Page 148 of Zeus

"What will we tell people?"

"Do you think we have to explain ourselves?" he asks, taking another bite.

"I don't think we're going to be sequestered into a room with Hemlock demanding to know what our intentions are for each other," I say. "I'm asking how we handle it."

He thinks for a minute, and I refuse to get distracted by the way his tongue snakes out, seeking a tiny remnant of chocolate on his upper lip, no matter how the sight of it affects my body.

I look away, hating that the sound of his chuckle makes it very clear that he not only read me right but is also so aware of how he controls my reactions.

"I think that answers the question," he says, his voice low and full of promises.

I look back in his direction. "Excuse me?"

I try for an indignant tone, but the words squeak out when I see his teeth digging into his lower lip.

"Do you want to hide it?" he asks. "Because if that's the case, we can't even be in the same room together. You can't control yourself around me."

I glare at him. "I can, too!"

He tilts his head, a look of doubt on his face.

"This is different," I assure him with a wave of my hand to indicate the room. "You're shirtless, and I'm full of your cum. It changes things."

He licks at those perfect fucking lips of his. "Do you think there will be many days when you aren't full of my cum?"

My cock kicks, and he laughs again when I pull the blanket up higher on my hips.

"Besides," he says, pausing to speak just before popping the last of his candy bar in his mouth. "I'm pretty sure everyone already knows."

"Because of the audio recordings in the house?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Casper assures me he's the only one who heard, and that he turned it off when he realized what was happening."

"He's not the gossiping type?"

"I can't say he wouldn't chatter about some things while waiting for the coffee pot to fill in the mornings, but I don't think that's something he'd share with anyone in the group," he explains. "I wasn't exactly very professional when we went into that dungeon and found you."

"I don't remember all of it."

"I wish you didn't remember any of it," he mutters.

"Tell me," I insist.

"I dropped to my knees and cupped your face," he begins. "I reacted like a lover, not a teammate. Anyone who was paying attention could probably see that there was more there than concern."

"I hate that I don't remember that part," I say.

"You don't seem convinced," he prods, reading my mood in a way that should concern me, but somehow it doesn't.

"You acted like you were concerned for me when I got back to the house, but there was no affection," I remind him. "I didn't know where I stood with you. I figured you were back in the we're-just-friends mode."

He pulls in a deep breath, releasing it on a sigh. "I couldn't get past the anger with myself for putting you in that situation. I feel responsible for every bruise. I figured you'd hate me after what I let happen to you."

"First," I begin, wincing when I shift to face him a little better.

"See?" he says. "Still in pain, and I—"

"You know better than to blame yourself for the choices other people make," I interrupt. "You have no control over their actions."