The Darkest Prison. Gena Showalter

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      A gasp escaped her. Unlike when the blonde had gasped, he did not remain unaffected. He wanted to swallow the sound—and do something, anything, to cause Nike to make it again.

       What’s wrong with me?

      “Hey,” Erebos snapped, foolishly reaching for her to finish what had been started. “We were busy.”

      Scowling, Atlas kicked him in the chest. The smaller man flew backward, slamming into his fellow prisoners. He jumped to his feet to attack, saw who had rendered the blow and stilled, nostrils flaring.

      “Touch her again,” Atlas said, “and I’ll remove your collar—right along with your head.”

      The god paled, perhaps even whimpered. “She wasn’t worth it, anyway.”

      Atlas might kill him for his words, as well.

      “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Nike demanded, suddenly coming to life and drawing his attention. She whirled on him, glaring up at him. “I can sleep with whoever I want. And hey, I might even pick one of your friends.”

      Despite her heated words, she wasn’t breathless as she would have been if Atlas had been the one kissing her, and her cheeks weren’t flushed. Her nipples weren’t even hard. Finally, something cooled the hottest flames of his rage.