The power in that eye contact was magnificent; behind his eyes, every battlefield, every conquest, every blood-soaked victory for thousands of years. Melpomene found herself trembling - not looking away, not for a second - but trembling, lips parted and her breathing shallow as he undressed, as he pushed her knees apart. She was not as drunk as she'd been at Peitho's symposium, but she felt just as compromised.
She had been thinking about him since she sent that message, and she was already so wet from the anticipation, but her memory hadn't prepared her for how big he was, like her brain couldn't hold an accurate picture of this furious god of war. A cry escaped her throat as he entered her, and she bit her lips together, muffling the end of it, digging her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders to hold on.