”

He leans back and blows out an unstable breath. “If ... if you need to stop, just ... I’ll understand ... just—you’ll need to tell me—”

I reach down and slowly unbutton his shirt, effectively robbing the rest of his much-appreciated assurances. I only get halfway done before his hand curves around the back of my head, pulling me down for a reality-shattering kiss.

Because that’s what’s happening. Reality, as I’ve known it for thousands of years, is no longer the same.

Our mouths crash together as our hands frantically explore each other’s bodies. His shirt finally comes off, and I marvel at his beautiful, smooth skin. This is why people glorified him in art—he is magnificent. But I don’t get to study him too much, because his mouth finds my breast again and now, with no fabric between us, the heat between my legs flares so strongly that I find myself whimpering from need and want. As his tongue and teeth turn me inside out, one of his hands traces a path down from my other breast to the top of my panties. Except, as needy as I am, I find myself stiffening the moment his fingers dip below the thin elastic.

He stops, his hot, hard breaths puffing against delicate skin. I know why he paused, and I love him for it. Yet, frustration builds in me, too—I cannot,
will not
let my past dictate this moment. “Please,” I whisper brokenly.