God of Ecstasy (9 page)

In the end, they realized they didn’t need wedding rings
after all—and really, how would they get a justice of the peace to marry them
without some identification for the god?

The tattoo parlor loomed in front of them. Jaime tried to
keep her knees from knocking together in fear. “Is it really going to hurt?”

“I promise I’ll give you far more pleasure afterward,”
Dionysus said.

“Do you think this will work?”

“We’ll see.”

Dionysus had told Jaime that in the past, he’d tried
covering the tattoos, and he’d tried cutting them out. But he’d never added to
them—or rather, added an entirely new tattoo.

Their artist was a friend of Missy’s named Talia. She had
bright blue curls and complimented Jaime on her new purple do. Talia’s own body
was covered with art, in every color imaginable—a crimson angel peeking out
between her breasts, and a sleeve of deep forest greens and indigos depicting
Ophelia.

They were the last appointment of the day, and Talia stayed
late with the promise of a big tip and eternal thanks from Missy. She’d even
covered all reflective surfaces with garbage bags, though she made a few
good-natured jokes about the two of them being vampires, then gushed over the
quality of the tattoos Dionysus already had. Missy herself had wanted to be
there to witness the “marriage” but Jaime was nervous enough as it was.

Talia helped Jaime get settled in the client chair. It was
padded and stuck to her thighs in the unusually warm spring air. Dionysus held
one of her hands, and Jaime gripped it back tightly. She could feel sweat
running down between her breasts, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. She was
extremely aware of her body, of every nerve ending beneath her skin.

This was going to hurt.

Dionysus slid the strap of her dress off her left shoulder,
unzipping the back to give Talia more access. He ran a hand softly along her
skin. It whispered a reminder of the promise he’d made her for pleasure after
the pain. Talia rubbed disinfectant on the back of her shoulder; it felt cool
and calming against the dry air.

She had three small cups of ink prepared, each a different
shade of purple. The middle one matched the plum of Jaime’s new hair. Then
there was a deeper violet for the outline, nearly black, and light wisteria for
the highlights. The vine leaf she’d asked for on her shoulder wouldn’t be the
same as the god’s, with his additional touches of green and deep burgundy—the
colors were all her own.

“Ready?” Talia asked.

Jaime nodded. Talia started the gun. The shrill sound filled
the room, reminding Jaime of high school shop class. The artist in her had
never liked cutting into wood. She wanted to make something, not destroy it.
She breathed deeply and Dionysus squeezed her hand. But now, the sound was
almost soothing. She imagined it cutting through the magical chains binding his
wrists. She imagined it cutting through her own fears—fears of the pain, of the
djinn, of commitment after the mess that was her life with Keith.

When the gun touched her shoulder, she held still.
You
can do it, James. It doesn’t hurt that bad. Okay, it does.
It felt as if
she had a sunburn, a blistering sunburn, and then Talia was scratching it with
a nail.
No, make that a rusty nail.

Talia had told her to focus on the pain. Embrace it, rather
than try to block it out. Blocking it out never worked. She was aware of
Dionysus murmuring something soothing in her ear. Her shoulder hurt like a
motherfucker. What was he saying?

“Open your eyes, my silly love.”

She did. And when she looked at him and let her fear fall
away, the pain went with it. Or rather, the pain filled her up, until it was a
part of her, and she a part of it, so it didn’t hurt, it was just
right
.
They were together. She could handle this. Hell, with a god at her side, she
could handle anything. The pain became almost sensual. Between the tattoo, the
sex that week, and painting again, Jaime hadn’t been this aware of her body for
a while. She’d spent her days hunched over a computer screen for too long.

When Talia was finished, Jaime hopped off the chair and
craned her neck to see the tattoo. It was beautiful. The vine leaf was done
filigree-style, and it was lacy and delicate, feminine and artistic. Very different
from the twisting, almost sinister vines on Dionysus’ arms. Her injured skin
puffed red around it. Jaime couldn’t wait to see what it would look like fully
healed.

“Your turn,” she said to the god beside her.

“Did it hurt that much?” he asked. She laughed. Dionysus had
told her he scraped off his own skin with a razorblade. Surely he couldn’t be
that scared of a little tattoo?

The paleness of his lips told her otherwise. She leaned in
and kissed them.

“Okay, lovebirds, I got one more to do before I’m out of
here.”

“Sorry,” Jaime said, but she wasn’t. Talia winked at her and
Dionysus took the seat. This time, it was her turn to hold his hand. He
twitched when the gun first touched his back. She wondered if he derived the
same comfort from her touch as she had from his. The small smile on his lips
told her the answer was yes. Jaime lost herself in his gaze until Talia tapped
her on the shoulder.

“Sweeties, this is my last fill, and then you’re officially
ink married.”

Just as Jaime had chosen a representation of him on her
shoulder, the vine leaf, Dionysus had picked something for her. At first he’d
wanted a computer tablet, which she’d instantly vetoed—it wouldn’t make a
particularly artistic tattoo, no matter how happy he was that she’d introduced
him to the Internet. They’d gone with an artist’s palette, done in a very light
sepia, with paints of the seven colors of the rainbow spread out upon it, right
at the small of his back.

Talia lowered the gun to his flesh once more, and Jaime
caught her breath as the harsh sound filled the room again. When she pulled it
back the last time, the room filled with mist—the same mist that had covered
her bathtub the night they’d met. Jaime could barely see through it, so she
leaned in close.

“What’s going on?” the artist asked, though her voice was
curious rather than alarmed.

“Watch,” Jaime said. And they both did, as the vines on
Dionysus’ arms came to life. The greens and purples became more brilliant than
they even had been on his flesh. With a sucking sound, they pulled free of his
skin. He grunted with pain and bright crimson blood streamed down his arms.
Jaime held his hand tightly, feeling the blood wash down her hand.

When the mist lifted, the blood was gone, and the ink had
turned into plants. Real vines wrapped themselves around his arms and up his
shoulders, down to his wrists, trembling with new life.

“Holy fuck,” Talia said. “I thought I’d seen everything.”
She stared at him in wonder and Jaime knew that stunned but thrilled look was
mirrored on her own face.

“Dee,” she said. “I think you’re free.” She looked at him
for confirmation, and he untwisted one of the vines from his arms. It fell
free, down to the floor. He did the other arm, and the two vines twined
together before burrowing into the tattoo parlor’s floor and disappearing.

“I think you’re right,” he said in a soft whisper, as if he
were afraid to acknowledge his dream out loud.

They took the garbage bag off the nearest mirror and waited.
All they saw within was their own smiling reflection.

“Well. That was a trip,” Talia said. It was a serious
understatement.

“Are you going to be okay?” Dionysus asked. “I can help you
forget what you’ve seen.”

“I’d never want to forget this, sweeties.”

They said their goodbyes, Jaime hugging the artist lightly,
and promising to come back for a visit and portfolio photos when their ink had
healed.

When they reached Jaime’s house, she smiled shyly at him on
the doorstep. Then she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “I have one more
fantasy.”

“What is it, love?”

“I’d like my new husband to take me inside and fuck me like
he’s never going to leave me.”

“I’ll never lea—”

Her mouth captured his before he could finish the promise.
“No foreplay this time,” she murmured against his lips, their teeth clacking
together. He whimpered his assent and plunged a hand into her purple hair,
twisting her around and pressing her against the front door. She fumbled at the
lock as his mouth worked its way down her neck. Their skin smelled of blood and
disinfectant. She was soaking wet and ready for him.

She closed the door behind them and pulled him to the
bedroom, taking down the covering from one of her mirrors so she could watch
herself with him. Their bodies moved as one in the glass, her new purple hair
wild and mixing with his dark curls. Dionysus pressed her front against the bed
and she leaned into it, her breasts rubbing against the blankets.

Dionysus scraped his teeth down the back of her neck,
avoiding the freshly inked and bandaged area on her shoulder. She pressed her
ass firmly into his waist, grinding against his growing erection. His mouth was
everywhere—on her neck, grunting in her ear, biting down on her uninked
shoulder. She reached down and pulled up the skirt of her sundress. His hands
pulled her panties off and she kicked them free of her legs.

When he thrust deeply inside her it was as shocking as the
first play of the tattoo gun across her skin. She slammed her ass back against
him, wanting it to hurt. She felt completely alive, and needed to bind them in
flesh as well as in ink. As his cock thrust into her again and again, his other
hand played at her clit, first teasing her nerves lightly, then squeezing and
gripping with no rational pattern.

She caught a glimpse of them again in the mirror—just them,
no one else, and nothing to fear. Her hair splayed out messily like an aureole
around her head, his shirt soaked through with sweat, her face flushed pink
with pleasure. The only thing she could hear was them, her moans, his balls
slamming into her ass with every thrust.

He came before she did this time, filling her with his
semen, and still his cock pulsed inside her, he drove her to completion with
his fingers against her sweet spot, flicking softly at the nub of nerve
endings, then moving faster as she gasped her encouragement. The orgasm started
at her clit and spread outward, down to her toes, hovering in the pain of her
tattooed shoulder.

When they were finished, they collapsed together on the bed,
the ache of released pleasure between Jaime’s legs as strong a sensation as the
pain of the fresh ink on her shoulder. She fell asleep without fear this time,
ready to start her life with him, and looking forward to an infinite number of
fantasies.

Lena Loneson is pretty much a Canadian cliché: she complains
when the temperature rises above zero, says “Eh?” far too often, and loves her
beer and poutine. However, she somehow missed the memo on learning to play
hockey, so she constantly lives in fear of deportation. Please don’t report her
to the Mounties so she can continue to write stories about love and sex in
snowbanks, forests, canoes, and maybe one day (if she gets a chance) atop the
CN Tower.

Lena’s favorite erotic romance stories are those with a bit
of the unusual: you’ll see her reading and writing a lot of paranormal, sci-fi,
fantasy, and horror. Other hobbies include playing piano, walking large dogs,
searching the forests for unicorns (they *must* exist!) and anything outdoorsy.

Lena loves to hear from readers, so please check out her
website or drop her an email!

Lena welcomes comments from readers. You can find her
website and email addresses on her
author bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.

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Ellora’s Cave Publishing

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God of Ecstasy

ISBN 9781419941047

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

God of Ecstasy Copyright © 2012 Lena Loneson

Edited by April Chapman

Cover design by Fiona Jayde

Photos: Hotdamndesigns.com, Sgrigor, Konstantine and Yuri
Arcurs/Shutterstock.com

Electronic book publication July 2012

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