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“Do you feel how desperate I am for you?” he asked.

She reached for the fastening, and he sprang into her hand, and sweet God, nothing could have prepared him for Ophelia’s fingers wrapped around his length, stroking him with increasing confidence. He was already leaking, and there was a very real chance he would not last.

“We’re wearing too many layers,” he reminded her.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I want nothing between us.”

“The mask?” He reached for hers, but she jerked her head away.

“It must stay.”

Blast her. Perhaps making love with him was easier for her conscience to accept if she could maintain this separation. Perhaps she still genuinely had yet to realize who he was. Neither was his preference, but he would simply work around the stupid scrap of silk she insisted upon clinging to.

“Very well,” he agreed, “but everything else must come off.”

They kissed again, taking turns stripping away what remained of their attire. When she resumed working his cock, he grew desperate and tore the rest away, not caring if he shredded his wardrobe to bits as long as he could soon be inside her where he belonged.

When they were both naked, he took her in his arms. She let out a tiny shriek of surprise and clutched him as if she feared he would drop her.

“I’ve got you, love,” he promised, carrying her to the bed.

Gently, he lowered her to the counterpane. She was so damned beautiful, it hurt to look at her, all cream and copper and gold, lush curves and silken skin, her hair a wild riot of damp curls. More beautiful than he could have imagined, her full breasts tipped with pink nipples, her hips wide and soft, and every part of her dappled with a hint of freckles, as if one of the gods had held a handful of stars and tossed them upon her, all the better to tempt mere mortals.

When it came to her, Apollo was too fallible. He couldn’t resist. All he had to do was look at her to want her, and now that she was finally in his bed, he was almost driven to his knees.

“Come here,” she told him, holding out a hand, her voice low and sultry.

She was suddenly sure of herself, and he wondered if it was her passion that brought out this unexpected side of her nature or if it was simply him. Whatever the case, he never wanted it to end.

He obeyed, joining her, unable to keep from kissing her everywhere he could. Her knee, the curve of her thigh, the rounded softness of her belly, the swell of one breast. She sighed and threaded her fingers through his hair as he took a nipple into his mouth. When he sucked, his hand dipping between her legs, the sigh turned into a moan.

And then it was his turn to moan, because she was so very hot and wet. Her dew drenched his fingertips as he circled her clitoris, making her hips jump and her back arch.

How astonishing she was. How incredibly intoxicating.

A miracle beneath his lips and touch.

And she was his. All his. There was no way he would ever let her go.

He released her nipple, glancing up at her, hating the mask keeping him from the full beauty of her countenance. “Tell me what you want from me, love. I’m yours.”

“Are you mine?” She frowned, sifting her fingers through his hair, her eyes glittering with mysteries and shadows.

“Never doubt it.” He turned his attention to her other breast, sucking hard to keep her from thinking too much.

He slicked her wetness down to her entrance and sank a finger inside. Her inner muscles clenched instantly, bringing him deeper. Apollo added a second, thrusting in and out as he alternated between sucking and nipping her breasts until her breathing was ragged and she was writhing beneath him.

“Tell me what you want,” he repeated, his rhythm steady.

Her cunny tightened, and she gasped, her hips working against him in silent plea. And still, she wouldn’t give him what he wanted, so Apollo decided to change his tactic. He slowly withdrew his fingers and kissed a path down her belly, not stopping until he had guided her legs apart and inserted himself between them, her glistening folds mere inches from his face. Her musky scent set him aflame.

“Tell me,” he said again, before giving her swollen bud a single, longing lick.

She cried out, jerking beneath him. He knew she was already sensitive from coming in the orangery. But he wanted more. He wanted to make her spend on his tongue. To make her mindless as sweet oblivion claimed her.

He kissed first one inner thigh, then the other, waiting.

She reached for him, trying to draw him up to her, but he resisted, flicking his tongue from her entrance to her clitoris, deliberately keeping his touch light and teasing.