Electric Idol (Dark Olympus Book 2)

Today has been filled with emotional extremes. I feel like I’m flying apart into a million pieces, and not necessarily in a good way. From those forty minutes in Eros’s bed to walking into the room that he thoughtfully pulled together into something resembling a real wedding. He’d themed the colors to my dress, for gods’ sake. That kind of attention to detail might only be so that we can sell this fully to everyone in the city, but I can’t help thinking that he did it in part for me.

I’m a fool.

To go from that to him casually mentioning that it’s likely his mother will continue with her vendetta, at least when it comes to my reputation…

Whiplash doesn’t begin to cover it.

Of course I expected this. We’ve talked about it, at least in passing. But a small part of me had held out hope that Aphrodite would turn away from this path once we were married. I really know better than to believe such a fantasy, but hope springs eternal. It seems rather naive to assume that, thwarted, Aphrodite would move on with her life and focus on some other potential victim.

Naive and selfish.

At least if she’s focused on me, Eros isn’t having to hurt other people. Now that the worst of the threat is removed, I can handle Aphrodite. I hope. In the arena of public opinion, I’m nearly as capable as she is. I have to believe that. I’m just so godsdamned tired.

I don’t manage to speak until we’re tucked safely back into Eros’s penthouse. “I suppose it was naive of me to think that this would be enough to dissuade her.”

He keeps his arm around me as we head into the kitchen. There’s a bottle sitting on the counter, and I pick it up, mostly to give my hands something to do. A pretty silver ribbon is tied around its neck, the tag simply saying From Hermes.

I examine the label. “She’s got expensive taste.”

Eros reaches around me and flips the tag over. The back reads: Totally stole this from Hades’s wine cellar. So, really, it’s from me, Hades, and Persephone.

That draws a tired little laugh from my lips. “Hermes is a menace.”

“She’s chaotic neutral personified. She’s pretty okay, though.” Eros takes the bottle from my hands and sets it back on the counter. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Psyche.”

“That’s rich coming from you, someone who intended to hurt me twenty-four hours ago.” Maybe that’s fair, maybe it’s not, but I don’t care either way. The events of the last two days are rapidly catching up with me. Too much has happened in too short a time. “If this was the plan all along, it’s not a half bad one. One cut for marrying Demeter’s daughter. A finishing move by killing her.”

“Stop it.” He takes my hands, his grip light but unavoidable. “Look at me.”

I don’t want to. I know how well Eros lies when he’s motivated. I can’t trust a single word, look, or gesture. But when I gaze up at him, he looks terrifyingly serious.

“Psyche, my mother might still be furious, but our reasons for getting married remain the same. She can spit her poison and try her manipulations, but she can’t harm you. I will not let anyone harm you. You’re mine now, and I protect what’s mine.”

“That’s very patriarchal of you.” I have no business believing him. None at all. Just because we’re married doesn’t mean he’s anything other than an enemy. He was going to kill me. I try to maintain my grasp on that truth, but it keeps bumping up against other truths.

How angry he was about the negative comments on my social media.

His insistence that I have a wedding dress that I’d be proud of.

The fact that he took the swatch and organized the entire wedding, guests and all, around my chosen color palette.

So many tiny, thoughtful things. Things an enemy wouldn’t do, even if they were trying to butter up their victim. Now he’s telling me he will stand between me and any threat to my safety and I…believe him.

He shakes his head. “I don’t really give a fuck if it’s patriarchal or not. It’s the truth. You’re safe with me. I promise.”

I don’t mean to touch him. Touching Eros is the very definition of a poor choice, but my hands find their way inside his tux jacket all the same. The fabric of his deep-gray shirt is softer than I expect, but that’s not what has my legs already shaking. It’s the curves and divots of his muscles beneath. He was shirtless in bed with me last night, but the circumstances made it impossible to enjoy the view without restriction.

I can enjoy it now. It’s my wedding night, after all.

“Eros.”

He holds perfectly still, watching me closely. “Yes?”

“I said only once.” My fingers find the buttons in the center of his chest. “What if that once doesn’t end until sunrise?”

His eyes flare hot, but he doesn’t reach for me the way I suddenly crave. “I want no misunderstandings between us, Psyche. You need something? Use your words and be explicit.”

I should have known he wouldn’t make this easy on me. Nothing up to this point has been easy; why would this be? I lick my lips and strive for an even tone. “I would very much like to have sex with you tonight.”

His slow smile has something more violent than butterflies erupting in my stomach. “One condition.”

“I’m not interested in bargaining.”

“And yet here we are—bargaining.” His grin widens, and I’m startled to realize it’s a little crooked. The tiniest of imperfections that somehow makes him even more attractive, something I thought impossible. He leans into my touch the slightest bit. “We’ll have sex tonight, and in return, for as long as we’re married, you’ll give me the opportunity to seduce you properly.”

“No.” The word slams through my lips before I can call it back. “I already told you why that was impossible.”

“Psyche.” He practically purrs my name, and I have to fight down a shiver. How can this man do so much with one word? “I’m never going to pressure you to do something you don’t want.”

Danger. That way lie dragons.

The idea of being seduced by Eros is almost intoxicating enough to have me throwing caution to the wind. Almost. I draw in a ragged breath. “I’d be a fool to agree to that, and you’re ridiculous for demanding it. Everyone knows that you don’t stay with one partner for more than long enough to quench your curiosity. The only reason you want me so much is because I told you no.” If we go further down this path, eventually he’ll get bored with me. I know myself well enough to recognize how much that will hurt when he finally fucks his fill and decides he isn’t interested in continuing the seduction.

“Is it?” He takes a slow step closer, and I do nothing to stop him. Eros strokes the tips of his fingers over the backs of my hands. “Everyone seems to know a lot about us, all of it projection and carefully concealed lies. Everyone knows I’m allergic to monogamy. Just like everyone knows that you’re a sweet influencer who doesn’t make waves—or have a mean bone in her body.”

The point lands just as he intends it to. Olympian gossip might be an elite event, but most people involved play the game and massage their image as needed. I do. Of course Eros does the same; he’s already admitted as much. So why is it so shocking that this isn’t true? “I’ve never seen you with the same date at two events.”

“My reasons are my own, and my past partners have nothing to do with us. You know that, but you’re being stubborn.”

I search his face, understanding dawning. “Aphrodite is a jealous creature. She wouldn’t like sharing your allegiance with anyone, especially a romantic partner.”

“Clever girl.” His lips curve in a bitter smile. “I don’t have to worry about that with you, since my mother already hates you and you’re more than capable of handling her going forward.”

He says it so confidently, as if it’s truth and not just wishing on a star. I am good at what I do. I know that. I’ve had ten years of practice and it comes naturally to me. But so much of my strength lies in people underestimating me. Even my sisters do it; sometimes they forget I’m playing the same games they are. If I told them I was going toe-to-toe with Aphrodite, they would be terrified on my behalf.

Eros simply believes I can hold my own. There’s no hesitation, no doubt. His confidence is headier than any alcohol. It makes me feel bold and reckless and more than a little wild.

Which is exactly why I need to restrict sex between us. “Eros, please,” I whisper. If he’s able to make me feel so off-center in a single day, a few weeks of sleeping next to each other—of sleeping with each other—and I’ll be in serious trouble.

“You’re the one who opened up negotiations.” He keeps up that featherlight touch, tracing over my wrists. “To be honest, though, you have me over a barrel. I want you too badly not to take you up on this.”

It’s a terrible idea to give him the green light to attempt to seduce me, especially when he’s already backed down. If I were smart, I’d capitalize on this, take my pleasure for tonight, and go back to keeping a careful distance between us tomorrow.

I don’t know what I want.

Liar.

I ignore the sensible voice inside me. Tomorrow is Future Me’s problem. Right now, I am buzzing in my skin, torn in a thousand different directions by too many emotions. I just want to feel, to forget, to cease to exist for a little while. All my problems, all the planning and plotting, will still be there tomorrow. I meet his eyes. “You have yourself a deal. For as long as we’re married, you can attempt to seduce me.”

He exhales slowly as if giving me a chance to change my mind. When I simply stand there and look up at him, he growls, “Thank fuck.” He grabs my hand and tows me down the hall to the master bedroom. “I love this dress. But if you don’t tell me how to get it off you in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to cut it to pieces.”

Shock and pleasure have me laughing. “Laces in the back. Please don’t cut up my wedding dress.”

He makes another of those delicious growling sounds and spins me around to face the dresser across from the bed. To face the giant gilded mirror that hangs over it. I stare at it, hardly recognizing the woman reflected there. She looks like a stranger, dressed in her crimson wedding gown with her cheeks flushed from desire. I watch Eros as he moves to stand behind me, his expression a mask of concentration and impatience as he gently tugs the laces loose until the dress sags away from my body. I should help, but I can’t stop staring at the picture we make.

“For fuck’s sake, it’s like one of those Russian nesting dolls.” Eros runs his hands over the corset, guiding my dress past my hips to the floor. Again, he goes to the laces, though this one requires a little more finesse because Persephone is a sadist and laced it up tight.

“You could just leave it on,” I gasp. The little jerking motions as he frees the laces are a strange sort of foreplay that I didn’t expect, but then I’ve never had a partner get me out of a corset before.

“No way. I want access to all of you.” The last row of laces gives, and he yanks the corset off me. I hear it hit the ground behind us.

I freeze, gripping the dresser hard enough to hurt. He saw me naked just a few hours ago, but I can’t help the stab of insecurity I feel. Corsets might look like a dream, but they leave press marks across the skin of my stomach. It’s hardly the sexy image I’d choose for tonight.

Eros meets my gaze in the mirror. The naked hunger on his face puts what few doubts I have aside. This man has no reason to lie to me, not about this. Which means he wants me just as desperately as I want him.

He wants to seduce me properly.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, closing the distance between us to press his body to my back. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

I expect him to go nearly feral the same way he did early today. But apparently my new husband isn’t in the mood to rush despite his determination to get my wedding dress off. He sinks his hands into my hair, removing the bobby pins that Persephone put into place one by one. It feels like there’s a thousand of them, and he goes after each methodically, dropping them on the dresser next to us. He’s barely touching me, his fingers carefully moving through my hair, occasionally pressing to the tight knots at the base of my skull, but it feels like he’s doused me in gasoline and lit a match.

I can’t stop shaking. I want to reach for him, but I also don’t want this slow seduction to stop. And it is a seduction, even if I doubt he’d label it as such. I open my eyes, not quite sure when I closed them, to find a look of utter concentration on his face. Every bit of Eros’s formidable attention is focused on me. The realization is one of the headiest moments of my life.

This man is mine.

Maybe not in truth, maybe not forever, but for right now.

Once my hair is free to fall down my back in loose waves, Eros moves it out of the way and presses a kiss to my neck. He drags his mouth over the slope of my shoulders, watching me in the mirror. Somehow, this feels more intimate than when he had his mouth all over me earlier today. I can see everything. My body. My need. His blatant desire burning hot enough to incinerate both of us.

His teeth graze sensitive skin, but he’s oh so careful not to mark me. I can tell even while completely overwhelmed with this experience. And that care, that thoughtfulness, only makes this moment more intoxicating. “Take off your pants,” I gasp.

“Not yet.”

Frustration adds spice to my desire. “Please, Eros. I need you.”

“Not yet,” he repeats. He cups my breasts with a rough touch, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say his hands are shaking. Surely not. Surely Eros Ambrosia isn’t so affected by me that he’s off his game. It doesn’t matter that the look on his face is downright reverent. But then he goes and blows my assumptions out of the water with his next words. “If I take off my pants, I’m going to be inside you, and if I’m inside you, this will be over too quickly. Don’t rush me.”

My body flushes hot and needy. I arch my back, pressing my breasts more firmly into his touch. I can’t doubt his words. Not when he’s told me harsh truths and soft ones. He has no reason to lie to me now. He’s getting exactly what he wants, after all—what we both want.

I tentatively run my hands up his arms, lingering over the harsh lines of his muscles. We paint quite the picture. Me, naked and soft. Him, clothed and all barely controlled strength. “Touch me.”

“I am touching you.” His voice is lower than I’ve heard it yet, rough and tight. “Or do you mean touch you like this?” He moves, bracketing my throat with one hand and sliding his other down to palm my pussy. I’ve never felt so owned in my life. I’ve never looked so owned.

No, not owned. Possessed.

I lean forward a little just to feel the strength in his palm against my neck, just to have him flex his fingers against my sensitive skin.

Eros holds my gaze as he parts my folds and pushes two blunt fingers into me, a slow and thorough penetration. I start to shut my eyes, unable to bear being exposed like this, but he makes a sharp sound. “No. Don’t hide from me. Not tonight. Not like this.”

I can’t handle the sheer heat in his eyes so I focus on his hand between my thighs. It looks as good as it feels. He idly fucks me with his fingers, strumming my need higher and higher. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

If any other partner said those words—and they have—I would chalk it up to being caught in the heat of the moment. I know I’m attractive, but my beauty doesn’t inspire the reverence these kinds of compliments inherently carry.

Except…

Eros sounds like he means it. He looks like he means it. He keeps working my pussy in slow strokes as his free hand moves over my body, like he can’t touch me enough. Cupping first one breast and then the other, stroking down my stomach, over to squeeze my hip as he makes a growling sound. “Fucking perfect.” He eases his fingers out of me and moves up to circle my clit. “So clever and ambitious and you hide it behind this pretty face. Do you ever let down your walls, beautiful girl?”

“Eros, please.” I don’t know what I’m asking for. For him to stop, to never stop, to just make me orgasm without saying words that feel like he’s lashing me right down to my soul.

“That’s answer enough.” Eros nips my shoulder, making me jolt, and slides two fingers back into me. “Let go, Psyche. I want to feel your pussy clamp around my fingers as you come.” He presses the heel of his hand to my clit, each stroke rubbing me where I need it most.

I don’t last another sixty seconds.

I come hard, the cry barely passing my lips before his mouth is on mine, devouring the sound as he strums my pleasure higher and higher. Wave after wave. Gods, it’s too much and not enough, and if I could think properly, I’d be terrified that I’ll never get enough. My knees give out; he doesn’t miss a beat. Eros guides me back onto the bed and far enough up the mattress until he can kneel between my spread thighs.

The way this man looks at me.

If I were smarter, I’d find a way to run from him. The heat in Eros’s eyes is something like obsession, and being this man’s sole focus is dangerous in a way I’m not prepared to deal with. I am strong; I’ve had to be in order to survive this long mostly unscathed.

I’m nowhere near strong enough to win a battle of wills with Eros if he ever decides he wants to break me to pieces.