Page 59 of Odette's Vow

“Not here,” he muttered in a guttural tone, before dragging me deeper into the tree line.

It took me two strides to keep up with his one. I was out of breath by the time he turned and grabbed my waist, pinning me against a tree, surrounded by enough overhanging branches to give us a modicum of privacy. Not that there was anyone around us at all. Even the wildlife slept.

“What are y—you doing?”

My back was flush against the tree, Odysseus’ hand resting on the smooth bark next to my head. His eyes roamed mine. “Tell me it’s all in my head. Tell me there’s no desire in your eyes right now. That I’m a mad man who is seeing things.”

I should want him driven mad. I should want him on his knees, desperate and sobbing for mercy. I should want that.

I should not want the feel of his hands gripping at the flesh on my hips, or slipping between the folded pleats of my tunic. I should not want to reach out and bite down on that fuller low lip of his, just to see what reaction I would get. I should not be experiencing this heat in my belly, so far from the fire.

But here, away from the men, away from Troy, on land that neither of us belonged to, what if … what if we could just be two people? What if wars and vows, gods and civilizations, didn’t matter? What if it was just me and him?

“Say it. Say it one way or the other, Odette.”

“I—”

He leant forward and my heart stuttered. I could feel it.

“I want it. I want you.”

As soon as I said it, I felt my heart drop down into my stomach and then swoop back up again, as Odysseus’ spare hand reached for my bare thigh and hooked it around his hip, thrusting the bulk of him closer to me.

Now, having to tilt my head up to look at him, he cupped my face with his other hand and then tangled it through the base of my hair.

“Thank you,” he said, before crushing his lips to mine.

I could feel the desperation pouring from his mouth into mine, and from mine into his, until it all seemed to mingle and my tongue flicked against his. Groaning in agreement, he deepened the kiss between us. He ground his crotch against my sex once, twice, then stopped and pulled back, unhooking my leg from around him.

“What is it?” I asked. “Do you not want this?”

“Oh, I want this very much, Odette.”

I knew other men hadn’t always treated their spear-wives as little more than property, especially in their first couplings. That Odysseus knew exactly who he was doing these things to – these thingswith; the fact he had just said my name, did something funny to my heart.

But, then he did something that had me forgetting all about that, and riding a new flush of heat that travelled down to my belly, then further, lower, as he got on his knees in front of me.

“But you deserve more than a rough, dry hump against a tree for our first time.”

The man was on his knees for me. If I was still the woman who had made that vow, I would take the opportunity the Fates had given me, snap a branch, and stab him in the neck with it. Except, these branches were too thick, and he would surely catch me.

Then, his hands were back on my thighs, spreading them apart from inside my tunic, and I forgot all about killing and ways in which to do it.

He gave a slow, long lick with his tongue directly between my thighs, before suckling on my kleitorís. That had me inhaling another sharp breath, trying to process all the sensations.

Another suck, another tug, until I cried out in agreement.

He murmured his approval, the rumble vibrating against my thighs, now slick, before his tongue flicked out a playful lick and then delved back in. His hands grasped at my hips more forcefully, drawing me deeper into him, as if he couldn’t get enough.

I relished in the forcefulness, the pain. It made something in me roar to life, and I gripped his hair, pushing him deeper into me.

Again, he murmured in agreement.

When I found myself on the exquisite precipice, where one more flick of his tongue would allow me to fall into that blissful oblivion where nothing beyond my body would matter … he stopped.

“What?” I asked breathily, as he observed me.

He rose up to his feet and kissed me. I could smell myself on his beard, taste myself in his kiss. I tasted … tart. I’d heard about such acts from the other women and had thought it would be revolting. Yet, somehow, with the flavour coating both ourtongues, I didn’t seem to care. In fact, I savoured the animalistic-ness of it.

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