* * * * *
His fist on his c**k pumping, his eyes closed, the vision of her running her tongue up the underside was in his brain.
Her face, he knew.
But he’d never had that tongue.
Or those eyes.
Eyes that were burning on him now, burning on him and through him even if only in his imagination.
Fathomless.
A mystery.
His mystery.
On this thought and the small enigmatic smile she gave him before she rolled her tongue around the tip, his head pressed back into the pillows and Apollo stifled his own groan as he spent himself on his stomach.
Slowly opening his eyes to the dark of his room, he milked the last beads from his shaft as she continued to steal his thoughts.
Then he reached to his nightstand, opened the drawer and pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped up his seed and tossed the cloth aside. He then yanked the covers over him and turned to his side, stretching out his arm to curl around the pillow and pull it to him.
Tonight, a pillow.
Tomorrow, something else entirely.
He’d lied to his cousin.
He didn’t intend to sleep on anything.
He intended to sleep with something.
Yes, he’d made a colossal mistake.
One he just no longer had any intention to rectify by sending her away.
On that thought, Apollo closed his eyes and faded to sleep.
* * * * *
At sunrise the next day, with his gloved hand on a lead to a horse that was hitched to the sleigh prepared to take Ilsa forward or back, Apollo saw her standing on the steps of the inn.
She was wearing a fur cape, holding a fur cap in her hand, her auburn hair shining in the sun and her eyes were aimed at him.
He pulled back on Torment, halting close and looking down at her.
She looked up, and before he could speak, she snapped, “Bellebryn.”
Then, without delay, she stomped through the snow to the sleigh.
Knowing he was cursed and not caring in the slightest, when she did, Apollo smiled.
Chapter Seven
Away to Bed
I was learning something new.