Page 102 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8

CHAPTER EIGHT

The last thing Zeus felt like employing was restraint.

From the moment he’d first seen Jane Fisher, he’d wanted her.

He’d imagined her naked in his bed, utterly at his command.

But even that night in the bar, he’d sensed a fragility to her.

Despite her over-the-top beauty, her apparent confidence, something about her had urged him to be cautious.

Careful. As though he might break her; as though she’d been broken before.

And she had been.

She’d been broken, and no one had helped put her back together again. She’d done that all herself, and even though she was strong and living her life, she wasn’t fully embracing all of herself, nor all aspects of her life.

For that, she wanted him, and showing her what sex should be like would be one of the greatest privileges of his life.

So long as he could be true to his word and slow everything down. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm her with his own needs.

This wasn’t about Zeus, but Jane.

He pulled her against his chest and kissed her.

Slowly. Gently. His mouth probing hers. Tasting, teasing, tempting, until she was moaning against him, the softness of her body, the way her curves pressed to his chest, the warmth of her skin, her fragrance.

It all hummed and buzzed and made him feel as though he were walking on a tightrope with a death-defying fall in both directions.

She said his name, a groan, a plea, a curse, and he felt it. He felt it deep in his soul; her tone matched his own.

Her hands pushed at his shirt, lifting it, her fingertips brushing his bare skin, pushing the shirt until it lifted higher, her palms flat against his hair-roughened chest, his nipples, so he bit back a curse in reflexive shock at how damned great that felt.

‘Jane.’ His voice held a warning, because he was not actually a god, and maintaining control when she touched him like that would take every ounce of his strength.

But then he looked at her and realised: it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter how much it cost him; he would do this for her.

She could touch. She could explore. She could feel.

Be curious, taste, touch, and he would let her, even when he was holding on by a single thread, because she deserved that. Because he’d promised it to her.

So, he stood still as granite, as she pushed the shirt higher. ‘Arms, please,’ she murmured, eyes flicking to his with a mix of uncertainty and passion.

He lifted them, and she guided the shirt off his body completely, dropping it to the deck at their sides.

More uncertainty in the depths of her gaze as she glanced at him and then leaned forward, pressing those perfectly shaped lips to his pec, flicking him with her tongue, expelling a long, shaky breath that covered him in warmth, before moving her mouth lower, towards his nipple.

She rolled her tongue over it first, then her whole mouth, sucking there for a moment before moving to the other, and her hands drew invisible circles over his sides, her fingers light enough to raise his skin in goosebumps.

‘You’re beautiful,’ she said after a moment, moving her kiss to his shoulder, nipping him with her teeth. ‘Godlike,’ she added, her smile teasing now.

He was only capable of making a grunting sound in response.

‘May I?’ She reached for his pants, but he shook his head once, aware that the closer he got to naked, the harder this was going to be.

‘You first,’ he suggested, but carefully, gently, in case he was rushing her.

Their eyes met, her cheeks flushed pink, and he tilted her chin with his finger, demanding her eyes hold his. ‘If you want. Only ever if you want.’

She nodded once. ‘I know that. You don’t need to say it.’

‘I do. I need to say it each and every time, so you understand…’

‘You’re not him,’ she said, simply. ‘I know you’d never do what he did. I trust you.’

Trust. She trusted him.

Zeus closed his eyes for a moment, because it was such a monumental gift.

Zeus knew that more than anyone. He’d spent his entire adult life walking alongside a deep sense of mistrust. Not of people, but of life in general.

Of getting close to anyone, because of the unreliability of the future.

Trust was not something he gave easily, so he appreciated Jane offering it to him now, and in the back of his mind, he wondered if maybe she might just be the one person who could make him reciprocate that. To trust her.

He’d frozen, but Jane hadn’t. Her hands were reaching for the hem of her skirt, lifting it up her body, revealing another pair of silky panties and this time, a matching bra, so he was sucked right back into the moment by the sight of her on the deck of his boat dressed in only underwear and heels, her blond hair whipping around her face in a magnificently sensual display of the elements.

And all the power of thought dissipated, leaving him to act purely on instincts. The instinct to pleasure, to worship, to protect, all bound up together, guiding each and every one of his actions.

He lifted her easily and carried her, cradled to his bare chest, across the deck to one of the large, square sun lounges. The mattress was soft, a pale grey, and he placed Jane down on it reverently, before standing to look at her, committing this sight to memory.

Because trust was overrated, and the one thing he knew for certain was that they had this one week together.

After that, she would be gone from his life, and he was okay with that.

Much safer to accept her time constraints than start wanting more.

So long as he could always remember just how perfect she’d been.

He brought his body over hers, careful to support his weight on his knees and elbows, kissing her with all the softness he’d used before, gently, so that it was Jane who deepened the kiss, pushing up onto her elbows to claim more of him, to encourage him to take more of her, too.

And so he did. He kissed her back with the same intensity, until they were both panting, and her hands were roaming his body frantically, their hands moving in unison to remove first her bra and then her panties, her desperate longing sending arrows of need shooting through every part of his body.

He moved his kiss to the curve of her neck, teasing her sensitive pulse point there, then lower, to worship her beautiful round breasts, first with his mouth, until she was whimpering and arching her back in an ancient, primal sign of need, then his hands, which cupped their fullness, teased her taut nipples, while his mouth moved lower to the apex of her thighs.

She screamed his name as her whole body tightened with the approach of her orgasm and he grinned against her, but didn’t stop, because hot on the heels of his name came her plea for more.

More, more, over and over, and her hands pushed through his hair, tussling in its length, as if that could save her from the inevitable tumble.

Then, with a push of her feet into the soft mattress, she was lifting her pelvis, a guttural cry spilling from her lips as her whole body was racked by the release of her pleasure.

‘Zeus,’ she groaned moments later, while her breath was still coming in fits. ‘That’s… I… You’re…’

He propped his chin on her abdomen, eyes holding hers with a mixture of need and amusement. ‘Lost for words, Jane?’

She flicked his shoulder and collapsed back against the mattress. ‘You know you definitely live up to your name in this department, right?’ she demanded, pushing up onto her elbows so she could see him better.

‘All positive feedback gratefully received.’

She laughed softly, but then she was quiet, and he felt the mood shift inside her.

‘What is it?’

‘I want to see you,’ she said, simply. ‘I haven’t even… You’re always dressed.’

‘Ah,’ he said with a mock-sombre nod. ‘With good reason. I’m a ticking time bomb, and you, agapaméni , hold the fuse.’

‘Why can’t we light it?’

‘Because we’re not ready.’

‘We’re not?’

He shook his head, pushing up her body.

‘I feel ready,’ she disputed.

He hesitated, because wasn’t that sort of the point? That this was up to Jane, to call the shots? He didn’t want to disregard her wishes, but he needed to be sure. She’d said she trusted him; he wasn’t going to abuse that trust.

‘And you’ll still feel ready tomorrow,’ he promised. He kissed her lips and pulled her against his side, her naked body so utterly perfect and tempting that he honestly thought he deserved some kind of medal for holding back. Again.

‘Tell me a story,’ she murmured, head resting on his chest.

He thought about that for a moment. ‘What would you like to hear?’

‘Tell me about you,’ she said. ‘Tell me what it was like growing up as Zeus Papandreo.’ She stifled a yawn as he began to slowly stroke her back, drawing lines along the edge of her spine.

‘One of my earliest memories,’ he began, ‘was out on the water.’

Another yawn.

‘My yaya was from an old fishing village, and when she married my grandfather, she stepped into a world of unimaginable wealth and comfort. Though theirs was, I have to say, a very traditional arranged marriage.’

‘Arranged?’ She shifted slightly so she could look up at him.

He made a noise of agreement. ‘Our family business is bound up in a conservative clause that requires whoever is at the helm to have married before taking ownership. It’s been that way for hundreds of years.’

Jane’s skin paled slightly and he half laughed.

‘Don’t worry, Jane. I’m not building up to a proposal.’ She glanced away quickly, her eyes impossible to read when they were focused anywhere but him.

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Nor did I,’ he assured her. ‘Anyway, my grandfather proposed when he was twenty years old, and my yaya was only eighteen,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘She went from living a modest life in a salty old village to suddenly being at the front and centre of Greek’s elite.’