Page 19

His attention dips to the cingulum holding my garment in place. He reaches out and lightly touches the rope, and I get a breathless thrill from the contact.

“Is this meant for husbands to untie?” he asks softly, a lock of his freshly shorn hair hanging in front of one of his eyes. Earlier, Nero had made mention of the knot of Hercules—the wedding knot; I hadn’t thought Memnon would notice.

Apparently he had.

“It is,” I say softly.

His fingers continue to trail along my cingulum. All at once, his hand closes on the knot, and he undoes its bindings. The rope falls away, landing with a light thump on the marble floor.

The two of us stare at each other, and something is about to happen?—

Memnon cups my face. His lips are a handspan from my own, but he pauses, giving me a moment to pull away should I not want this.

But I don’t pull away.

“All that I am is yours,” he whispers. He leans in and kisses me.

It’s a soft kiss, gentle even. Not what I would expect from a warrior king, one who single-mindedly rode for months to find me.

Maybe that’s why, almost shyly, my hands come up and grip his bare sides. His skin feels warm and forbidden, despite us being legally married. It should be forbidden—I’m drowning in sensation already, and we’ve only just touched.

Memnon slides his tongue along the seam of my mouth, and I part my lips in surprise. But as soon as I open my mouth, Memnon’s tongue is there too, tentatively touching the tip of my own. I jolt, and reflexively, I push back against it.

He smiles at the pressure, his tongue and lips sliding along mine, and I realize as my grip tightens and my knees go weak that this, too, is part of the kiss.

I have heard so much talk of war and conquering—why are there not epics dedicated to this alone? There should be.

Memnon groans, his hands moving so he can gather me closer to him. My own hands skim up his warm flesh, and I’m still shy but far less unsure.

All at once, Memnon breaks off the kiss to press his forehead against mine.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze moving languidly over my face. “So godsdamned beautiful.” He strokes my cheek. “It wouldn’t have mattered what form you came in, as my heart has always been yours, but still, you are perfect.”

His words flay me open. The precious few compliments I ever received on my appearance were always outweighed by Livia’s frequent criticisms—that my eyes were cold and unnerving and my hair was too garish a hue.

That I had a petulant set to my jaw and a displeasing look about me.

That I dragged my feet often, lost focus easily (often to chat with Memnon), kept poor posture, and on and on.

The criticisms burn to ash under the adoring gaze of this man, who is looking at me like he might memorize my features.

I slide my palms up his back, a bit braver now, noting the dips and rises of muscles and scars. And there are a lot of them.

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.

He lodges one of his legs between my thighs. My cheeks heat when I realize I’m wet right there and that wetness is getting on his leg.

Mortification rolls through me. I swear I did not have an accident, and yet that is what it seems like.

I know you didn’t, little witch. Memnon’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

Gods! You heard that?

He laughs against my lips as he continues to kiss me, the sound warming me from the inside out.

Sully my leg all you want, Roxi. I like it. He moves the leg in question, rubbing it against the apex of my thighs, and I gasp as sensation rolls through me.

I break off the kiss to stare up at him in wonder. “What was that?” I ask softly.

Memnon arches a brow. “What, this?” He moves his leg again, and my eyes widen and my lips part.

“Yes.”

He laughs again, the sound full of masculine pride.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he says. “We’d better explore this further.”

I have no idea whether he’s teasing me or being earnest, but I nearly cry out in protest when he removes his now-damp thigh from between mine.

Memnon shifts himself, moving slowly down my body, pressing reverent kisses to my skin as he goes.

At the hollow of my throat, between my breasts, then beneath them…

“What are you doing?” I ask uncertainly.

His mouth skims over my stomach. I could tell you, but I’d rather show you. His lips slide past my belly button to the soft skin beneath it.

I tense as they move lower still, over my pubic bone, then?—

I gasp when his mouth touches something that makes my body jolt in reaction. “Memnon.”

Is this the place where my leg moved against you?

My cheeks burn with my embarrassment. That is that same place where his leg was. You don’t need to put your mouth there, I say, flustered. Doing so seems…perverse.

I feel him pout against my skin. I thought you said I could kiss you anywhere?

I did, but…

But not here? He dips his head, and his lips stroke my inner folds.

I hiss out a breath. “Memnon.” His name comes out as a whimper.

I can stop , he says, even as he slides his arms beneath my thighs.

I get up on my forearms to better see him. Why do you sound so sneaky? I ask.

His eyes meet mine down the expanse of my body, and desire burns within them. Because I think I really, really want to continue kissing you here , he confesses.

“Seriously?” I whisper.

His gaze is unwavering. “Seriously, Roxi.”

I bite my lower lip. Okay. I can’t bring myself to admit anything more.

A wolfish smile spreads across Memnon’s face. Okay , he agrees.

With that, he spreads my legs apart, baring the most intimate parts of me.

Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I make a small noise.

This definitely seems perverse.

It’s not perverse , Memnon insists, eavesdropping on my thoughts. I’m just getting myself acquainted with all of you.

With that, he leans back in and kisses the same part of my anatomy he did before. It’s like touching fire, the sensation bright and blazing.

My fingers tangle in Memnon’s hair, and my rational mind tries to convince the rest of me that I should push him away. But then he sucks on that section of flesh between my folds, and I cry out, my hips rocking against him and my legs falling farther open.

What in the gods’ names is going on?