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Melissa used long, slow, gentle strokes, as if enjoying it, whereas I remembered my nanny brushing quickly and counting: "Ninety-five, Ninety-six, Ni...ety-seven, Ninety-eight, Ninety-nine, One Hundred," She would chant, patting my head at the end with, "Off you go now, Missy." Melissa didn't count. She lifted my hair from beneath and followed the brush with her hand, carressing it almost, never tugging or pulling, just easy gently strokes. It felt wonderful. She stopped, placing a hand on my. He gives a quick nod in agreement, and she takes a steadying breath, and he can taste her nervousness, wants to devour the succulent sweetness of it.It tastes like victory, he realizes. And with all the eons of squabbles and battles and wars that they’ve fought against each other, it’s the first time he’s tasted it from her - willingly at that. It makes him clutch her harder, hands sliding down to her hips, squeezing with a strength he didn’t dare use with Aphrodite. She moans softly, eyes. More

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