Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I don’t know if she means to hurt me with that statement, but it does hurt. How can it not when it highlights my inadequacy? I will never have the right words to make the people I care about feel better. Not my sisters, sure as fuck not my wife. No doubt the video spun her out as much as it did me, and instead of allowing me to talk it through with her, all she wants is a good fuck.
So be it.
But first, there’s one thing I have to know. I hate myself for the vulnerability exposed by my even putting my worry into words. “Hera. Callisto. Wife.” I close my eyes and inhale deeply. “Is there a lover? Is it Ixion?”
“Do you have a lover? Maybe several? I see the way Ganymede watches you. Not to mention all the little Hera hopefuls, wishing you’ll follow in your father’s footsteps and shove me down a flight of stairs so they can step over my still-warm body to accept your ring.”
Something in my chest flutters in a truly worrisome way. I lean back just enough to catch her gaze. “Are you jealous?”
“How could I possibly be jealous?” She almost pulls off a flat tone, but there’s a thread of something else in her words. Something I resonate with. “I don’t even like you.”
“Right. How could I forget?” I focus on gentling my grip and sliding my hands down to cup her round ass. “Answer my question. Then I’ll answer yours.”
The moment stretches out between us, poised with the possibility of changing everything. I’ve never lied to her, but that doesn’t mean I’ve been perfectly honest, either. I haven’t touched anyone from the moment I accepted her deal—and I won’t as long as I wear her ring on my finger—but I understand the reputation that goes hand in hand with my title. Philanderer. Murderer. Monster. Why wouldn’t she assume the worst? It’s not as if we’ve had a single honest conversation in the duration of our marriage.
I see the exact moment she decides to cut the fragile peace between us. Her smile goes sly even as her gaze goes distant. “Why stop at one lover, Husband? It takes so many to keep me fulfilled.”
The most fucked-up thing? I don’t know for sure if she’s lying. I want to believe she is, that she just wants to get under my skin and strike to the very heart of me. But I’m not certain. And because I’m not certain, the monstrous part of me that I fight so hard to keep under wraps rises to the surface with a roar shaking me to my bones.
I release her hip to grip her jaw in a way designed to make her knees buckle. Because no matter what the fuck she’s doing when she’s not with me—or who she’s doing—she can’t deny the moments we share in the dark are real. “I know the feeling. I’m insatiable. How could one person possibly fulfill my needs?”
“I hate you,” she whispers.
“We are in perfect agreement there,” I lie. Things would be so much easier if I actually loathed her, if I didn’t crave an intimacy we’ve never managed to share. Not that we’ve tried.
She slides her other hand down to the band of my pants and undoes my belt in a quick, practiced move. “You’re lucky I don’t shove you out a fucking window.”
Suddenly, I’m so sick of this shit. I release her and step back. She stumbles a little, and it takes everything I have not to reach out to catch her. Hera rights herself before I have a chance to, which is perfectly on brand. She doesn’t need me. She never has. Maybe it’s not fair to want to be needed by her, but I’m not feeling particularly fucking fair right now.
I stalk to our living room, leaving her to reluctantly shadow my steps. None of the massive windows that overlook the city open, but the door out to the balcony does. I shove it wide and step out. It’s a little after mid-October, but the wind reeks of winter, harsh and cutting and so cold that it makes my face prickle.
I turn around as Hera steps through the door and hold my arms out wide. “Here you go. One good shove and your Zeus problem is no more. That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve gone through the trouble to coerce Poseidon into treachery, to work with Ariadne and the Minotaur to bring down Dodona Tower, no matter what other people might have been hurt in the process.”
“No one else was going to be hurt,” she snaps. The wind whips her hair around her face, almost as if its embodying her anger. “I made sure of that, even if the plan didn’t end up working out.”