Page 58 of Invoking Ruin

I came within inches of my own imprisonment about twelve hours ago. If I’m going to go down like the Moirai say, then I might as well enjoy the ride.

We stare at one another, the standoff lengthening. He heaves an annoyed breath and undoes the buttons of his shirt, exposing his bare chest to the morning light.

Every time I see him, he takes my breath away. I freeze. It’s like I’m back behind the olive tree, stealing glances.

But there’s no one else here. No nymphs, no maenads. We’re all alone.

He’s all mine.

The shirt lands in a pile at his feet. He steps out of his shoes, and then his trousers join his shirt.

I lick my lips, mouth going dry. He’s sun-kissed perfection, all taut muscles and lean, hard planes. I want to kiss and lick my way across every inch of him.

His twilight eyes have gone dark, as though sensing the direction of my thoughts. I give him a coy smile, beckoning him with a curl of my fingers, like I had in the shower.

Like before, he doesn’t leave me hanging. His hand drifts over the erection tenting his boxers before he shoves them down, his cock bouncing free.

What I wouldn’t give to have him inside me again.

I won’t succumb to that urge. Dionysus, if he knew who he was, wouldn’t want me. Wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole.

But Chaos, I want to give in. To ride him, to suck him down and drown in the taste of him.

He’s so close, so achingly beautiful. My wild wine god.

He sinks down into the pool, the warm water lapping up at his skin like it, too, is overeager for his touch. I’ve never been so jealous of water in my life.

“Answers, Vita,” comes his low growl, and I drag my eyes up to his face. “You don’t get to touch until then.”

A whine slips free before I can bite it back. “But touching is on the table?”

“Maybe. If you’re good.”

My thighs clench. Well, if that’s what it takes.

“What was the question again?”

“Why do you have the knife?”

Oh. Right. My shoulders sag, the excitement deflating like a spent balloon.

“I stole it.”

“You’ve stolen many things.” He reclines on a bench along the wall of the pool, resting his arms on the rim.

I smile, practically preening. So he noticed. “I generously re-homed some abandoned items. They were just left lying around. Anyone could have taken them.”

He scoffs, but his mouth turns up in amusement, and I steal a little closer to him. “If your motives were that altruistic, then why haven’t you returned them?”

Ah, that little detail. The not-giving-them-back. I meet his eyes a long moment. What does he see in my gaze? Does he see anything of my true self? Would he run for the hills or draw closer, if he realized just how deep my longing for him runs?

“Because then I would have to return everything,” I spit out.

He stiffens as my words sink in, and I resist the urge to back away, to dive under the water and escape his scrutiny.

“Why, Vita?” His question is a hoarse rasp. “You have everyone hunting you down like a dog, and for what? For me? For someone you believe won’t even love you?”

Love. I let out a derisive, hysterical laugh and turn away from him. The garden stretches out into infinity everywhere I turn. When Zeus had this place created for Hera, he wanted her to have a never-ending sanctuary, a special fold of Gaia just for her. A place where she could rest with her chosen companions and guardians.

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