The kiss was a reminder of everything she'd felt with him, and the dangerous sense of divinity was coursing through her veins once more. Could she be bold enough to draw him into an empty room, fuck him hard for a final crest of pleasure and that quiet, always unexpected moment of quiet, afterwards. Where he murmured memories of their shared past, where he let her call him my Ares, where he breathed her own name like it was thousands of years ago and once again holy.
But he was war, and she was tragedy, and there was always going to be something wanting and unfulfilled and unreached, between them. The ending was never going to be happy, or even satisfied.
Tell that to her body, which was howling for him not to stop. She took a steadying breath, the air pulled in refreshingly cool compared to the sudden heat of her body. "Good," she said, her eyes meeting his. "I'd do a lot of things to you, Ares Andreiphontês, but lying isn't one of them."