Yesterday wasn’t a nightmare. Her spirits dropped as her eyes skipped over the weathered stone that made up the walls of the ruins.
She pushed up and swung around to ease her head back against the cool stones. A blanket covered her; another had been pillowed beneath her head. Before she could figure out where they’d come from, the ache returned, stronger than ever.
Something was wrong with her. Perspiration beaded her forehead. Her skin grew hot. She pulled the shirt away from her chest and tried to cool herself down. It didn’t work. If anything, she felt worse than before, achier, and ugh…now she couldn’t get comfortable at all.
She scooted closer to the windows to let the cool air wash over her. Her gaze strayed down the bluff toward the beach on the north side of the island to where Demetrius appeared to be maneuvering what looked like huge wooden crates around on the sand.
Sunlight glinted off his tanned skin. He was at least two hundred yards away but she could still see the way the wind ruffled his hair, the flex of muscle beneath his skin, the way the light caught his toned abs and that dark dusting of hair on his chest that circled his navel and dropped beneath the waistband of his pants.
Heat exploded in her veins, pulsed everywhere. Groaning, she shifted away from the window and closed her eyes, breathing through the heavy throb now settled between her thighs and gathering in her breasts.
Why did looking at him make the ache stronger? She reached up with both hands to squeeze her breasts, but instead of killing the ache like she’d hoped, a tingling sensation erupted in her nipples and shot shards of pleasure straight to her core.
She moaned, eased back farther against the stones. Her legs dropped open as waves of pulsing heat gathered between her thighs. She saw Demetrius as he’d been on the beach yesterday when she’d awakened—hot, sweaty, dark, and dangerous. She saw the flare of heat in his eyes when he’d healed her shin and his gaze had traveled over her naked thigh. She felt the warmth of his body against hers as he’d carried her to the ruins. In her hip. In her ribs. In the side of her breast pressed tightly against his muscular chest.
Oh, gods. She squeezed her breast with one hand, dropped the other to her thigh. Her fingers ran over her Horae marking, then higher, pushing the long shirt she wore out of her way. The pressure between her legs was almost too much to bear, and every time she pictured Demetrius it grew by explosive levels.
She couldn’t take it anymore. She needed relief. She needed something to ease the pain. She popped the top two buttons on her shirt, reached inside to squeeze her breast tighter, and passed the fingers of her other hand over the curls between her legs.
Pleasure arced at the first touch. She sucked in a breath, moved her hand lower. As her heart rate picked up speed, she pressed against her wet, sensitive folds and saw Demetrius’s face in her mind. His dark eyes, his square jaw, the tiny dent in his chin. She imagined him kneeling in front of her, pictured his hands touching her naked flesh, cradling her tender breast. Felt his hot breath on her skin, and moaned all over again.
She drew her knees closer, tipped her head back, circled until she found the source of her ache. With her other hand she flicked and tweaked her nipple. Each stroke eased and amplified the throb all at the same time. Her skin grew hotter, her body tighter.
And then she heard his voice. Just like in her dream. One word.
Kardia.
Pleasure radiated outward from her very center, ignited a rush of tingles that spread all along her nerve endings and exploded in a blinding glare behind her eyes. Every muscle in her body tightened, tearing a groan from her chest that left her limp and gasping for air.
She slumped back against the wall, sweaty, breathless, but still craving something she didn’t understand. Her cheeks grew warm all over again when she imagined Demetrius standing outside the ruins, watching her touch herself as she’d just done.
Why him? Why now? And dear gods, what was she going to do about it?
Holy fuuuuuuck.
No, don’t think about fucking. Whatever you do, do not think about fucking.
Demetrius whipped away from the arched stone doorway where he’d spent the last minute frozen in place and hoped like hell he moved out as soundlessly as he’d moved in.
No way he’d just witnessed what he thought he had. No way he’d just seen Isadora pleasure herself in the middle of the ruins in broad daylight.
Heat and liquid fire erupted in flames that licked at every part of him. Stopping on the wide front steps, he dropped the bundle of supplies he’d brought up from the beach, stepped over the scattered mess, and headed around the building as fast as he could move.
His dick was a rod of steel, his balls tight as a drum, and he couldn’t see shit where he was going, because the only thing he could see right now was Isadora on the floor in that room, her knees open, one hand squeezing her breast, the other moving beneath the hem of her—shit, his—shirt.
He stopped at the edge of the bluff, blew out a long breath, rubbed a hand down his face. Good gods, if she’d done that last night when he’d been sitting with her…
Okay, yeah, so think of something else. Daemons. Right. That was good. Think about slicing and dicing the motherfuckers. Not sexy. Not hot. Not the most erotic thing he’d ever fucking witnessed.
Shit. This wasn’t working. Thinking about daemons made him picture Isadora in that field outside the half-breed colony, standing up to the monsters with that puny knife in her hand. Wearing that slinky black negligee thing that showed off the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the soft indent of her belly button, and her toned abs that led lower to the tiny treasure between…
“Holy fuck.” He grabbed two handfuls of his hair and pulled until his scalp burned.
Beach. Supplies. He needed to get back down to the crates and dunk himself in the ocean about fifteen times so he could cool his ass off.
Before he could change his mind he stalked back to the ruins and stomped as hard as he could so she’d hear him. He picked up the supplies, moved inside, and dumped them on the ground in her room without looking at her.
“Demetrius,” she said in a surprised voice. Cloth rustled. “When did you get here? I thought…I thought you were on the beach.”
Yeah, no shit. I should have stayed on that fucking beach.
“About time you woke up.”
Cloth rustled again, as if she was moving around, then a thwack resounded and she let out a yelp.
He glanced up to see her lips compressed in pain, her hand braced against her lower leg. One look down at the splint and he swore under his breath.
“Graceful as ever, I see.” He crossed the floor and dropped to one knee by her feet.
Focus, breathe, stay in control. He could be professional about this. He’d just forget what the hell he’d seen earlier.
“That’s probably healed by now.” His fingers made quick work of the ties on her splint. From the corner of his eye he noticed the Horae marking on her inner thigh and his blood warmed all over again. Skata. “Do you mind covering yourself?”
Her cheeks turned pink. She pulled the blanket over her lap. Was she thinking about what she’d done moments before? He gave his head a swift shake—Focus, dammit—and went back to untying the last knot.
Several moments passed before she asked, “What time is it?”
“After noon.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You obviously needed sleep.” Though in retrospect, maybe he should have woken her. Holy Hades, did she wake up horny every morning? If so, he was fucked. And not in the way he wanted right now. He removed the splint and pressed his fingers along her shin, probably harder than he needed. “Does that hurt?”