Page 147 of Heir of the Beast

I wipe my mouth, cringing.

Glancing next to me I can see the spot is empty…~empty~. I look around the room and shiver, flashes of last night flickering in my memory.

Legs tangled together, sweat, hot kisses, moaning, nails scratching, my hands pinned above my head, Apollo’s head between my legs.

My face heats.

Placing my hand on my forehead, I fan myself.

That was a night that will go down in history. How many times did we have sex? Four? Five? Apollo was relentless, his stamina overpowering mine.

I picture him now, naked with his golden body over mine. I grin like a schoolgirl, feeling butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

“What are you thinking about?”

I jump, seeing Apollo in the doorway. His hair is wet, dark ringlets combed back from his face, and a towel is hanging low on his hips. ~Holy…mother…of…Mike.~

Dark eyes intense, his tattooed bicep looks sinful. He looks naughty—a man mothers warn their sweet, innocent daughters about.

Apollo after a shower should be outlawed.

I swallow.

~I like—er—want to have sex, my name is girl~, is my intelligent thought.

His gaze lowers to my breasts and I remember I am still naked save for my garters. I pull the crisp sheets up and blush furiously.

I need a mirror. I must look like the girl from ~The Exorcist~—hair tangled, mascara-stained eyes. I curse and shrug, praying I looked halfway decent.

“I was just thinking…Did you see a dog?”

Looking back, Apollo nods. “Yes, he took off with my shirt, not sure how he got in here.”

Smart dog.

I laugh and our eyes clash.

~I did not make out with a dog.~

~He knows nothing.~

Apollo walks over to me and sits on the bed, his large frame dwarfing mine. I can smell the clean scent of him and it’s driving me wild inside. Stay cool. Stay cool.

“We need to talk.”

I sigh and hold the sheet to me, feeling very vulnerable. “Yes, we do.” I look down, not sure how to handle this.

Apollo lifts my chin with his hand, making me look at him. “Who are you, Angel? Let’s start there.”

“How many days until we are back in Garthorn?”

He frowns. “Five.”

“I will tell you in eight days. Please, give me a little more time,” I plead, seeing the flex of his jaw.

He expels a breath. “Are you in trouble? We are dealing with Irena and her witchcraft. She will be on trial next month.”

Relief flashes through me. “Wonderful news. But no, I am no threat, and I do not think I am in trouble.”

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