“Oh, I won’t be.”
The sound of the blade springing into action made her jump, and that reaction alone had me grinning, while the ache below my zipper demanded more than this teasing.
I dragged the knife along her warm skin up to the center of her bra, where it looked most fragile and stressed. With one quick motion, I had pulled the blade towards me cutting between the cups and leaving her even more exposed.
Her breasts weren't anything but perfect: dusted in bronze, her nipples a shade of dark pink that complimented her tan. I couldn't help myself when my hand grasped her tits from underneath forcing them into an even more perky state, while my mouth closed around one.
Arianna shifted under my tight grip, but I was listening for her to change her mind. Her voice stayed silent, only producing small whimpers and moans, because of my lips tugging her nipple between my teeth.
She was an old wound, the lifetimes of losing her, that I was healing in this moment.
Her hand dipped between us pushing her chest further into my mouth when I switched nipples. Her hand put pressure on my hard ridge outlined in my sweats, running her palm against my length, testing any more resolve left in me.
My hands followed her lead, dropping down to her crotch and pushing the inseam of her jeans right into her clit.
I knew everything about my Sagittarius—what made her moan, what made her squirm under my gaze, where her sensitive spots hid from the world. I knew exactly how to make her submit to me.
I could feel the tension between us becoming unbearable. It was stiffening the air, making it hard to see or focus on anything but the tension.
My teeth gritted against her unblemished skin, further and further, not helping to alleviate any of the hormones.
Her exacerbated voice hummed, “I thought you hated me.”
“Who says I stopped?”
Now wasn't the time to exploit my inner monologues and let her know just how much I considered love to be a razor sharp, fine line separating love and hate.
Her thinking I hate her only spurred her on when her hand became absent from my hard on and she rustled with the button on her jeans instead. She was impatient.
Her ex-boyfriend in Texas must have been inexperienced and the opposite of a lasting impression. She was damn near desperate to get her pants off to grant me access to where I really wanted to be.
Our determined mouths clashed, consuming each other, and our hands tried to keep up the same pace.
Nothing could keep our pace after her fingers scraped down my sides, pushing at the waistband of my sweats. Instinctively, I wrapped my hand around her throat putting all the attention back on her.
“You first.”
She stood up from off the table, still completely calm, like my hand was a goddamn accessory she didn't mind. I tightened my grip, and she struggled to stay upright and shake her pants down at the same time, leaving her exposed, naked, but beautifully strong.
Not one vulnerable spot I could exploit.
In a quick motion, I stepped forward, leaving her no room to escape, forcing her back to her original position, legs open for me to get comfortable between. I couldn't drag my eyes up from her body, memorizing every curve and dip on her frame. She was the right amount of comfortable, not too much or lacking, and she moved her body like she knew exactly what I wanted to see when she laid back, taunting me.
Suddenly, her legs collapsed together with force, making it hard to see her glistening for me anymore. “I completed my round of show and tell. Your turn.”
“What do you want to know?”
She sat up, and the mood didn't change. The tension still hung as heavy as I was. My hand clasped around my length just to ease the ache, while she got off on my truths instead.
“Explain. What are you then?”
“Zeus is my king. I'm not supposed to be here, none of us are. We were released and got stuck here.”
I was hoping it was good enough, but I could see her wheels turning, spinning right into how crazy what I was saying sounded. I wasn't an idiot. I knew what I was saying was incomprehensible, but it was the truth, one I hadn’t planned on ever sharing with anyone, until her.
Keeping crazy to yourself is a lot easier.
Her eyes were at half-mast, and her hands ran up under my shirt, her nails scraping down me after. “Henry Jon? Rosalia?”
“That was the first time we were released, the Victorian Era. We were meant to influence the people, propel evolution forward, inspire change—”
She cut me off too impatiently. “Influence? How?”
“As I was saying... our signs, all the traits based on us, influence people around us. Each of us is different. When you're around Luna, you feel more patient and aware of others, when you're around Nyx, you feel more intense and competitive.”
“What am I when I'm around you?”
“What you should be: motivated and relentless.”
I shrugged my hoodie off, letting it fall down my arms, and the zipper made a small sound when it hit the floor below me. She didn't waste any time ripping my shirt from me aggressively, motivated, relentlessly.
I was happy to oblige.
I watched her eyes scan my body hungrily, moving from one defined muscle to the next, thanks to football. All of them started to ache from the hits I took not even a couple hours ago.
The heat still poured off my body in waves; my heart still pumped with leftover adrenaline; and now I felt shaky under the pressure of the hormones mixed with everything else.
She slowly opened her legs for me, like it was meant to be cherished. I didn't break eye contact when I jerked her legs forward, making sure I was between them this time, changing the tone she set easily.
She arched her back, pushing her growing need onto me, while my hands were busy tugging my sweats down, only enough to expose what I needed.
Pressing my balled up fists onto the table and leaning into her, meeting halfway, like any king would do for his queen. I searched the ocean in her eyes rimmed with violet hues to see if any hesitation was there, but I found not even one sliver of doubt.
She was all in.
She was comfortably wrapped around me.
“Bolton… Just fuck me already… enough games.”
My queen reborn, she wasn't sweet and naive anymore; she was demanding and impatient. This version of her, modernized from the 1600’s, complimented who I was more than ever.
We were unstoppable, and no one would think to dethrone us.
I pushed my hips forward shifting my alignment easily when I felt my thick crown slip inside her warmth. She took my breath away, forcing my knuckles to push into the solid table even more, creating the opposite of white knuckles. Instead mine were red and bruised, exactly how I was going to leave Arianna, after letting me cross this line.
My hand snaked up between us, and my fingers wrapped around her throat, picking up the pace of my thrusts. She wanted to be fucked, not loved or treated like some virgin she wasn't.
That was something I already took; she just didn’t remember all of our past. I knew she loved the roughness. I knew every inch of her desires, because I had known her for lifetimes.
Her small hands clasped around my forearm, letting me know it was too tight. I knew she needed to focus on how good she felt inside of the oxygen I was cutting in half now.
She just needed to remember, and this seemed like a promising way. She tried to choke out my name, but my fingers on her vocal cords wouldn’t allow it.