Page 22 of Inked Athena

She tenses slightly. “What?”

“When things get dark—when you’re scared or overwhelmed—don’t shut me out.” I thread our fingers together. “Let me be your strength until you find your own again.”

Nova’s breath catches. For a moment, I think I’ve pushed too far. Then she rises on her toes and brushes her lips against mine. “Deal.”

The kiss deepens, soft and slow, nothing like our desperate couplings in Chicago. Nova’s hands slide up my chest to myshoulders, and I lift her easily, compensating for her injured ankle. Her legs wrap around my waist as I carry her to the bed.

“Your ribs,” I murmur against her throat. “We should wait?—”

“I’m tired of waiting.” She tugs at my shirt. “Tired of being careful. Of being afraid.”

Still, I lower her to the silk sheets with deliberate gentleness. Her tank top has ridden up, exposing the purple-black bruises scattered across her sides. My brother’s handiwork. I trace the unmarked skin between them, watching her shiver.

“Sam.” Her voice holds a warning. “Don’t treat me like I’ll break.”

“Never.” I press my lips to her collarbone. “I’ll take you to the edge. But I’ll never, ever hurt you, Nova Pierce.”

She arches beneath me as I map her body with careful touches, learning which movements make her gasp and which make her wince. When I finally slide into her, we both freeze, adjusting to this new intimacy.

“Look at me,” she whispers, and I do.

In her eyes, I see everything we’ve been dancing around. Trust. Fear. Need. Power. All the complicated threads binding us together, stronger than duty or revenge or protection.

We move together in the darkness, finding a rhythm that belongs only to us. Each touch is a promise. Each kiss, a confession. When she comes apart beneath me, crying out my name, I follow her over the edge.

After, she curls against my side, her breathing steady and deep. For the first time since Chicago, her body is truly relaxed.

I know this peace is temporary. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new negotiations of power and trust.

But for now, I hold her close and let myself believe in something bigger than survival.

9

NOVA

I’m living a nightmare.

I’m sitting on the deck of a private superyacht with a still-warm snickerdoodle muffin and an iced matcha latte in front of me, and I can’t even bring myself to look at either one.

Louisa steps back, smiling proudly at the tray she just slid in front of me. “You said these were your favorite, ma’am.”

I did say that, didn’t I?

One of the crewmembers played cards with me yesterday and used the opportunity to dig for more information on how to take this superyacht to the next level. Apparently, it’s not enough to have two exercise rooms, multiple sun decks, and a theater room with every movie I’ve ever wanted to watch. No, it also needs a chef who can whip up whatever my heart desires with zero notice.

“You and the entire crew are a wonder, Louisa.” I beam up at her, hoping she isn’t noticing the way I’m sliding the napkin withthe muffin on it to the edge of the table. The breeze off the water is sending the smell of cinnamon straight into my nose.

I think I’m going to be sick.

Louisa shifts around the table, blocking my view. That’s just as well for me. Watching the waves toss is probably why I’m feeling so queasy this morning. “At least try a bite so I can tell Chef what you think.”

I could refuse her. Samuil has made it clear over the last two weeks that I’m free to do whatever I want on this yacht.

Sleep in until noon? Go ahead.

Tan topless on the private deck? Sure, albeit only if he can watch.

Cut dinner short so he can spread me on the table and eat me instead? The crew has now added it to the daily schedule and learned to keep their distance.

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