For The Love Of A God (9 page)

Gods help him, he just might.

She waited, gnawing on her lips, looking as if she might be sick over her little show of bravery. And as he decided, he knew his face must be exhibiting all the emotions coursing through him. Surprise. Temptation. Determination. And something which continued to shock him. An all-encompassing feeling of possessiveness and protectiveness.

"Okay,” he heard himself agree. “I wouldn't want you to be afraid. I'll take your couch.” He frowned, at his own words and then let out a little laugh. “You don't have any more underwear hiding in there, do you?"

"I think I grabbed them all,” she said, blushing.

"All right, then.” He sat back on the couch and loosened his tie, conscious of her eyes on his movements. And before he even knew what he was doing, Eric reached for the wineglass and took a long drink.

And froze.

What was he doing, drinking alcohol with a mortal? How had he lost control again? Why did he always lose control around Maia?

He licked his dry lips. The chardonnay was cheap, but delicious. Cautiously, he took another little sip. Maybe this time he'd be okay. Maybe the wine wouldn't transform him into a raging, sexual beast needing fierce release at all costs. Mortals held their liquor all the time. Surely he could too. For once. “Well, here's to having your own bodyguard for the night."

Oblivious to his panicked state of mind, she giggled. They chatted for another hour before Maia realized she was exhausted. She got him set up on the couch with blankets and a spare pillow. And then, looking at him with what could only be reluctance, Maia turned in.

As she got ready for bed, she realized she'd never had such a good time with anyone. Despite her eerie fall and the shock of seeing her father's strange recovery, Eric's presence had made it the nicest day she'd ever had. She loved talking to him, laughing with him.

And she loved his kisses. His second kiss, along with its bizarre mythical imagery, had turned her insides into a scalding, roiling cauldron of emotion.

But he hadn't kissed her again. No doubt either his sense or his professionalism had kicked in, and he realized he'd made a mistake.

She put on an oversize T-shirt, turned off the lights, and got into bed. And the whole time, she was conscious Eric was out there, sleeping on her couch, wearing God knew what.

"Maybe he sleeps in the nude,” she mused, as her eyes started to close. “I'll never wash those slip covers again."

With that thought, she drifted off toward oblivion.

She was dreaming again. Only this time, she wasn't Maia Douglas. She was another woman named Chloe. A beautiful priestess wearing flowing Grecian robes.

Instinctively, she knew she was the high priestess of the temple of Eryx.

Priestess Chloe knelt before the life-size statue of the god which formed the centerpiece of the temple. Her swollen eyes filled with tears. For the fourth time that day, she used her dark braided hair to brush away any dirt from the statue's feet. She'd organized the offerings to the god of love, placed flowers all around the base of the statue, and prayed. Her knees hurt, she'd prayed so much.

And still Eryx hadn't come to her. Where was he?

She dared to look up at his handsome face, the face hewn from cold, white marble. “What have I done to offend you, great Eryx? Do I not serve you well?"

When her parents first told her she would be given as a priestess to the temple of Eryx, she'd gone willingly, such was her devotion to the god. She'd given her life to him, never leaving the temple, never associating with anyone else. And somehow, Chloe had always known her devotion would be rewarded.

But when the day had come, she'd barely been able to believe her eyes.

It had been a normal day a year ago. She'd been offering up her prayers when she heard a noise coming from his statue. She'd looked up and there he was.

Eryx. She'd watched as the statue slowly took on color. His curls, frozen in marble, loosened and became the color of honey. His pale, hard skin began to glow with the sheen of healthy, living flesh. He'd turned his flashing green eyes upon her. And then he simply walked off his pedestal.

Chloe had been paralyzed with fear, but also sweet anticipation. The god approached her, his nude body already showing its own appreciation for the nubile priestess. Her eyes had fallen to the muscles in his thighs as he walked, and then she'd dared to look at his eager sex. It was almost horrifying to behold. She'd never seen a naked man so close, certainly not a god in all his glory.

"Chloe, my beloved one,” Eryx had breathed as he cupped her face. “Let me show you my gratitude for your dedication to me.” He touched the fasteners at her shoulders, and her white woolen
peplos
fell from her body.

He'd loved her for months on end, worshipping her body as she'd worshipped him. He'd stroked her face, calling her his little wife, and plunged his godly length into her delicious mortal heat.

He'd promised to make her a goddess.

And then, just a few short days ago, he'd disappeared from the temple. And now, Chloe didn't know what to do. So, she waited and waited, but he did not come. No matter how often her reddened eyes pleaded with his marble statue.

The god of love had made love to her. Yet as empty as Chloe felt, she knew the gods were a fickle lot. No doubt Eryx was bored with her. Disappointed in her. And probably frolicking with some nymph.

There was a noise behind her, and she turned quickly, hoping to see him. What she saw instead shook her to her core. It was a woman. A beautiful dark-haired woman with golden robes and azure eyes.

"I am Nemesis,” she spoke in her velvety voice. “Goddess of vengeance."

"I know who you are,” Chloe replied, trembling. “Why are you here, great Nemesis?"

"I am curious,” the goddess said, “about this infatuation you have for my cousin Eryx."

"I love him."

"And do you know where he is right now? I have seen him with my own eyes, reveling at one of Dionysus's orgies. Eryx was drunk and copulating with a steady stream of willing virgins."

Chloe lowered her head, pain shooting through her like a spear being thrust up under her ribcage.

"He has used you, little one.” Nemesis slid over to the priestess and offered her a comforting arm. “But I can take your pain away. We can make him suffer."

Chloe looked up, only to see Nemesis clutching a large knife. The kind they used for animal sacrifices.

The goddess smiled. “I can help you forget. I can offer you sweet, sweet darkness."

When Eryx did return to his temple much later, sated but still reeling from the wine of Dionysus, the first thing he did was look for his priestess. He wouldn't have believed it, but the revels and their numerous, anonymous naked limbs just left him numb and hollow. And now he craved Chloe's touch again.

He loved how she looked at him, loved how she cried his name as he took her. Loved that no other man had ever touched her sweet body.

He loved ... her?

But when he found her long-dead form, collapsed at the foot of his statue and covered in blood, he cried with a pain he'd never known before. “No,” he shouted, for all the heavens to hear. He gathered her broken body to him and cradled her.

And tried desperately to ignore the womanly laughter surrounding him.

Maia screamed as she woke, and then her breath seemed to catch in her throat. Her sheets were pooled at her knees, where she'd kicked at them. And her hands were shaking. So much so she had trouble grasping the switch on her bedside lamp.

Even as the dim light brightened the room, the images from her dream flooded her brain. Her muscles were clenched and aching. She'd felt the pain as Chloe's body was shredded by Nemesis's vengeful knife. Had felt sure she would die from it. She'd felt grief, too. Grief at being deserted by Eryx.

That hadn't happened in any of her other dreams. Her other dreams had always been sweet, seductive interludes. Mystical moments of otherworldly passion with her Eryx.

But he'd left her, had left Chloe. And the goddess of vengeance had found her.

As she stifled a sob, Eric burst into her room and ran to her bed. His hands went immediately to her face, his eyes searching hers. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

She sat trembling under his touch, the same touch she'd felt from Eryx so often in her dreams. She looked into his haunted eyes, the same eyes the god always bore in her dream. The shape of his lips, the turn of his chin, the straight line of his eyebrows, all of it was the very same.

And as she lowered her eyes, she realized Eric was nude. Her eyes took in his chest. It was sculpted after all. She'd have to let Sheila know. He had a perfect six-pack ... or was it eight? And it was covered in a smattering of golden hairs which darkened as they trailed toward his sex.

Oh, God. His sex. Every last thick, throbbing inch of it was on display for her.

Degree by painful degree, she raised her eyes back up to his, her chest heaving. “I had a nightmare."

"But you're not in pain?"

"No,” she whispered, taking in the agonized look on his face. “Are you?"

Eric stared at her, feeling intense heat in every extremity. She looked so luscious there, quivering in her silly
Happy Days
T-shirt. Despite the semi-darkness of the room, he could see how it draped over her full breasts, how it tented over the delicious peaks of her hard nipples. And he could see her bare legs in a tangle where she'd kicked at her sheets.

Oh, he was in pain, all right.

He could even smell her. The tangy, female scent of her arousal. And, whether it was the influence of the chardonnay or of her sweet body, her scent called to him.

Claimed him. Shackled him to her.

He couldn't turn away from her now if he wanted to.

He set his mouth in a line of grim determination. Then, he leaned over to her and whispered, “I want you, Maia. I want you writhing beneath me. I want to lick every last inch of you. I want your juices on my tongue. So help me, I want to fuck you like you've never been fucked before. And I'm tired of pretending I don't want it."

Maia stared, unable to speak. He looked so aggressive, so assertive. So godly. So heart-stoppingly desirable.

In her head, she heard Dino's voice over and over again.
Maybe you should just fuck him.
God only knew she wanted it, needed it, as much as he apparently did. She dropped her eyes quickly down to his engorged penis again.

Oh, yeah. He wanted it too.

Maybe she should just do it. Maybe then she'd get him out of her system and be able to function again.

As Maia fought the urge to hyperventilate, she pulled aside the sheets for him and watched him perform a slow, predatory crawl into her bed.

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Maia did not bother to turn off the light. Did not even close her eyes. She wanted to see everything. She wasn't afraid of the sensory overload his touch inspired anymore. She welcomed it.

His eyes were hooded, sensual, as he mounted the bed and kneeled in front of her. Maia licked her lips as she took him in. The hard thighs, the arms corded in muscle, the flat abs. He was almost too much perfection in one package, nothing like any man she'd ever known.

And as he reached for the hem of her T-shirt, she had to bite her lip. Just the look in his eyes, alluring and hypnotic as the Mediterranean, was enough to make her implode.

He disposed of her shirt and then her panties. Pausing, he let his eyes rake up and down her nude body. He swore.

And then he was on her.

Eric pinned her to the bed, his lips seeking, roving across her skin. As if reacquainting himself with something he'd once lost. His movements were strong and sure, his weight deliciously heavy upon her. He captured her flailing arms and held them over her head, easily grasping both of her wrists in his hand. And then he did a sensuous, slow grind against her pelvis, letting her feel his need. His want.

She quivered under him, desperate for release already. “Kiss me,” she breathed. “I need your mouth."

And he gave it to her. All softness and slick heat as his tongue mated with hers. She wanted to touch him as he kissed her, but he would not relinquish her arms. Instead, he ran his free hand up and down the side of her body, cupping each soft curve.

"Please,” she begged, and tried to wiggle out of the iron grip he had on her wrists. It was no use. He was too powerful. But she wanted to touch him so badly. Needed to feel the texture of his skin under her fingers. To see if he felt like Eryx, too.

Eric kept her pinned, grinning at her futile struggle, while he licked and nipped at her neck. He wasn't ready to let her go yet. Somehow, he just knew if he felt the sweet pressure of her marauding hands, he'd be a total goner. He'd come, hard and quick, like a teenager who'd just found girlie magazines under his dad's bed.

And it had been years! So many years since he'd done this. He had to pace himself. He wanted to enjoy every last, explosive second of it.

But gods, she tasted so good!

Even her neck, so dainty, so lightly fragranced with baby powder and hot desire, was unlike anything he'd ever tasted. He was getting harder, painfully so, with each scrumptious lick of her.

What would her nipples taste like? Her stomach? Gods help him ... her sex? The mere thought made his penis swell again, as it sought to intrude into her luscious body.

"Please let me touch you,” she whispered again. “I have to touch you."

She looked as if she might cry if he didn't release her hands. As if she ached to touch his skin, pined for it. He wondered if it were possible that her need matched his. If she, too, felt she'd die if she didn't get a chance to caress him.

He stared down into her eyes, feeding off the exquisite torture he was inflicting. Seeing her passion, her need, filled his soul. Made him feel whole.

This fervor, this adoration, was something he hadn't experienced in centuries. Not since the days when mortals danced and fucked in his name. When they held festivals and orgies in his honor. When maidens would offer him their bodies, their souls.