She had no will to stay upright, her senses were so overcome. Yet his arms encircled her, holding her tenderly against him. She looked down at the top of his head.

She could touch him…if she dared.

Her hand rose, pausing before she gave in to the temptation. The downy softness of his curls was a feather light caress against her fingertips, teasing her. She watched her fingers as they slipped into his curls. She sifted through his silken locks, exploring and reveling in their feel.

Her breath caught and her hands cupped his head, pulling him tightly against her. Such new sensations filled her, tumbling about and making her light-headed. She clung to joy, she clung to him, overcome.

She loved this man. The power of it rolled over her.

His arms tightened about her, unwilling or unable to release her, she knew not. Nor did it matter, as long as she was in his arms. Her hands tangled in his hair, savoring the way his curls twisted about her fingertips, as if they were embracing her too. She smiled at the thought.

Her hand slid to the nape of his neck, startling her anew.

His skin… his skin, against hers... He radiated heat. Her fingertips felt afire, as if his touch had ignited her body and soul. Not with pain but with an exquisite pleasure, unknown but most welcome. His heat flowed into her hand, connecting her with him.

It was too much.

She drew her hand away from his flesh and placed it on his shoulder, safely covered by his cloak. Still, her hand tingled and she felt unsteady on her feet.

His hold loosened gradually, as if this was a most difficult feat. As he stood, releasing her, she met the intensity of his blazing eyes. His face, the steadiness of his gaze, was heavy with something more, something heady.

The silence pressed her, stirring her uncertainty. But he seemed satisfied.

She must speak…she must breathe. “You are warm,” she murmured.

His eyes, silver in the moonlight, moved with leisurely contentment over her face before he spoke. “And you are my lady.” His words were a promise.

“I am,” she whispered.

He smiled, staring at her with a look of uninhibited pleasure. Her words, spoken without hesitation, seemed to echo in the air about them.

She returned his smile, joyfully.

He swallowed then, regarding her so closely that she felt her face burning from the heat of it. But she could not look away. She watched as his jaw tightened and he drew a deep breath.

“Shall I walk with you to your uncle’s?” he asked.

Her courage mustn’t falter now. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” She held her hand out to him, ignoring its telltale tremble.

His words were unsteady as he stared at her hand. “I would give him my pledge, Medusa. I would have an exchange of vows – a promise made that cannot be broken, by anyone or anything.”

She understood him, his worries. But she would not share one second of their time together.

“I have your pledge, I hold it dear.” She stepped closer to him, her hand wavering before she placed it on the chiton covering his chest. His warmth reached her through the linen. She stared fixedly at her hand upon his chest. “I would have you for what little time is left us.”

How was it that no flames licked at her skin where her flesh met his? The heat which unfurled inside of her was as strong as a living, burning flame. Unbidden, her body swayed towards him. “Please,” she whispered, meeting his gaze.

###

Ariston’s hand clasped hers. Her hand, so small and delicate, lay in his hold. He hadn’t anticipated the sense of wholeness her touch afforded. But he welcomed it, letting his fingers wrap about hers. He was defenseless against her touch, but empowered beyond measure.

He would give her whatever she wanted to keep her here, with him.

“I give you all of my time, Medusa. But there must be a witness. You’ve lived too long under the mantle of honor. A witness to our vows will give me peace of mind when…when I must leave you for battle.” His hand tightened about hers.

Tags: Sasha Summers Loves of Olympus Fantasy
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