“He was flirting with you,” Aron says, gesturing indignantly. “Laughing with you! And you were laughing back!”
“I was having a good time! Why is that a crime?”
He stalks toward me, his eyes so intense I can practically see the lightning crackling off of him. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” His voice is low and smooth, even if the words are deadly.
I arch a brow, determined to look cool and collected. What is he talking about? “What is it that you think I’m doing? I’m curious.”
His eyes glare lightning into mine. “You are trying to make me jealous.”
My jaw drops. “Are you serious? With Solat?” I laugh at that. “Yeah, no. He’s not my type.”
Aron goes very still. “Which one is your type, then?”
I swallow hard, because that feels like a loaded question. Not for me, but for whoever I answer. If I tell him I find Markos sweet and gallant and that he’s got great hair, is Aron going to go out there and kill him? Or that Kerren’s blushes are adorable?
Is he going to murder his way through half the country if I enjoy myself around other people? I don’t know how to deal with a jealous god, and I swallow hard as I’m reminded that Aron isn’t the god of puppies and warm hugs. He’s a god of battle. It’s in his nature to pick a fight.
And because he’s a god, he’s going to win, every time.
“I’m not going to answer that,” I say slowly, determined to defuse the situation. “But no, I am not trying to make you jealous. You’ve already said we can’t be anything, even if I wanted to be.”
He moves closer.
I instinctively lean back against the door, as if it’ll save me from his advancement. Aron’s inches away, and he’s so intense I can feel energy crackling between us.
He stops a breath away from me, looming. There’s an intense look on his face and I should be terrified, but I’m not. I’m utterly turned on. “You are not trying to make me wild with hunger for you, then?” he murmurs, a deadly calm in his voice, as if he’s close to his control snapping. “You’re not trying to make me give in and touch you?”
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no if you absolutely insisted—”
Aron looks down at my dress, which is in the Novoran style. It’s low cut with only an artful corset to keep the drapery in place. With a breath, he could have his hand in the front of my gown.
And we’re both extremely aware of it.
“You mortals,” Aron murmurs, leaning in so close that I can feel his breath fan against my face. “You are so bad at saying what you want. I think you do want me to touch you. You just won’t admit it.”
He’s right. I don’t want to admit how much I need him to touch me right now. Saying “yes, please touch me” would give him all kinds of power over me. He’d hold it over my head. He’d remind me of it constantly. He’s so arrogant that I don’t want him to have one over me.
But god, I want him to touch me.
“Admit it, Faith.”
“I admit nothing.” My voice has a wobble in it.
“Not even the truth?” The tip of Aron’s nose brushes against mine, and he’s so close I can see each thick, dark eyelash that frames his intense gaze. “You won’t ask? Not even to receive the pleasure you know I can give you?”
That makes me quiver all over. Oh Jesus, he is way too good at this game.
Aron leans in closer, and his lips are practically against mine as he speaks. I feel them move, forming the words he says, soft and slow. “Shall I touch you?”
I whimper, unable to fight it any longer. “God, yes.”
One big hand pushes through the slit in my skirts, and then his callused fingers are stroking over my pussy. I’m soaking wet, my thighs damp with my arousal, and I can feel my need coating his hand. I want to close my eyes so I don’t see the expression of triumph on his face as he puts a hand against the wall. It’s like he’s bracing himself so I can ride his hand, and fuck me if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever pictured, ever.
He says nothing, though, simply dragging his fingers through my wet folds and stroking back and forth. He’s