by Nadia Aidan
“I need your help,” Adonis said finally. “I cannot protect her alone. Now that he knows Selena is with me, he will assume I’ve broken my vow. He will come for both of us.” He glanced over at Apollo. “Serena will need protection as well.”
“That is why we are here,” Eros offered from across the room, his voice resolute.
And that was all that needed to be said. Between the brothers there was a bond far stronger than blood or birth.
Adonis’ woman. Apollo’s woman. They were in danger.
Adonis and Apollo were in danger as well. And Ares and Eros would risk their lives to protect them. Despite their differences and their disagreement over the matter, they were still brothers—bonded by something stronger than blood, stronger than birth.
The secret they shared bound them for life.
* * * *
The four brothers—the four gods.
Shrouded in shadows, Selena had watched silently, peeking just around the corner as, one by one, Adonis’ brothers had entered his home.
Equally beautiful, each brother radiated a dark sensuality that was so vivid, so blatant it was tangible in the air.
They were not gods—they were mortal men—born to this world with ordinary lives and pedestrian names. Their beauty was what had distinguished them—their ability to incite lust, fulfil desires and create fantasies was what had made them gods among men.
She barely followed their conversation, skulking in the shadows, snooping to learn what Adonis refused to tell her. From where she stood, she could scarcely hear a thing. She garnered so little it could be considered nothing. Only the cryptic knowledge she already possessed—she was in danger, Adonis was in danger, and somehow her father was involved. Her sister was, too.
Her thoughts strayed to her sister—Serena. Their lives had seen them embark upon vastly opposite journeys. Once as close as identical twins could be, they were practically strangers now.
She started at the sound of footsteps.
The brothers were leaving and, as soon as they were gone, Adonis would seek her out.
She rushed from her hiding place, down the narrow hallway and into the bathroom. Within moments she’d stripped out of her dress and was underneath the spray of the shower.
She was just towelling dry when there was a gentle knock against the door.
“There is a change of clothes for you on the bed.”
She mumbled something, possibly a thank you. She could not be sure. She half expected him to be waiting there in the bedroom when she stepped out of the bathroom, but he wasn’t. She was alone.
A tray laden with a pitcher of wine, fruit and cheese, and a loaf of bread sat atop his dresser, and her stomach growled at the sight.
Selena would eat after she had dressed. As if on cue, she spotted the fresh, clean garments laid out on his bed. Black slacks and a white silk shirt. She donned them, only mildly surprised that they fit her perfectly.
Adonis knew things about her, things she probably did not even know herself.
Once she was fully clothed, she took a seat on his bed and ate her fill, before washing it down with a cup of wine.
When she was done, she noticed his home was strangely silent. Throwing open the door, Selena stepped into the hallway before making her way into the sitting room. She found Adonis stretched out across his dark leather couch, his eyes closed.
For the second time that evening, her heart gave a small tug. He was boyishly handsome in the serenity of sleep. A small lock of hair fell across his brow, and she balled her hand at her side to keep from reaching out and smoothing it from his face.
He was peaceful in repose. His eyes did not burn with intensity, and the pain that ravaged his soul was not present across the chiselled planes of his handsome face. In his sleep, he was calm, tranquil—as if he truly found quiet solace when he closed his eyes.
She did not want to wake him, not just yet, so she was silent as she watched him. She had come to kill him. How easy it would be to do so now. She’d left her knife in his room along with her gun, both of which were on his dresser beneath her gown. She could try to strangle him with her bare hands but feared he would simply overpower her.
She had come to kill him and she could do so now, but she was without her weapons, which made her question—how badly did she want to see him dead?
An hour ago, she would have said with every breath that entered and left her chest. But now…now she was not so certain or confident.
Secrets.
It was because he harboured secrets—about her, her sister, her father.
The only thing she could have ever wanted more than his death was the truth. The truth about why he’d done what he had. She still did not have that answer. If anything, she was plagued with more questions, new questions. Questions she’d never imagined she’d have.
In the space of an hour, her desire to see him dead had been crowded out by her desire to discover the truth.
And what if you learn something that you don’t wish to learn? What if you discover he is not the monster you’ve made him out to be?
She’d lived with her hatred for so long, Selena had no idea what would anchor her if Adonis was no longer her enemy. She refused to even consider it.
Even if he wasn’t the person she’d convinced herself he was, even if there were others responsible for what had happened to her, there was no changing the fact that Adonis had been the one to use her, to ruin her. It had been his cock that had breached her hymen as he’d taken her virginity, his shaft that he’d buried deep inside her tender body until nothing separated them.
As if he knew her thoughts were of him, his eyelids snapped open and she found herself drowning in a pool of swirling golden beauty.
“Are you tired?”
She shook her head. “Are you?”
“No.”
“But you were just sleeping.”
His lips crooked into what would have been considered a half smile on any other man. On him it appeared almost forced. “I was not asleep. I rarely sleep.”
He stood and that was when Selena saw he was bare from the waist up. How had she not noticed the wide expanse of perfectly defined muscle when she’d come upon him, when now it was all she could do not to stare openly at the sculpted sinew and muscle rippling across his torso?
His eyes flickered and his attention slipped to her hip, where a small object peeked out from her pocket.
The air in her lungs stilled.
The air in the room chilled.
“I found it in your closet,” she said by way of explanation, inflecting a confidence in her voice she was far from feeling.
“And you desire to use it upon me.”
It was not a question.
“A lot has changed since we left your suite.”
“Has it?” His eyebrow arched. “It would seem you still clamour for revenge.”
“And yet, when I arrived, I only wanted your death.”
His nostrils flared, but she could not tell if he was angry, hurt, or disappointed. His face was once again a carefully constructed beautiful mask of imperviousness.
“And do you still wish me dead?”
“Yes.”
“Even though, deep down, you know I was not the only one responsible for what happened to you.”
“No matter what other factors were at play, no matter who else was involved, it was you who did the deed, no one else.”
He nodded, his expression resigned. Without a word he brushed past her and headed down the hall into his bedroom, leaving Selena with no other choice but to follow him.
Adonis was already fully nude when she entered the room. Closing the door behind them, she locked it.
Her heart pounded harder as she reached for the buttons of her shirt. She wanted this, needed this. Her fingers trembled. He wanted this, too. The shattered pieces of their souls made what would transpire next as inevitable as it was necessary.
She hoped this wasn’t a mistake.
Sh
e hoped when this was all over that she could still walk away unscathed, that the intimacy they were about to share wouldn’t damage her further. She wasn’t certain, but that was the chance she was willing to take.
This was her choice.
When she started to remove her shirt, he stilled, every inch of his body radiating tension.
“What are you doing?”
Her eyes sparkled. “That much should be obvious,” she said softly as she stripped off her shirt, then her slacks. Selena’s heart beat a wild, drumming beat beneath her lungs in anticipation.
She still desired his death.
She still wanted her revenge.
But she wanted something else as well, something she only admitted to herself on the darkest of nights when she was huddled beneath the woollen covers of her convent bed.
She wanted to experience pleasure again. She wanted to once again know lust.
Yes, she wanted to make him beg as she had once begged. She’d begged for him to stop, then she’d begged him not to. She would do the same to him.
Yes, she wanted to shame him. She wanted him to experience the shame of having his body betray him, and to know that the one who’d caused it was there to witness it. She wanted his humiliation at being used and taken, then discarded and ridiculed.
She would have all those things. She would have more.
She would have him worship every inch of her. She would have him yielding to her every command. She would have his surrender, his complete and utter capitulation.
She would have him fulfil the fantasies she’d never wanted to acknowledge and ease the desires she’d long denied.
“I will not make love to you,” he said defiantly, the menace in his voice breaking through her thoughts, which he seemed to so easily read.
“You will have no choice.”
“I will accept your pain and your punishment, but I will not make love to you.”
“And what if that is what I want? What if I want you to make love to me?”
His eyes darkened, and she glimpsed the war raging inside him. He wanted to suffer at her hands, but he refused to accept her pleasure. He’d given her pleasure that night, even as he’d taken his. She would accept nothing less this night.
“Try to make love to me, Selena, and I will kill you.”
His words startled her, but she managed to remain equally stoical. “We will see about that.”
He growled out her name in warning, but she shook her head, silencing him. He was a liar. He would sacrifice his life to protect her, only to take it? She would be a fool to believe that. She wasn’t a fool. He was comfortable accepting her pain, but not her pleasure.
Just as she’d gifted him with her pleasure and her pain sixteen years ago this very night, before she was done with him, she would have him do the same.
Chapter Three
Selena crossed the room, her nude body illuminated by the silver light of the moon filtering through the sheer, satin curtains draping the window.
His eyes followed her every move—every sway of her hips, the delicate rise and fall of her breasts, the gentle caress of her fingers atop the down comforter.
Under the weight of his stare, the pulsing vein in her neck throbbed.
With his attention riveted on her, her breath rasped.
His bed was soft, his blankets warm as she stretched out across them, her back resting against an array of pillows along the ornate brass headboard.
So many times on so many nights, she’d lain in her humble bed, tucked beneath starched white sheets, her thighs spread, her hand between them stroking the soft bud at the apex of her sex, imagining him, dreaming of him, fantasising only of him.
Maybe she was a masochist—to desire the man who’d caused her such pain.
Or did it even matter? Would it matter when he was dead, when she’d killed him? She shook her head. She did not want to think of that—not now.
Right now she only wanted to think of pleasure.
Tonight, her hands found the swollen nub of her desire and with her slender fingers she touched herself, gently at first until warmth burst inside her chest, fanning across her entire body and she thrummed her clit faster, harder.
He stood at the end of the bed, his glare piercing her, the wide slash of his handsome mouth twisted with fury. She held his dark glower, sharing with him her pleasure, the intensity of her desire that must have blazed like a naked fire in her eyes.
He hated her because he hated himself…because he’d wielded pain only to gain her pleasure.
She hated him because she hated herself, and yet she’d accepted the pain he’d wielded, and then begged for her pleasure.
Tonight, he did not want to experience pleasure, yet she desired more than his pain.
“Tonight I shall not call you by your name.” In all these years she’d never uttered his name aloud. The memories it evoked were too vivid—the myriad emotions it conjured were too intricate to discern. “Tonight you shall only be known as my slave. Come here, slave,” she commanded.
She would never know if his increased anger was due to the moniker she’d gifted him with or to the fact that she’d issued him a command, but embers of fury leapt in his golden eyes and he remained rooted to his spot.
“Slave, I said come here.” This time her voice was sharper and he must have noticed because he walked with rigid efficiency around the bed until he stood beside her.
“I want you on this bed, on your knees, with your tongue inside me.”
His nostrils flared, his brow creased into a deep, hard frown.
This was not what he desired—his face said what his lips did not.
He wanted pain.
She wanted pleasure.
“Did you not put my lips on your cock and beg me to suck you dry?” Her statement registered. She knew it would. She knew reminding him of the mutual pleasure they’d experienced was the only way he would permit himself to know pleasure now.
Her voice was softer when she spoke again. “I want you to bury your face against my cunt and I want you to eat from me until I command you to stop.”
Lust flared in his eyes.
Such language from a woman who’d made her home in a convent for the past sixteen years. She felt no shame.
The bed dipped beneath the weight of one knee, then the other. Her next breath became a prisoner inside her lungs as he snared her with his gaze.
When he touched her thigh, her skin burned in the very spot.
She gasped.
He stilled.
“Do not stop,” she commanded.
He hesitated a moment, before his rough, callused fingers slid up the inside of her leg. His other hand found her thigh, stroking her skin, pushing her legs farther apart.
Her sex wept with hot liquid and she shivered when he lowered his head and closed his eyes, dragging her scent deep into his lungs.
He had been the only man to touch her body…and it ached for him.
Her fingers against her clit were a pale substitute to the wet fire his tongue ignited the moment it stroked across her sensitive skin.
She fought the urge to cry out as she arched into him, her eyes clenching shut. Her hands wrapped around the brass bars of the bed while he held her, spread before him, his tongue spearing her hot, tight hole.
His tongue retreated, then plunged deep, over and over again, dragging breathy sighs from her lips, dragging a gush of molten heat from her body.
He replaced his tongue with a finger, then another, stretching her, stroking her.
She called his name— slave. Her slave.
Selena’s hips instinctively lifted, but he held fast, trapping her to the bed, keeping her splayed wide as he devoured her with his mouth. She was mindless, helpless as she trembled against him and his full lips wrapped around her aching bud, suckling gently while his fingers pumped harder, thrust deeper.
She quivered beneath his skilled touch, heat uncoiling in her belly to rake its way through her body until the e
vidence of her desire and pleasure poured forth. Adonis worked a third finger inside her, brushing against the roof of her tunnel, stroking that sensitive place that brought a woman endless pleasure.
She screamed—a hoarse, ragged cry. She screamed her pleasure as her climax swept her away, desperately gripping the brass bars. Shudders racked her, while hot, sticky juice flooded her pussy. She panted as her orgasm began to wane and her body grew soft and pliable.
She had not commanded him to stop, so he didn’t.
He remained rooted between her thighs, his face buried in the heat of her sex, still feasting from her wet slit. Selena released the bars to tangle her hands in his golden hair, raking her fingers through the soft strands.
She cupped the back of his head gently, holding him there, though she needn’t have. He did not move, did not even seem to want to.
He ate from her, drank from her until she was once again writhing in pleasure. He fucked her with his fingers, four of them now, stretching her more than she’d ever been stretched before.
It felt as if he was invading her body. She clamped one hand against his shoulder, drawing his attention.
He looked up, his eyes shimmering with need and desire, his mouth glistening wet with her essence.
“Do you desire for me to stop?”
She shuddered at his obedience, his obsequence.
Selena shook her head. “Do not stop.”
In that moment, a sizzle of scorching energy passed between them. There was acceptance, an understanding.
He probed inside her tight depths with his fingers, still holding her gaze, his golden eyes riveted upon her. She felt so full, so stuffed. Even with her passage slick, his fingers were rough, hard and unyielding.
It made her needy for another part of him—his cock.
To have it stretching her, her flesh yielding as it tunnelled deep, hard, rough inside her.
She gasped.
He fucked her deeper.
It was not yet time for him to experience pleasure. When he was done seeing to her needs, when she was satiated and fulfilled, that was when she would desire his pain.
