Page 54 of Zeus

But I know better than to let my mind drift to those sorts of thoughts. He may be different now, but he's not the type to admit when he should've acted differently. Not many people are. They'd prefer to just move on with behavior changes rather than look back and admit things should've been different.

"Did I sound like I was in pain?" he repeats, a slow smile spreading across his face.

I don't miss how long it takes to reach his eyes, but eventually I see the same playfulness in them that I hear in his tone.

I dip my head twice, my teeth scraping over my bottom lip, and I almost groan with need at the way his eyes drop to my lips, a certain kind of need showcased on his face. It seems like the very same ache of expectation that is threatening to take over every instinct I possess.

"Maybe you have something that will help heal me," he says, reaching for the hem of my t-shirt.

When he said he was getting a shower and some sleep, I wanted to argue that it was the middle of the afternoon, but we had a late night last night and barely had a chance to sleep today. Not that I could've gone to sleep with the memories of the way he watched me in my bedroom after my shower earlier.

Before I can answer, he pulls my shirt over my head, letting it fall from his hand to the floor at our feet.

I'm a questions guy. I ask a million questions so I can enter a situation with as much knowledge as possible, making educated decisions to achieve the outcome I want. But before I can open my mouth to ask him exactly what his expectations are, he presses his lips to mine.

Kissing was never on the table all those years ago. Hell, he saw red and had a look of violence in his eyes when I went for a hug. I could never be brave enough to get my face that close to his.

This is the second time he’s been the one to lean in and press his mouth to mine.

I stand still, lips moving against his, parting when he urges his tongue past them. Fire shoots up my spine, my brain going offline in the best way possible.

When his warm, strong arm reaches behind me, fingers pressing against my lower spine, urging me forward, it feels as if there's nothing but green lights going forward.

I step even closer to him, my left arm going around his waist, my right hand reaching up and pressing the palm to his chest. I can't tell whose heart is racing more, but the strong beat of his heart under my hand reminds me just how real all of this is. It's grounding in a way that makes all of the fear I felt when he approached fade away.

I'm not saying that he won't have boundaries, that there won't be a line we reach that he can't cross, but I don't think it will be met with the same aggression and hatred that it did before. Not that if things did go that way, reminding him that he's the one who started all this would matter.

I pull in a deep breath, releasing it on a sigh when he pulls his head back, mouth immediately finding my neck. The nip of his teeth against delicate skin makes me groan, my hand at his back flexing and drawing him in closer.

Our cocks touch, separated by only two thin layers of fabric, but as much as I want to, I can't be the one to reach for him. History keeps me from responding the way I really want to in an effort to protect myself. I hate him a little for our past being able to keep me from living only in this moment, doing what feels right and natural, but you can only burn yourself so many times before you stop reaching for the fire.

He takes a step back, the dampness on my neck sending a wave of chills through me as the cool air replaces the warmth of his mouth.

I lift my head, holding it a little higher, waiting for the fit of anger and praying he remembers the listening device in the other room before he breaks my heart and ruins our chance with this job, all in the same breath.

Instead, he looks down, watching his hands, and I do the same, and see with disbelieving eyes as his thumbs hook into the waistband of my boxer briefs.

My mouth drops open, chin to chest, as he gently glides the fabric over my ass and down my thighs. My cock springs free, the tip glistening with need, and a moan escapes my lips when the tip of his tongue snakes out to wet his bottom lip as if he's desperate for a taste of me.

The devil could have my soul after this if he just dropped to his knees right here and put those perfect lips around the head of my cock.

Instead, he reaches down, stroking the length of me once before lifting his eyes to mine as if he's trying to gauge what I like and what I don't.

The lack of anger and frustration is new, but his looking me in the eyes, rather than turning his head in what I always read as shame, seems like the absolute prize right now.

I roll my lip between my teeth, not wanting to ruin the moment by moaning as if I've never been touched before.

With his other hand, he reaches for mine, and I feel like a fool when I try to intertwine my fingers with his, causing a chuckle to erupt from his lips.

Right. NO holding hands.

But rather than stopping, he turns my hand in his, guiding it to the waistband of his own boxers, keeping it in his grip until my fingers are wrapped around his cock.

His breath shudders, his exhale echoing the same sound of relief I'd expect from a man drinking a glass of water after a week without water in the desert. There's a certain level of desperation in it, the same one I feel crawling through my entire body.

On instinct, knowing what he has always liked, I begin to lower myself to my knees, taking him, releasing my cock as the permission I need, but instead, I find his fingers gently around my throat, cock jerking in his hand.

My eyes widen when he smiles.