Ares took his time rinsing her hair.
“There must be a lot of shampoo,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” he said, and was it her imagination, or had his voice cracked a little? “I’m thorough that way.”
“Mmm.”
He brought his palm to her cheek to wipe away the water. “Anywhere else you need to be washed?”
Her eyes flew open. A “no” formed on her lips, but no sound came out. The way he was looking at her… this time, his expression was as readable as a large-print book. Hunger burned in his eyes. His gaze held hers captive, and she became achingly hyperaware of a growing anticipation.
She licked her lips, and his gaze dropped to her mouth, zeroed in on the tongue action. Inside her head, she pleaded for him not to kiss her. But she lifted her face and pushed herself up on her toes, surprised that her legs were no longer shaky.
“This is stupid,” Ares whispered, even as he lowered his head, slowly, until only a whisper-thin layer of steamy air separated their lips. She could have pulled away. Should have. But for the first time in a long time, she finally felt safe. How crazy was it that she felt safe in the arms of a man who could break her in half with a flick of his wrist, a man whom the entire world regarded with fear and horror?
Oh, but his lips were soft when they finally made contact. At first, he merely brushed his mouth over hers. A shivery sensation spread from every point of contact between them, electrifying her entire body. Gone was the fatigue that had weighed her down. She felt as if she could run a marathon. Heck, she felt as if she already had, with the way her pulse was racing.
He increased the pressure on her lips, alternating light kisses with nibbles and soothing strokes of his tongue until she moaned. As if her sound of desperation had unlocked something, he got serious. His tongue delved between her lips, demanding entrance. God, no one had ever kissed her this way, so masterfully that she opened up without hesitation. Their tongues met, tangled as he deepened the kiss. His hand gripped a handful of her hair as the other wound around her waist to tug her even closer. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his arms.
With a great surge, he backed her into the wall. The kiss grew fiercer. He was stroking, sucking, and his breathing became as ragged as hers. He dropped one hand to her thigh and lifted her right foot onto the bench, putting her core in contact with his arousal. They both groaned.
In this position, water poured directly onto Ares’s back and neck, cascading over his shoulders in wide rivulets that formed rivers in the deep valleys of his muscles. He was beautiful, perfect, and the way he undulated against her in the most primal of male responses brought a purr of pure female appreciation rising up in her chest.
His hand smoothed up her thigh to cup her butt, and oh, yes, that was good. His other hand slid up her rib cage until his fingers reached her breast, his thumb rasping back and forth over her nipple. He kept kissing her, his tongue flicking against hers, and those agonizingly wonderful little nips on her lower lip drove her to dizzying heights.
She ground against his rigid length, losing herself in the steam of the shower, the heat of his kiss, the luxury of his touch. This was so decadent, and she was so into it that she let her head fall back so he could kiss his way down her chin and jaw to her throat. When his hand left her breast to slide south, she dragged her own hands up his back, mapping the different textures, the taut layers of muscle.
“Cara.” His hot breath fanned against her skin, and his voice vibrated through her in an erotic wave.
“Mm-hmm?”
His hand stopped its downward exploration. “Are you bleeding?”
Her lust-clogged brain took a second to process what he’d said. “I didn’t hurt myself—”
“Not an injury.” His fingers brushed across her mound. “Female bleeding.”
Her face grew hotter than the steam around them. “Why?” Her ex had been squeamish about her time of the month, wouldn’t touch her during it or for a few days afterward, as if she were contaminated. “Is it repulsive to you?”
A frown tugged at the corners of his kiss-swollen mouth. “There is nothing repulsive about a female’s fertility cycle, and blood has never bothered me. I wondered because there were tampons on your counter. I brought them.” His cheeks bloomed pink.
It was so cute the way he glanced away, his face bright with embarrassment. “Why are you asking about this now?”
“Because I want to touch you.” His fingers drifted lightly, tentatively, over her sex. “But I don’t know if those feminine things interfere. Or hurt.”
Her throat closed up, clogged by a mixture of lust, shyness, and amusement at his inexperience with the subject. So instead of saying anything, she put her hand over his. Taking a deep, bracing breath to steady herself, she guided his fingers between her legs.
For a moment, his throat worked on a hard swallow, and then he closed his eyes and stroked her. Once more, her head fell back against the wall, the arch of her body pushing her h*ps forward and allowing him even more contact. Long, light passes of his fingers over the outer hills of her sex became firmer, and when he worked a finger into her slit, electric sparks lit fire to her blood. His thumb joined the action, circling her clit, and she began to pant, to pump her h*ps wantonly, needing him to find that perfect rhythm, that perfect pressure.
His other hand came up to cup her breast, and she shuddered at the dual sensations.
“That’s it.” His voice was a guttural rasp. “God, you’re beautiful.”
Oh, yes, she could come from just his words. She could feel his eyes on her, and she dare not open hers for fear that she’d lose this dreamy feeling. Reality was a strange place right now, and for a few stolen moments, she wanted to be somewhere nice.
Then it dawned on her that she was somewhere nice. She was on a Greek island in the middle of a crystal blue sea, in a shower outfitted for royalty, with a powerful man who epitomized the male animal. Sensation rocked her, the sex-on-the-brain as stimulating as Ares’s fingers.
Liquid heat seeped through her center, and Ares made a harsh sound as he pushed two fingers inside her. He worked her, gently at first, and then harder, stroking a place deep in her core that had her rocking into him, riding his hand.
“Now,” she moaned, quivering with the need to explode.
“Say please.” His thumb circled her nub, the pressure perfectly calculated to keep her in a holding pattern. The orgasm coiled tight, ready to go the moment Ares touched just the right spot… which he seemed to know. His torture was masterful, the way he kept her teetering on the edge. “Yield to me. Say it.”
Females always yield to me.
His arrogant words came back to her, but given what was going on right now, she supposed that his arrogance was justified. She’d give him this, but only because he’d worked for it. And because the promise of the best cl**ax of her life balanced on one little word.
“Please!” Her shout wasn’t intentional, but she’d hate herself for it later. The cl**ax hit hard, dropped her into a freefall of pleasure so intense that the floor gave way beneath her, and all she could feel was ecstasy and Ares’s hard body as he absorbed her spasms. His fingers worked her through it, and as she came down, he did something sinfully twisty with his thumb, and set her off again.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Oh… God.” The orgasm went on and on, and where had he learned to drag it out like that? No, she really didn’t want to know…
His cheek grazed hers as he bent his head to whisper roughly into her ear, “How long has it been since a man has taken you?”
Dazed, she had to repeat his question in her head a couple of times, and still, she didn’t quite understand. “Taken me?”
“Fucked you.”
Oh. Her cheeks heated, and she blinked up at him. “I’ve never been fucked, as you so delicately put it.” She was still breathless, and though his crude words should have turned her off, they only added to the struggle to take in enough air. “I’ve made love. And it’s been over two years.”
“You made love.” His fingers still feathered over the pad of her sex as one eyebrow cocked up in amusement, and the mellow postorgasm bliss veered sharply to irritation.
“There’s no need to make fun of me, just because I’m not like you.” She inhaled a couple of times, in desperate need of oxygen.
The lovely play of his fingers stilled. “Like me?”
“You aren’t human. Your mother is a… sex demon.” She tripped over that a little, because seriously, that was one of those things you never thought you’d say. “And violence and killing excite you.” She tripped over that, too, but for a different reason. And what about when you kill? Do you get off on it? She was like Ares. A tremor of revulsion would have knocked her off balance if not for Ares’s hold.
A frosty glower replaced the amusement in his eyes. “I apologize for subjecting your pure, nonviolent self to my repulsive lusts. Thank you for bringing me to my senses.”
Cara jerked, lanced by shock—not by what he said, but by the reason he’d said it. She’d hurt him. For some reason, the idea that he could be hurt had never occurred to her. He was… War. Sure, she’d seen a vulnerability in him after Chaos had left, and when Battle was injured, but this was different.
Angry at herself for not seeing beyond his armor, she reached up and cupped his cheek. “I didn’t mean to judge—”
“Yes,” he growled, as he reared away from her touch, “you did. Let me guess, you’re all missionary, all the time. Sweet and angelic. Human.” He practically spat that last word. “But me? I’m a demon with no morals.”
“I didn’t say that. And I’m not all missionary,” she muttered, even though she sort of was. But only because her two lovers hadn’t been all that adventurous.
“No?”
“No.”
Wrong thing to say, because a wicked glint of I’ll-prove-you-wrong competitiveness sparked in his eye, and he put his mouth to her ear, his lips a whisper on her skin, just like his voice. “Have you ever done it on your hands and knees, mounted from behind? How about in the shower, against the wall, being driven into while you slide up and down the tile?” His teeth caught her earlobe, and she arched against him with a moan. “Or sitting on the bench, while he goes to his knees and licks you between the legs? Maybe you on top, sucking c**k while he tongues you? Ever use honey, Cara? Hot wax? A riding crop?”
The erotic images jumbled in her head, leaving her breathless, dizzy, and speechless.
“Didn’t think so.” Ares shut off the water and grabbed a towel off the heated rack. Before she could protest, he’d wrapped it around her and was leading her to the bedroom.
She stopped him just short of the bed. “Wait. I don’t understand. Why did you ask me all those things if you weren’t going to… you know.”
“Fuck you?” His laughter rumbled deep and harsh in his chest, which she just noticed was smooth, hairless—utterly lickable. “Is that what you really want?”
Yes. “Of course not.” Really, no. This thing between them had already gone too far, and she had enough problems as it was. The last thing she needed right now was to get involved with anyone, let alone an immortal half-demon whose brother wanted her dead.
“Of course not,” he repeated, bitterness dripping from his words. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not strong enough to handle what I have to offer anyway.”
Again, the talk of her weakness. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
“But I know what I’m capable of.” He peeled back the sheets and nudged her toward the bed. “You were right, Cara. I’m a demon. All I’ve known my entire life is fighting. Battle, sex, it’s all the same to me. I f**k like I fight, until the other person is begging for mercy. Trust me, you don’t want to be part of it. I was wrong to think anything else.” His hands came down on her shoulders, and he pushed her onto the mattress. “Sleep. Locate your mutt.”
She glared, stung by his rejection, and she didn’t even know why. She didn’t want him. What she wanted was her life back.
And you want that life back… why?
Because in her old life, she might be on the verge of being homeless, but she hadn’t been dying. Demons and evil legends weren’t chasing her.
No hot men were stroking her to orgasm in their showers.
Frustrated by the direction of her thoughts, she jerked the sheet over her, rolled to the side, and smashed her face into squishy softness. Her anger ebbed, replaced by confusion. “You brought me a pillow.”
He gave a casual shrug, but a pink blush smudged his cheeks. “You should be comfortable when you sleep. To find the hound,” he added quickly. As if his feet were on fire, he swept out of the bedroom.
He’d been embarrassed about doing something nice.
Cara stared after him, a sense of disquiet stirring her thoughts. Ares was a hard man—what she’d expect from an ancient warrior. But she’d seen him care for his horse, for the baby goat-demon thing. She felt his gentle touch, his protectiveness. And he’d been thoughtful enough to bring her a pillow.
So why did all of that bother her when she should be happy to know that he was more than a cold-blooded killing machine?
Because you don’t want to like him. Everyone you love holds you at arm’s length. If Ares was capable of caring about her, he’d hurt her, the way her ex had. The way her family had, even if unintentionally, by treating her as if she was different.
The brand, which always tingled in Ares’s presence, stopped, as if punctuating that point. Absently, she looked down, and stifled a cry. No longer angry crimson, it was the color of a dying rose.