“Did a number on you, didn’t he?” she whispered, copying his motions, ghosting her fingers across his cheek. “What do you need, heart?”
“You.” He groaned, hands clutching at her wet frame. “I just need you.” Desperate to clear his mind of the vision, to erase the sight of her under the god king’s control.
She hummed in response, passing the rag once more, cleaning his chest, his arms. “You’ll have me, king. But first, let me take care of you.” Her free hand drifted down his chest, over his stomach… lower.
“Penelope,” he growled as her hands drifted still, drawing her fingers across the length of him.
She dipped the dirty rag into the water. “Look what you did for me, husband,” she exhaled. The sound of her voice was breathy.
“Let metake careof you.” His beautiful wife continued to use the rag to cleanse him, but her free hand circled his growing erection, pulling a moan from his lips. “How much more would you do for me?”
Her fingers clenched around him, stealing the breath from his lungs. His eyes threatened to roll back. Just her touch alone was enough to send him over the edge.
Everything.
“Stop, stop, stop,” He breathed, grabbing at her wrist. “I don’t want that,”
She froze, quirking an eyebrow at him,smirking.
Odysseus laughed, “I don’t mean -” He grinned, shaking his head. “Not now, not tonight.” He pulled her close, tangling his hands in her wet curls. “I want all of you. Not your hands, not your mouth. I want every part of you.”
A wicked flame sparkled in Penelope’s eyes. “What was going through your mind when you killed him?” She asked, snaking her arms around his neck, securing her to him. There was a hunger to her words, an ache that threatened to consume him.
He stilled underneath her arms, eyes locked on hers. “You. The things he said about you… the way he spoke, as though you were some object to be claimed.” His fingers twitched against her hair, his voice still quiet in the air. “It took all my self control not to tear him into pieces.”
She shuddered under his touch, panting beneath his gaze. “Why didn’t you?” She raked one of her hands through his hair, her nails digging against his scalp.
He dipped his head, lips brushing hers. He felt his strength returning to him with each brush of her fingers. With each dart of her tongue across her lips. “I wanted him afraid. I wanted him to know that the minute he laid a hand on you, his life was forfeit.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, moving before she could turn her head into him.
His bloody hands framed her face, heart thrumming a wild rhythm against his chest. “You wanted him to suffer,” His wife’s voice was all but lost in the air around him, but Odysseus didn’t miss the burning in her eyes when she said it, the darkness that flickered across her face.
He didn’t answer her. He let the statement hang in the air between them as the blood from his hands dripped down her cheeks, down her neck. He bent, lips hovering over hers, their breaths mingling. “I did. Why do you want to know, wife?” He growled, fingers twitching against her cheeks.
Penelope smirked, drawing a finger over the shell of his ear and across his pulse. She shifted, nail scraping across his jaw, down his throat. “You killed that man, Odysseus,” Her eyes were blown wide. “For me.”
“I have killed a hundred men in your name, wife.” He snapped back, leaning towards her, tilting her chin up. His movements were not gentle. His hands twitched, his fingers claimed.
“Did you string them up?” She moved closer. He could feel every curve of her body flush against his. “Did you parade around Ithaca drenched in their blood?” She raked her nails down his chest, eliciting a hiss from him.
“Would you have fucked me covered in their blood, Odysseus?”
His heartbeat echoed in his ears. He moved without thought. The king grabbed her, pulling her to him. She yielded, swept up by his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, as if he were designed to carry her. She fit against him like she was molded to his form, they were two halves of a whole.
“Yes,” but his word was a growl.
“Yes,” but she swallowed his moan whole, lips sealing over his.
“Yes,” but he moved, backing her up against the wall of the bath, gripping at the ledge to steady himself.
Penelope bit his bottom lip, drawing both blood and a snarl from him. His skin felt too small for his body. His head pounded as she met his motions step for step. “When you fuck me, husband.” She purred against his lips. “Fuck me as the man that kills for me.” Her mouth ticked upwards.
“And I’ll fuck you as the woman who fights the gods.”
59
HIS FINGERS TRAILED OVER THE CURVE of her spine, over the marks that he had left on her skin. Small bruises were painted across her hips, her neck, and a sick pride flushed across his skin.
He wasn’t a covetous man, Odysseus knew he had no need to lay claim on her. But gods, did it satisfy his base needs as a man to see the places he had gripped her a little too tight, places he had bitten a little too hard, lost himself in her a little too much.
