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“The job is not done yet.” Nemesis stepped closer cautiously. As if afraid of Hera’s reaction.
“You’re telling me you have no other place to be?”
Hera chose her words carefully.
“I’m telling you I want to be here. Is that okay?”
Hera exhaled. Maybe that was enough honesty for one day. Between Clio and…
“Is that okay?” Nemesis repeated. She was much nearer now; Hera had missed her approach. The woman did move like a damn cat.
“Yes. Do what you want—”
“I want to do you.” A cool hand was on her skin, mirroring her own gesture from yesterday. Turning her face to look up at Nemesis. They really were too obsessed with chin lifts for their own good, overdoing it for sure.
Hera felt her thoughts spiral before they simply evaporated in a cloud of spun caramel scent as her full lips descended.
The kiss took her breath away. Such a cliché. And impossibly correct. There was no other way to describe it. No other way to perceive it. Nemesis was gentle, and it all but destroyed Hera. Tender lips glided slowly, tenderly over hers, sampling, tasting. Loving—
Hera pulled back sharply.
“No.”
Nemesis watched her attentively. Like one watches a person holding a hot grenade.
“No?” She asked. “No, don’t kiss me?”
Hera tried to lick her lips, her mouth dry, painfully so. Then she shook her head, reaching for Nemesis’s collar, pulling her closer, till they were chest to chest.
“No, not like that.”
Nemesis’s eyebrows lifted in a silent question before a shadow flitted in the enigmatic eyes, and she nodded.
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
When their mouths connected the second time, the kiss held nothing of the tenderness. Nothing of the caring worship. It was teeth and tongues and biting, almost searing heat.
Hera felt herself being pushed into the nearest wall, her arms lifted above her head. Nemesis did not go gently, nor did she spare Hera any of the sensations. The rough brick against her back, the hot mouth devouring hers, the nails digging into her wrists. Nothing was hidden, nothing was withheld. Everything was out in the open. Every cut, every bruise, every kiss, every caress.
When the rough fingers tore her silk thong off, she felt unmoored. Untethered by any restraint. This, this, this was what she wanted. What she needed.
If the wordless thrust of three fingers felt hollow, Hera bit her lip and swallowed the thought. This was what she wanted. And when all was said and done, this was what she was choosing for the time that she still had.
12
WHERE THE FINAL STAGE IS SET (AND THE EMPRESS BECOMES EVEN MORE APPREHENSIVE…)
“The museums in Greece are grateful for your contribution.”
Nemesis’s words caught Hera unawares. Just as she walked into the late morning kitchen and ran straight into a very cozy and domestic scene.
Nemesis sat at the breakfast nook, in shorts and a tank top, all muscled arms and long legs, working on her laptop. She raised her eyes to Hera’s and took a sip of coffee. Her hair, wet and brushed back from her face, glimmered in the morning sun that filtered through open blinds. Her feet were crossed, her fingers wrapped around the steaming mug, her expression utterly relaxed, devoid of the shadow that had haunted her last night.
Hera sidestepped her gingerly and headed for the coffee machine. The complicated instrument purred under her touch, and as the strong scent filled the kitchen, she finally allowed herself to take a bracing breath and turn around.
“Did you really have to let them know who was behind the recoup of the collection?”
Nemesis shrugged nonchalantly. Too nonchalantly.
