“It shouldn’t be,” he agreed, sliding a hand over my bare arm and then across my chest. A curl low in my stomach made itself known as his palm grazed my breast. “Not for a mortal. Not for an Atlantian, or even a deity.” His hand slipped over my hip and then my thigh. I could feel the heat of his palm through the dress as he skimmed past the wolven dagger. “Only a god can do that—only one god.” “Nyktos.”
