A Wayward Arrow

Chapter Three: Wedding Night

In this darkness, he knew she could not see his face or his naked form, though he could see her; could see the frightened look in her eyes. The uncertainty that drew her brows just slightly together as she tried to discern his features through the shadow. If there was anyone in this world that he didn't want to fear him, it was Psyche. He didn't know if his heart could take the woman of his obsession; the very center of his desires and fantasies; if she were to cast her gaze away from his for fear of the look in his eyes. It was better this way, that he remained plunged into the inky darkness. Where their lives could remain in blissful ignorance of what he was.

"But why not-" Psyche had begun to question his notion of looking upon his face. To reveal his true form to her, because surely he could disguise himself so that she could look upon him.

He would not let her completely ask her question. Instead, he was taking her lips, quelling her words with the subtle pressing of a tiered form that urged hers to respond in kind. Forming and pressing, molding them to pucker and pull back to ease her lips to part ever so slightly with the softest of sound and a lilt of a sigh that left Psyche like a gentle huff of breath. No, he would not answer her or entertain her questioning mind. He had spent too many years wanting to taste those lips to merely sit there and watch them part to speak. Had spent too many years yearning for the knowledge of what he'd find in the warmth of her body pressed against his.

"You smell of cassia and cloves..." Her words shook in a breathy whisper against his lips that had barely pulled away from her own. "... and hints of iron."

A huff of breath that puffed from his nostrils was the only sound in response to her comment. The scent of him which married into the taste of his tongue, no doubt what she commented upon. His fingers urged along her jaw. Inching up towards the base of her head, digits outstretching into those golden curls to let them lace freely as he cradled her head in his palm. Drawing her closer to his bare chest and pulling her off of the pouf she was sitting upon to her knees between his own. He was claiming her lips all over again. Harder and more urgently than the last time. Bringing them into a swelling dance that barely gave her a chance to break away for little gasps of air.

When he finally released her mouth to roam down to her chin, nipping gently into her skin, she was panting. Her body was warm and the sweet scent that grew from between her thighs was only becoming stronger with each increasing thud of her heart from within her chest. Eros took in a deep breath through his nose as he tucked his face against her neck, dragging his lips and tongue along her flesh till the fabric of her peplos at her shoulder stopped his exploration. Her body trembled, quivering gently beneath every little touch he made. A mix of fear and arousal. He could smell every instance of it upon her.

"Open your robes." Eros was releasing his grip on her hair. Allowing her some space between them; giving her a chance to breathe. Even in the dark, he could see the flushing of her face, the beet-red color that spanned her cheek bones down to the top of her bosom.

There was hesitation, a look of confusion upon Psyche's face as if she didn't understand what he was asking of her, but he knew she knew well enough what happened on the wedding night. The consummation of the marriage did have to take place and, as much as he wanted her to feel safe in her new home, in this palace of his that they now shared, he desperately wanted her and, like a selfish child, he wouldn't wait to unwrap his prize. He wouldn't wait any longer to have her.

"I've never done this before."

There was a snort of sound from the god, a sort of chortle of a laugh, as if he didn't know. "Hardly a confession." Eros reached for the cord that wrapped around her waist and kept her peplos cinched around her. "You don't have to fear me, Psyche. I don't plan to hurt you."