HERA
His scent.
I can smell it the minute I awake.
It is the scent of a man who spends most of his time in the crisp freshness of the outdoors; that delicious mix of pines and musk…of spice and danger.
Yet when my eyes eventually fly eagerly open, the other side of the bed we should be sharing is still empty like it has been for the past few days.
But it is not cold, not this time.
There is an indentation on the pillow beside my own and the sheets on the side I was so careful not to roll towards, are rumpled like they would be had someone slept there.
I did not see him, did not even hear him.
He must have come in when I was already fast asleep and left before I could wake up and see him, which is a feat considering my eyes had opened even before the morning’s fifth bell.
He must have been very determined that I not wake up to him sleeping in bed beside me.
I am not sure how I feel about this, but there is no question about it now.
He is definitely avoiding me.
And heaven alone knows why.
This realization should not bother me as much as it does yet I find myself just the slightest bit discomfited by the notion that he would think it necessary to stay away from me.
Not that I blame him.
Not after what I did.
His words, cold and unflinching push to the surface of my mind.
“You may not be paying for your crimes with your life Hera, but make no mistake about it. You and your people lied and deceived me and tether bond or not those are two things I do not know how to forgive.”
So was it really that big of a surprise he hated me so much, he did not wish to even sleep in the same room as me, never mind the same bed.
But I push my worried musings to the back of my mind because for all his actions and cold words, he had been here.
Had slept beside me in this bed…our bed and left behind the traces of his scent to torment and tease me.
And I feel the stirrings of something pleasant blossom stubbornly inside of me.
But just as suddenly as the feeling appears, it is pushed almost immediately aside by something else.
Guilt…sharp and stinging chokes out whatever tiny happy feeling had been trying to push its way through the gloom of my heart.
I cannot allow myself to forget his crimes against me, against my family, against all of my kind.
Neither can I dare to forget what it is I have to do to avenge their death and all the heartache he and his Ryders have caused.
It is just hard to keep a firm grasp on how much I am supposed to hate him when half the time I see him all I want him to do is push me against a wall and kiss me and touch me and take me with a rough fierceness as if both our lives depended on it.
My mind, because it loves to torture me, flashes back to yesterday, when he had caught me in that entirely awkward situation, hiding under his table.
By the gods I had never felt more embarrassed in all of my very short life.
Then I think about what had happened next, what he had done when I tried to leave.
The way he had wrapped his big, strong arms firmly around my waist and lifted me, breathless with surprise unto that stone table.
All traces of my earlier embarrassment were instantly forgotten, to be replaced with something else; something much more instinctive in its decadence.
I think of the way he had looked at me and the way it had made my belly clench with a feeling I recognized to be desire.
The way his gaze heavy with what could only be described as lust, plain and simple had moved from my lips, to my eyes and back to my lips again, almost like he was asking for permission to take my mouth in his.
By all the realms I would have let him.
The force with which I feel the memory is sudden and fierce, it’s effect instantaneous almost like it’s happening right now and I find myself having to press my thighs together.
To try and still the pulsing wetness that I am starting to feel between my legs.
Okay easy now Hera,
When did I become this wanton woman ruled by needs and cravings for a man who makes me so angry it defies belief?
I groan and toss and turn in my bed, my limbs tangling and pulling at the white sheets as I try to force my mind to think of anything else.
To get the image of a golden eyed king with eager hands, deceptively soft lips and a hard muscled body out of my head.
It does not work.
And soon, just pressing my legs together is not enough, not even a little bit.
The ache between my legs is refusing to go away.
I can feel myself getting wetter by the second.
I am not entirely certain I understand what my body is doing, all of this… these feeling are new to me.
My body wants him and it feels like there is something missing, a craving of fullness that the very centre of me wants…no not wants…demands.
And I do not know how to stop it.
So I bunch up my blanket into a hard ball and place it between my thighs, separated from my sensitive wetness only by the undergarments I had slept in.
I am not sure exactly what it is that I am doing but I simply want to still the persistent aching there.
And at first, for a very brief second, it works.
But then I am thinking about yesterday again and what would have happened had we not been interrupted by that knock.
I am thinking about how his mouth would have felt against mine.
Hot… possessive… all shades of passionate unrighteous bliss.
I imagine him trailing kissing down my neck…going even lower…grazing the top of my breast…taking one hard, slightly sore nipple into the heat and wetness of his mouth…his tongue…
I am beyond wet by this point and I move against the thickness of the cloth I had placed in that place between my legs.
Delicious shivers shoot down the entire length of my spine and I gasp in surprise.
I have never felt this before; this flush of unadulterated sinful pleasure.
So I do again and again and again.
Pressing my core against the hardness of the balled up cloth and moving my hips up…and down…grinding out a steady rhythm that makes it difficult for me to keep my eyes open and causes my breath to come out in short, soundless gasps.
I am moving faster now…breathing harder….
My back arches, lifting off the bed and my toes curl as my body chases wave after wave of elusive carnal pleasure.
I don’t even realize how hard I am gripping the sheets, or that my breathless gasps have turned into not so quiet moans.
Hands, my hands, slip beneath my night gown, over the curve of my stomach, the slopes of my breasts, grazing and teasing at the hardness of my nipples.
I take them and roll them between my fingers and let out a cry at how good it feels.
I can feel myself getting closer and closer to something.
A peak of blinding pleasure I have never felt before so I ride faster…harder, my hips lifting off the bed.
Gods above…
“Midas...”
His name falls from my lips over and over again.
I am aware that I am no longer quiet, but I don’t care. At this moment nothing else matters.
Eyes closed, my body on the very brink of losing control, I do not even hear the door open.
Do not see him stop suddenly, dark golden eyes, watching me please myself.
“Midas…”
He groans and I hear his sword fall with a loud clatter to the ground.
My eyes snap open.
But it is too late… I am unable to stop, not when I am this close.
And seeing him standing there, watching me, is the last push my body needs to tip me over the edge and head long into the complete ecstasy of my first orgasm.
My eyes meet his and hold as wave after wave of intense sensual delight crashes into me, until I am unable to keep them open anymore.
Unable to think or say anything besides his name.
“Midas.”
I fall on the bed, my knees weak and shaken, breathless and utterly spent.
Without even touching me, he has managed to take me to the highest level of sexual satisfaction I have ever felt.
It takes a minute, maybe even longer for me to begin breathing again, to slowly return back to normal.
But as the fog clears, with it comes the startling realization of what had just happened, what I had just done.
And who had seen me doing it.
Sweet mother of…
My eyes fly open in horror.
But there is no one else in the room.
And maybe I could have managed to convince myself that in the throes of my bliss I had somehow managed to conjure up the object of my desires and that he had not really been there.
Until I see the sword that had fallen to the ground while he stood there; watching me.
My heart drops a thousand feet into my stomach.
No…No….No.
“Oh dear Zeus, what have I done?”