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Summary
“P-please, my goddess.” Ajax's plea is desperate. He trembles with desire, with overwhelming want to bring you to paradise in a way only a follower as devoted as he can.
You’re no goddess.
But perhaps that’s why you can’t bring yourself to resist the pull of temptation, and so you lean forward and cup Ajax’s jaw in your hand, briefly pausing to admire how his eyelashes instantly flutter shut to savor the gracious touch of the one he worships, and you kiss the man, long and deep, passionate and holy.
"You have my permission,” you whisper into his lips, as if the permission he seeks is even yours to grant.
