Page 49

This is a man whose wings have never been clipped by Rome, a man who grows out his hair and wears trousers and decorates his skin with ink, and—my gaze settles on one of the many old injuries that mar his skin—a man who has known much violence.

I move my hand to the scar. “You’ve been hurt so many times.” I hadn’t realized just how much battle Memnon had seen. That itself shakes me—I assumed I knew the most intimate parts of his mind.

You do.

Memnon steps in closer. “My injuries are fine, though I wouldn’t protest if you kissed my scars, just to make them feel better.”

There’s mischief in his eyes, and I push at him, laughing lightly. “I bet you would like that.”

“I would,” he agrees, a grin spreading across his face. “I promise I would kiss you back anywhere you asked.”

“Oh, is that right?” I say jokingly. “Anywhere I’d like?”

His expression grows serious. Molten.“Anywhere.”

I swallow. I am out of my depth with him, pulled out to sea by undercurrents I don’t understand, but I sense his want in his words and through our bond.

My own desire runs up my spine and down my limbs, my nerves heightening it further. I’m terrified. Emboldened.

I back up, reaching for the metal fibula at my shoulder. I unclasp the fastening as I hold Memnon’s gaze, and it drops away with the material it held in place, revealing a breast.

His eyes dip to my chest, and I hear his sharp intake of breath as I undo the other clasp. My wedding tunic falls to my waist,snagging on my undergarments there. I push it all down, my underwear and the tunica recta pooling at my feet.

I stand there, bared entirely before Memnon.

“You have my permission to kiss me anywhere you please…my king,” I say softly.

For an instant, Memnon’s eyes seem to glow like embers, and his magic unspools out of him, churning around his waist. I can hear it tugging at his trousers and boots, but it’s not until the deep blue smoke clears and he steps forward that I realize he’s entirely naked too.

“And you have mine,” he says.

I can hear the pounding of my heart as I take all of him in. His skin is less tan from the waist down but just as muscular. Tattoos twist around his left thigh, and another adorns one of his calves. But it’s not his legs or his tattoos that catch my attention.

There’s nothing about him that I haven’t already seen from statues of the male form…and yet the size and shape of his phallus looks more like the fertility figures I’ve seen and less like the carved likenesses of gods. I don’t understand why that would be.

He approaches me then and scoops me up.

I yelp, my hands going reflexively around his neck. “What are you doing?” I gasp. My mind cannot make sense of how incredible it is having so much of my skin pressed to his.

He glances down at me with fondness. “Is it not obvious? Carrying my wife to our bed.”

At the mention of the bed, my magic begins to leak from my hands. I’m breathless with nerves.

He lays me out on our blankets, then follows me onto the mattress, draping his body along mine. “Do you still want this?” he asks, a crease forming between his brows.

As I stare up at him, a lock of hair falls in his eyes, over his forehead. Without thinking, I brush it back, my fingers trailing, then lingering over his skin.

“Yes.”

He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to first my knuckles, then the base of my palm. “Okay.”

“Do you?” I ask uncertainly.

He gives me a look. “Little witch, the gods couldn’t pry me away. Only you have that power.”

I smile at him, shy and eager and bashful all at once.

Almost reluctantly, Memnon gives me my hand back, but I simply wrap it around his neck and pull him to me, and then I’m kissing him again. Only now, an urgent drive edges my movements, and I’m searching for something more. Memnon kisses me back just as fiercely, his body rocking against mine.