Page 55 of Sweet Obsession

I sit back so I can grab the candle. It was so fucking tempting to find a needle or knife and scar him so he’ll remember me always, but apparently my lifetime selfish streak doesn’t apply to Poseidon. This thing between us will be over far too soon, no matter what words we’ve exchanged in the moments before we sail off into battle. Promises made when neither party thinks they’ll survive thenight are as substantial as wishing on stars.

He’ll survive to have a nice long life, and I’m selfish enough to want to be a fond memory instead of a literal scar. One will fade with time, becoming something to reminisce about when he’s in some rocking chair on his front porch, the golden afternoon sunlight warming his skin. The other could turn bitter, could be a point of contention between him and whatever partner he finally settles on. Someone worthy of the good man he is.

No matter what he says, it won’t be me.

The candle has melted enough for my purposes. I use my free hand to cup Poseidon’s face. “There are proper waxes to use for this sort of thing that won’t burn. This candle isn’t one of them. It won’t harm you in any long-term way, but you will have a light burn for a few days.”

He blinks a few times, obviously trying to focus through the post-orgasm bliss. “You went over this earlier.”

“Yes.” I don’t move. “But it’s worth repeating. Do you want me to go an alternate route?”

“No.” He shakes his head sharply. “No, Icarus. I want this from you. Please.”

I don’t ask him again. As he said, he agreed before, when pleasure wasn’t weighing him down and lifting him up in equal measure. But, for the first time in my life, I’m not looking to take advantage. I don’t want him to have any regrets about our time together.

His chest isn’t particularly hairy, so it’s only the burn we have to worry about. I hold his gaze and tilt the candle. The wax wells and drips onto his skin. Poseidon flinches, surprise making his eyes go wide, and thenwhimpers.

I trace around the edges of the hardening wax, careful not to touch it. “How we doing, big guy?”

“Good,” he whispers. “Don’t stop. Please.”

I don’t stop. I trail wax over his chest, mapping his freckles in hectic lines that are somehow more beautiful for their imperfections—because they’re on him. This beautiful, rough man who shakes and whimpers at every drop, who arches into it all the same, whose cock is already hardening again in response to this pain.

And through it all, he looks up at me with wonder, as if I’m a god who’s wandered down to earth. As if I’m someone of value. Someonehevalues.

By the time I’m done, his chest and stomach are covered in a hectic pattern of wax. I could keep going, but the knowledge that our time is limited is never far from my mind, no matter how much I’m enjoying myself.

I set the candle aside and stroke him gently. “You’ve done so well. Are you ready for your reward?”

He blinks. “Reward?”

“Mmm, yes.” I skate my fingers over his cock. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Poseidon doesn’t hesitate. He draws in a shaking breath. “I want you.”

I want you.

The proclamation rings between us like a bell, drawing forth an answering call from within me.I want you, too.More than I’ve wanted anything in my life. I don’t speak the words, though. I can’t. Poseidon isn’t a child and he isn’t a fool, but he’s not thinking clearly. When this conflict with Circe is over and peace is restored,he’ll realize we have no future. If he’s forced to choose between me and his city—his people—it won’t be a contest.

I grab the lube and a condom. This might all be over tonight. Circe’s conquest. My romance with Poseidon. I want to give him something to remember me by.

I push his legs wide and spread a generous amount of lube over his ass. “You’ve been so wonderful at keeping your hands on the headboard. Keep them there a bit longer, big guy.”

“Icarus.”

If I live another seventy years, I’ll never forget the desperate, loving way he says my name. “What do you need?”

“Let me touch you. Please.”

It’s dangerous, but I’ve already thrown myself fully into the reality of walking away from this with a broken heart. If I walk away at all. There’s every possibility that my body will join my father’s in some unmarked grave outside the city proper. What will it hurt to allow this moment of total intimacy? I drag in a rough breath. “Okay.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around me even as I sink into him, one slow inch at a time. It’s like being held by a mountain, like in his embrace, nothing would dare touch me. In this moment, I can’t help but believe it. My heart lurches and a horrible burning starts behind my eyes. “This city doesn’t deserve you.” I withdraw almost completely and shove back into him. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You have me,” he moans. He strokes those work-roughened hands down my back as I keep fucking him.

Except it doesn’t feel like fucking.

It feels like love.

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