Page 7 of Minas (Dying Gods #4)

Britomartis

I stare in awe as Sira comes apart on my hand, my fingers deep insider her, her glistening sex stretched around my knuckles, her head thrown back, those wild tresses tangled around her. Her hands tremble as she cups her breasts, her fingers pulling at her nipples just like I told her, until that creamy skin is red and marked.

“Britomartis,” she screams. “Britomartis.”

She’s shaking, her eyes wide and desperate as she stares unseeingly at the ceiling, her lips kiss swollen and parted.

I reach between us with my other hand, staring down in fascination at where my fingers are buried deep in her, at the feel of her squeezing and fluttering around me. I push deeper in, stretching her, and then roll her swollen nub with my free hand, squeezing it.

The sounds she makes, the way her thighs shudder, the feel of her around my fingers, that last shuddering gasp... it nearly has me coming untouched beneath my own skirt.

“Brita-,” she sobs. “Br… Britomartis.”

I slide my hand free, and pull her close, collapsing beside her on the thin, threadbare mattress. My own body is aching, burning with an almost painfully sharp need.

“Britomartis,” she says again, as if my name is the only word she can remember. The only word that matters.

Sweet, sweet, Sira.

I wrap one leg over hers, until her quivering thigh is between my own legs, pressed against my throbbing core, with only the layers of my skirt between us.

“Such a good girl,” I murmur, pulling her against me, until our bodies are melded together, her breasts against my breasts, her lips against my throat, her thigh between mine. “You were so good for me.”

“Hmmm,” she sighs, the end warbling with a shuddering sob.

I hold her to me and try to ignore the ache low in my belly, the dampness between my thighs. She shifts against me, and I moan, the friction from her leg pressing against me almost enough to send me over the edge. I’m so close. So close, just from watching her. Feeling her. Tasting her.

With her against me, it wouldn’t take much. A few rolling movements. A hand slipped between us. But for some reason, it doesn’t feel right to take my pleasure from her. Not when I came here intending to take advantage of her. Not when I hold her secret inside me. When she’s given me her trust that I will, most likely, have to break.

The thought has something sickening tightening in my belly, and I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my face against the soft tangle of her hair.

There’s no point in thinking about it. Perhaps it won’t come to that. Perhaps, when we return to Thera, my mother will be satisfied with some other information, and my brother’s honor will remain intact. And, even if I did tell my mother Sira’s secret, the information is unlikely to come back to Xenodice, and it’s even more unlikely that Xenodice would ever guess the source if it did.

I let out a shuddering breath, feeling somewhat satisfied by my reasoning. Yes, even if I do tell my mother, it wouldn’t put Sira at risk. It might even help her—maybe I can convince my mother to send women from Thera. We could write to some of the other minases as well—the Minas Phaistos and the Minas Karpathos. Sira’s story, along with proof that Xenodice broke the oath with the other islands, it should be enough for them to offer up their help.

I tighten my hold on Sira and press a kiss to the top of her head. She is nearly as tall as me, but she feels so small and fragile in my arms. Like a delicate gift I don’t quite deserve.

I’m going to protect her. Somehow, I’ll set her free from the cage her sister has built.

Adrienne will return safe to Knossos—Jadikira will get there in time, I have to believe he will. And then we’ll leave on my brother’s ships. Perhaps Sira can come with us—then she could tell my mother herself what Xenodice has done, with the safety of the sea between her and danger.

I close my eyes, imagining stepping into my mother’s great hall with Sira at my side, how beautiful she would look. The way every eye would watch us together with awe and envy. And bringing home the Minas Crete’s younger sister, that would be a prize to outshine any perceived wrongdoing from my brother in breaking his betrothal. That alone might make my mother forget to be angry.

And Sira would be safe in Akrotiri. She could live with me at Potina’s temple, serve Potina alongside me. We would eat and sleep and train together. She would gift me her smiles and her love. And Adrienne would be there too, a sister to me, a friend, and Sira’s friend too.

Hope flickers like a freshly lit lamp in a storm. My shoulders relax, and—for the first time since my brother’s disastrous betrothal festival—I think there might be a way out of this after all.

That everything will be okay.