Kyra

Chapter Thirty-Six

Stunned, Kyra stood outside of the tent, trying and failing to wrap her head around what she'd just witnessed.

Had she known she was playing with fire? Yes, of course I did. Had she anticipated he'd shoot harder than a rock? That was the plan. Had the possibility he'd whip his cock out and wank himself off right there and then crossed her mind? Not even once.

She felt hot all of a sudden. Her skin prickled with heat and tension.

Ares thought he was so that guy. He thought he could whack his dick out and have her wrapped around his little finger.

Had she thought about putting her hand on his cock at all? I mean... Obviously not. Had she thought about licking his tip and sucking his big dick down her throat? Totally didn't cross my mind. Had his pretty little anecdote made her want to whip her tits out and bury his shaft between them? I'm a dead woman.

He'd known what he was doing. Oh yes. For definite. He'd known exactly what he was doing.

And he'd gotten his release. It shimmered on the ground somewhere in the dark.

Meanwhile, Kyra stood out here feeling like an idiot, hot and bothered for Ares. It was like being nineteen again, hungry for the forbidden fruit. So not a phase.

Apparently, the constant yearning to get dicked down by a God was just a part of who Kyra was.

She rubbed her thighs together unabashedly. She didn't care for it now that the witness was out of sight, happy as larry in his tent since he'd bumped one off. Had he gone to bed grinning from ear to ear knowing what state he'd left her in?

What's wrong with me?

Where did one start?

She collapsed to the ground, back against the tree once more, her breathing irregular. She felt small, contemplating the universe. Contemplating life, death, the past, the present, the future.

In the grand scheme of things, would it really be so detrimental if she just...

Nope! Her fingers were not going there. They were staying right here on her knees where the Gods could see them.

But if we're getting technical.

A God had been inside her before. Fuck, he'd been inside her plenty. Tongue and teeth and head and dick and fingers.

So the Gods had been where Kyra's fingers so longed to go.

And it wasn't like anyone would know about it.

She was wearing a skirt—easy access. It would just mean slipping the lace to the side. It wouldn't be that much effort. In fact, to abstain from fucking herself to the very heavens would take more out of her. There'd be the squirming, the grinding her thighs together, the praying for death and holy water. So really touching herself was the right thing to do. The moral thing to do.

Her fingers trailed across her inner thighs.

All his fault.

If this was bad, then he'd started it. This was on his shoulders. Or her fingers.

Naught but a technicality.

Fuck it.

She slapped her fingers over her clit. The brush from the cold air of the night sent shivers racing down her spine. She rubbed a slow circle with one hand, lowering the other to her opening.

She'd make this quick.

Oh fuck.

Had Ares made her this wet? Was this what it'd felt like back in the day? Like agony?