Achilles was kissing her with the same poignant intensity as he had fought her earlier, and Penthesileia tried to gasp for breath, surprise and consternation getting the better of her. Now what? Was that some kind of way to distract her from claiming her victory?
The very next second she understood was he was up to, she was no adversary anymore, she had shifted to ally against one of the onlookers, and she would have laughed, had he not been busy with her mouth. With a part of her mind she recognized some kind of commotion over by the edge of the training pit, but she couldn't care less, she started to kiss him back.
Now, Penthesileia had to admit, she wasn't the most skillful kisser, she had never really had the use for that kind of expertise. Those men she had been with, she could count them on the fingers of one hand – and she would still have fingers left. The interactions had brief and unfulfilling, transitory encounters with other people who wanted nothing but an int