Confused, I automatically hold out the fruit in my hand. Sure, I’ve taken a bite out of it, but it’s really the only thing left to eat. I’ve cleaned out everything else.

“That’s not what I hunger for, Faith.” And he slides to his knees before my chair, his hands moving to my hips.

I whimper.

With slow, methodical movements, Aron opens the slit of my Novoran wraparound gown and exposes my pussy. He stares down at it for a moment, and I squirm in response. Did I think the way he looked at me before was intense? It’s nothing compared to how he’s looking at me now.

His hands grip my hips and he tugs me forward, ever so slightly. When I remain completely still, he glances up at me, at the uneaten fruit in my hands. “Don’t let me interrupt you. My anchor needs to eat and keep up her strength.”

Oh.

It feels like the world is in slow motion as I put the fruit to my lips and lick away a bead of juice. Even as I do, Aron leans forward, his face moving between my trembling thighs.

And he licks me.

I can’t stop the moan that pours from my throat. This is the first time he’s put his mouth on me, there, and the spark that ripples between us feels like foreplay. I lean back in the chair, panting, as his tongue moves over my folds, dragging over my most sensitive spots, before he sucks lightly on my clit, drawing it into his mouth.

I’m whimpering with full-blown lust and need even as I raise the fruit to my lips and take another small bite. My mouth fills with juice as he works my clit, and it’s the most erotic and insanely filthy thing I’ve ever done.

He strokes a finger deep into my core, and I sink my teeth into the red fruit as he does. Instead of thrusting into me, using his finger like he would his cock, he doesn’t move. I’m confused, and in the next moment, I feel it.

Oh fuck. He’s tickling something deep inside me and oh fuck, it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. My hips surge off the chair and I cry out, the fruit forgotten. It slides out of my grip and slaps wetly on the floor as my hands go to his head. Impatiently, he lifts one of my clamping thighs and pushes it over the arm of the chair, making sure that I remain spread wide for his pleasure.

Because even though this is turning me inside out with ecstasy, I know this is for his pleasure, too. He rubs my G-spot as his mouth moves over my clit, and I’m babbling his name and clutching at his long hair even as he makes me come so hard that it feels like the thunder crashing outside is in my veins. He continues to lick and suck at my clit, finger working inside me as my hips buck with the force of my orgasm. Aron’s determined to wring out every bit of pleasure from me, and it feels like he makes it go on forever, beyond the point of comfort, but he won’t pull away, no matter how many times I tug on his hair or pant his name.

Aron finally listens for my pleas for him to stop, that I can’t possibly come any longer, and lifts his head to give me the most arrogant, most Aron smile ever. “I liked that.”

Oh god. I’m totally going to melt into a puddle at the sight of that smile. “Yeah,” I manage breathlessly. “That was pretty good.”

He arches that scarred eyebrow. “Only pretty good?”

He starts to lower his head again and I squeak, grabbing his hair before he can go down on me again. “W-wait! Wait. I need to catch my breath.”

I love the rumble of his laughter. He merely kisses the inside of my thigh, slides my legs together, and gets to his feet. He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, then tugs me into his arms and kisses me so hard that I’m left dazed. The taste of my orgasm is all over his mouth, and I find it strangely erotic to taste myself on his tongue. I cling to him as his mouth lazily explores mine, lost in the play of our lips.

Aron caresses my head, his fingers in my hair, and then nips lightly at my mouth. “Shall we climb into bed?”

Bed? I nod, dazed. I’m tired, but more than that, I want him to hold me. Bed sounds like a very good idea right about now.

He slips an arm behind my thighs and lifts me into his arms and carries me to the bed like a bride on our wedding night. In a way, I guess this kind of feels like one. I feel as if Aron and I are starting a new life together. Instead of just anchor and Aspect, we’re man and woman, together.

I won’t think about the future. Not right now. Not until we leave this tower. It can wait. It can all wait.

Aron’s gaze is locked on me as he gently pulls the buckles free of my wide belt and then slowly removes my long gown. When I’m naked on the bed, he straightens and begins to undress. I always forget just how powerful Aron’s body is. There’s not an inch of fat on him, and he’s all corded muscle and obliques. His six-pack ripples down his abdomen, and he’s no longer as pale as he was when I met him, as if he’s gained color—and life—simply by being in this world. Scars cover practically every inch of his skin, though, and I forget just how many he has until he undresses and shows me again. The long-healed gashes show red and sometimes white against his skin, some smaller and rougher, others large and long and deadly. The one on his face that crisscrosses over his green eye is the one I’m most familiar with, and I look up at him, worried. So many scars. So many brutal battles. Seeing him like this can get a little overwhelming, and every mark of a blade on him is a reminder that we might not win.

“You’re frowning. Do you not like my scars?” Aron asks, and there’s amusement in his voice as he stands over the edge of the bed, looming in that arrogant way of his. Of course he’s arrogant. He’s a god, but more than that, he’s fucking amazing and he knows it. I no longer see his arrogance as irritating, more just a quirk of who he is. And I love all of him. “Do you want to know the stories behind each wound? All of them have a tale behind them.”

I shake my head and raise a hand to him. “I just want to hold you, actually. Can we do that?”

“I can withhold no request from you,” he says, and climbs into bed next to me. We’re naked together, flesh pressed to flesh for the first time, and this feels way more intimate than anything we’ve ever done before.

Tentatively, I put my hand on his stomach. We’re facing each other, inches apart, and his hand goes possessively to my hip, as if he has to touch me at all times. “This is the first time I’m getting to touch you, do you realize that?”

“You’ve grabbed me before. I distinctly remember several times in which I had to pry your eager hands off of my cock.”

I laugh, because I remember that, too. “So are you going to push my hands away again today?” And I slide one down to his dick, just to test that theory.

“Never again,” he says solemnly. “I am yours to claim, just as you are mine.”

I am totally going to test that theory. I sit up in bed, gazing down at him as he rolls onto his back and tucks a hand behind his head, the most casual of men. As if we’ve done this a dozen times already. Truth is, I’m itching to touch him. I remember each furtive touch I gave him in the past and how he pulled me away. The realization that he won’t do that again is a heady one.

And the man is stinking beautiful. It doesn’t matter that his body is covered in scars. There’s no part of him that isn’t perfection. I trace a finger down one long, jagged red mark that crosses his belly and arches over to his hip. His pectorals are hard and flat, his shoulders broad, his hips narrow.

His dick is just as enormous as I remember from those furtive touches and our time earlier in the hall. I knew he was well equipped. I mean, no god is going to have a teeny weenie. And when we made love a short time ago? He was so big that it felt life-changing. Looking at him now, I see that it wasn’t just my imagination. His cock is long and thick, the head prominent. Veins trace up and down his shaft, leading down to a lightly furred ball sac that can only be described as thick. Every inch of him is thick and meaty and my mouth waters at the sight. I think of all the times that he made me lose control, and I want to do the same to him.