28. Nat

28

Nat

hand to hand has certain appeal

Furies take.

I link my heels behind him and lick, lush and long, at his mouth. We consume each other. A grueling tangle of lips and tongue, of barely suppressed moans and ragged, shaking breaths.

“There are better ways, painless ways,” he murmurs between heated kisses, the intensity of his desire apparent in his rasp. “Let me show you. Gods, Nat.”

Heat drops into my core like a match down a cannon’s fuse.

“Don’t take this away from me.”

He’s supplicating.

I’m starving.

Any remaining reservations blast away. With a stern growl, I kiss him. Each touch harder, wetter. Deeper. He tastes like ichor and blood and wine. And I sink stone fast into his glittering pool of red, clawing for the bottom, racing for the end.

His hard on presses snugly against my belly, carnal and throbbing.

Crude.

I wrap tighter around him like a burr trying to dig into his flesh.

He groans deep within his throat, his kiss roughens.

Glass breaks, shatters and then I’m peeled off him, knocked over the island, my cheek and hipbones on frigid marble, eyes fastened on the cleared table setting, now in tatters.

“Drake just set that,” I hiss.

Lips tear into my neck as Sin folds himself over me, shredding apart the seams of my dress. His hand plants on the back of my head, keeping me down. “A real male doesn’t use a plate to eat.”

“A real male would be jealous that I’m thinking of another while he’s touching me.”

He chuckles. Dark rich. Cocky.

“It’s not the name you say,” he tells me, sucking the ridges of my exposed spine. “It’s the one you scream.” Teeth scrape my neck. “The one that makes you hoarse, makes you think you could never say another name again.” He sucks. “My name.”

I blame his scent. One inhale as he looms over me, teeth and possession and spice and I whimper, salivating for him. For Sin.

He is power.

I knew he’d be like this.

Unyielding and ferocious and strong.

Hades , he’s strong.

I bathe in it as his rough palms scrape the sensitive intersection of my thighs. With a hungry noise, he shoves my legs apart. His thumb strokes my center, exacting and quick. “How do you like it?”

“I don’t—” know is caught in a moan as Sin rams me forward into the stone.

I don’t know how to like this.

How not to.

Evan was kind, with skin softer than mine. He liked slow, romantic.

This is pummeling. This is an ice storm after a summer’s rain. Shocking and relentless.

His smile sinks into my flesh. A snarl. “I know.”

His lips fall open over my neck, biting into the silken flesh before he moves southward, trailing down my shoulders, nipping back down my spine. His touch coasts over me, rough and possessive, and he mutters something like so fucking wet , before clenching my waist and thrusting his hips into me, lace against the seam of his pants.

I feel the buckle of his knife belt on my slit.

A shudder rolls through me. The depraved, not so good Fury inside me loves that. Decides to let him keep his weapons.

“Will you come like this?” he asks, hooking my knee onto the counter to make room for his palm on my center. Thumbs caressing and circling as his cock strains through his pants.

My breath’s ragged, my voice a heinous rasp, “I didn’t last time.”

The most erotic sound I’ve ever heard is his laugh. Rich and smug. He nudges my head slightly to kiss me, tongue dancing, fingers skating across my clit, a tease before leaving, inching up the curve of my ribs, and sweeping under me to cup an aching, heavy breast.

“You didn’t,” he says between kisses. “Because I didn’t let you.”

He carries on dry fucking me, rolling his body as he tortures my nipple.

“You know why?”

“Is this your villain speech?” I grumble, body taut. “Are you going to outline the exact steps for me to foil you?”

His laugh again. Booming and lovely, thunder on the horizon. Every nerve ending lights up for him.

“You. You are the only step, the only bullet point, the only living breathing creature I’d crumble for.”

The confession is murmured into my ear, croaked as if torn from the lips of a spartan on the battlefields, has arousal dripping down my thigh. “Touch me,” I command, addicted, desperate.

He dips beneath the silk of my panties, runs a long finger through my soaked folds, one soft stroke, enough to make me want to snap my teeth for more and then he buries it inside me.

“Drenched.”

My mouth waters as he withdraws slightly and plunges two thick fingers to force an uncomfortable fit, a bittersweet pinch that thrills me. The scrape of his rings makes my toes curl in pained pleasure.

“You feel tight, Bloodspiller.” A torrid and sloppy spread of his mouth across my shoulder.

His fingers speed up to the stampede of horses. In and out he fucks me, a draconian gleam in his eyes, a tendon rigid in his throat. Enjoying it, doing this, destroying my reluctance, spurring me into helpless abandon, and yet he doesn’t let me go all the way. All too soon, he stops, fingers buried to the hilt.

I suck in an agitated breath. Glare.

Sweat glistens on his face, elegant hands at home between my thighs. “You’re not going to come now, are you?”

“Gods above, I will—”

Kill you is on the tip of my tongue, and he sucks it right off with the thrust of his fingers.

He keeps cutting me off.

I remind myself to be mad.

“Fuck, you’re a dream. You don’t even know it.”

Amethyst eyes burn angrily into mine. Despite covering me with his body, despite driving forcefully inside me, despite the truth that his hand is soaked with my pleasure, lips pink from my teeth.

“I didn’t let you come at Maxine’s because it was too fucking dark.” His resolute, callused grip sends shivers across my skin as his mouth skates over the side of my breast, grazing, sucking, fingers thrumming my nipples under my dress. “I want to see you shatter for me, Bloodspiller.”

Harder pumps of his fingers.

There’s nothing for me to do. My hands slide uselessly across the counter. I’m trapped in a position to only feel, to glory in the flashes of amethyst irises, the pour of black aura engulfing me as its own like a foster accepted into the fold. My blood is like fire, need sharpening me to a razor’s point.

I clench around him, struggling against the heightening coil, resisting the peak.

“Hades,” he curses, taking turns memorizing my parted lip swollen lips and my hooded, hungry gaze. “It’s all I can picture when I close my eyes. You completely at my submission, high on me. I’m not fucking giving it to the wall.”

His thumb circles over my clit, a flash of friction, before he pushes deep, rings teasing my entrance.

I’m defenseless, absorbing him, experiencing the fullness as he presses his forehead to mine and growls, in a tone so intense his aura ripples, “It’s mine, Bloodspiller. Your pleasure, your high, it’s all mine. You’re mine.”

I cleave.

Cleave the realms apart. My atoms apart. The ichor in me races as quickly as a mortal’s blood. My entire being tenses, freezes, honed in on the juncture of my legs where his ring grinds delightfully.

“Mine,” he repeats. utter possession.

So strong. So commanding. So furious. For me and me alone. Even the flow of his aura over me doesn’t deter my pleasure. I’ll take this male any way I can get him.

He stays buried deep inside me until I’m through it, until tingling rapture cascades down my arms, wakes up my feet.

Gentle fingers brush the hair off my face. “Now that,” Sin whispers, “is better than any sunrise.”

He doesn’t sound smug.

He’s genuine. As if in awe of me splattered and boneless on the counter.

That’s what pisses me off.

A spark ignites within me, and I spin around. With a swift kick, I send him sprawling into the stove behind him. He curses Hades’s name as his wrist lands on a hot burner. Shakes it off.

I don’t care.

I strip the tattered scraps of the dress from my shoulders and let it fall to my feet, step out of my underwear, move to my heels.

“Keep those on.” His voice is playful, but his stare commands it.

I like when we’re eye to eye.

The memory, such a simple note, brings a wash of affection through me.

I’m ruined by the filthy slide of Sin’s tongue over his fingers, coated with me. A lick, another as if I’ve turned him into a lollipop and then he sucks them into his mouth. Squeezes his eyelids shut and whispers, “Lemon.”

As if that’s all the time he’s allotted for his break, he hauls wide shoulders back, unabashedly looking me up and down.

He rips his belt through his loops. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Is that right?” It’s scarcely the challenge I mean for it to be.

His button is undone next. His zipper. Then he’s closing the distance between us, tipping my chin up to loom over me, shadowed by a halo of lustful intent. “Yes. Because I think fucking you is the only way I’ll make you understand that I care about you.”

His erection prods my lower stomach. My chest thumps. “You’re a sappy lover.”

“Bend over.”

“Fuck you.”

It’s hardly a kiss. More of a collision.

Not a car wreck, but the clash of cymbals. The warning of the best yet to come.

I push back against him. He grabs onto me. We tumble onto the harsh tile together, earning bruises and cuts, swallowing groans.

Each grappling for control.

Each reveling in the chaos.

My first time had been with a Scylla, a formidable warrior. Ambrose, the throat crusher, as he’d often been called. His brand of loving had been violent and painful and yet I can’t liken it to Sin even in his deepest fury. Nor like Evan, my Nymph who preferred gentle and relaxed. Sunday afternoons with the curtains drawn.

Sin is neither wild nor gentle.

He is a force of nature. Passion, fury, merciless pursuit. He’s unlike any creature I’ve ever met.

I tear his shirt to shreds, scratch my nails down his perfect, chiseled chest. Across the King's brand on his heart.

He palms my ass callously. I can’t breathe.

He’s naked when we hit the ground. Rigid planes and rippled edges. I drink him in as I straddle him on the cold, wet tile. The chill seeps into my knees, a stark contrast to the searing heat between my thighs.

My cheeks are quickly rubbed raw from his five o’clock shadow, as well as my neck, my breasts, collarbones, anywhere he can reach while trapped beneath me.

His firm hand won’t relinquish my neck. Won’t let me break further than an eyelash from him, trapping me in his fervor, his scent. His aura is so black the light doesn’t seem to reach us. It’s as though he’s taken me to his own world, where nothing is good or bad. It’s all beautiful, it’s all pleasure. It’s all Sin.

My hand glides down to his thick cock, tracing veins and ridges in a tease he deserves.

His breath falters, his snare on my neck becomes primal, pads of fingers on my pulse. Like he’s stealing my heart beat, afraid his own will burst.

I squeeze. He exhales my name. Throws us to the side, face to face, sides on the wet pasta water floor.

“You won’t go,” he snarls, hiking my leg over his hip. “I won’t let you,”

We both fight to fit, wet, hurried, jumbled, heaving, finding the right angle.

He pins my hip with a glare, grunts something low, and then …

Pressure as he slides inside me.

Diamond crushing pressure.

My mind reels. My hands shake where they’ve stalled on the stretch of satiny skin below the curse on his neck. Inch by torturous inch, he sheaths himself entirely within me. Too much, too much in every direction, pushing out. I gasp, heart pounding in my ears.

“Just like that,” he says, watching the spot we connect. “Gods, you take me so well.”

It reminds me of my roots.

Furies take .

I flip us, knees banging tile, hands plastering his chest.

Diamond pressure gives way to velvety acceptance.

He moans dark and wicked while arching into me, tanned stomach flexing with muscle. Says my name. Repeats it as his eyes roll back into his head. Nat. Nat. Nat.

I rock my hips, chasing euphoria, pillaging it from him, fast and hard. Pounding.

And lose the pace.

Sin yanks me down into him again, as if he can’t bear the distance despite being inside me. His moan hits my ear as he lifts me from him and aggressively yanks me down. Beneath me, but in control.

“Do you get it now?”

Dark. Desperate.

He pistons into me, each thrust a wet echo as he sets a carnal, race winning pace without looking away, without hiding any of the wonderful, frantic sounds in his throat.

It’s a siege.

It’s more. It’s more than I wanted, more than I can suffer. How he cradles me closely, says my name. It’s overwhelming, the sweat of us sticking together. It cracks through me all over.

“Do you understand, Nat? Why I can’t let you do this? Why it isn’t worth it?” His hand curves around my neck, hauling me down as he slows his thrusts, deepens them until we’ve locked eyes, and he’s pressed into the deepest part of me.

It does something.

Lights up parts of me that only know dark. I pull him into me, my nerve center panicking.

“Nat, I…”

Fear like I’ve never known climbs inside of me. My pulse seems to panic, shutters to a halt and desperately speeds up again. Beats too fast. This is too much. My heart rubs against spiked walls as I kiss him. Once. Slow.

Tasting, enjoying.

A last kiss.

Another because I can’t help it, and then I bite down and wrench upward. Break from his hold, tasting the indisputable evidence of his betrayal.

Liquid silver, tinted lightly pink, beads on his lip. Below me, Sin’s gaze is rapturous, confused.

I press on his Adam’s apple with my thumb, and he thrusts. Hard. Forceful. Herculean.

I choke on a moan. “Half-blood.”

Something shudders in his gaze, something soft crumbling, like petals shriveling to dust and he tightens his hands on me, licks the ichor off his lips, digs finger shaped indentations into my spread thighs. “Yes.”

“You lied to me,” I snarl, meeting him in a demanding thrust.

“What does murky blood matter to a Titaness?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Only that it’s no longer just his aura that’s damned him. It’s his biology.

Half Olympian.

Half of those who betrayed my aunts.

I’m stupid for not realizing exactly what he was. Why he didn’t die when he drank of me. Why I’ve hated him from the start.

“Less than nothing,” I lie.

He tugs me closer, rests his brow against mine, hips rolling into me, touching achingly deep. “Nat—”

“I thought you were going to fuck me,” I say, letting my eyes cut past him. “Even a half-blood should—”

His hand is in my hair then. Fisting.

In the next instant, he’s maneuvered me beneath him flat on my back. With a sharp tug, he hauls my hips into the air. Strong hands mold under my ass and squeeze. The insult is ripped out of my throat and he’s—

He’s brutal.

Deliciously, deviously brutal.

Shimmery pink blood leaking from his chin like the best frosting in the realm, he fucks me. Hips cocking and pounding, burying deep and hard. He pulls my waist forward and slams me back against the dirty floor over and over again.

It’s messy and unpolished and good—he feels good . My pulse stutters and my brain’s scrambled, desire a storm inside me.

“Is this what you want, then?” he rasps, inflicting bruises on my legs, pinning my shoulder with a wide palm. “When you fantasized of me fucking you—”

“I—”

“You imagined it,” he cuts off, thrusts potent, driving, gold skin gleaming everywhere, muscles flexing. “Everyone thinks of me. You wanted it like this, didn’t you? You wanted the Blackguard, the machine, you wanted me.” He punishes me with fingers smoothing over my bundle of nerves. Fanning the heat in my blood, focusing it into a single rising flame.

“Say it.”

I gasp out, a lone exhale in the wet and wanton sounds.

“Say my name, Fury.”

“Half-blood.”

He swears, and then he’s jerking my thighs into his and I’m tilting up to straddle him. Sweat and salt and hate bleeding off us, our lips collide. I feel bruises forming. And when his teeth puncture my collarbone, I explode into a million pieces, splintering into bliss.

As if my pleasure is his, he spills inside me too, shuddering, watching me, anger making his beauty cold and impossible.

We breathe at each other.

Seething.

Hating.

Filled to the brim with pleasure.

The front door cracks.

Sin yanks back from me, startled. I catch a cabinet door to prevent myself from toppling without him. Every inch of my skin prickles, raw and exhausted. My lips burn, my chest heaves. There’s a knife in my hand.

His knife. Black adamantine. Perfectly weighted, strong, sharp as a Keres’s teeth. I don’t even know how I got it.

Quickly, he lifts me off him, hand snaking around my middle, departing too quickly. Stands. Naked, gold skin and black aura, he looks down at me, ichor on his mouth, “That’s the only time you’re on your knees, love, when the Gods own are beneath you.”

I stagger as a slam of cold air rushes over me. Sin’s whisper of hesitation causes whoever’s behind the door to pause.

A shirt, black, smelling of sex and cloves, my favorite things, flutters over my shoulders.

I close my eyes, reality nipping at my bare skin.

What have I done?

It’s unforgivable. A Fury and a—

“Wait here,” Sin whispers against my temple.

Tears threaten. I turn to push him.

But he takes it as invitation, snaring my mouth with his, kissing me. Through the seam of our lips, he ladles ichor onto my tongue.

Sweet, boiling hot, with the tiniest bit of copper tang.

Olympian.

He’s every inch it. Silver tinged with pink on his smile, that iridescent glow he seems to get.

“Don’t leave.” A kiss on my cheek. “We need to talk.”

I nod once, anxious to put this behind me.

He stares, irises like fields of lilacs, and lets out a ragged exhale, before he pushes to his full height. Naked, he grabs pants and holds them in front of his hips as his long legs guide him to the door, tearing it open with a force that would’ve cleared the hinges if it were locked.

And like my aunts before, like all my kind, driven out by Olympians who used and then rejected them, I run.