How to Worship a Goddess (5 page)

He held himself above her, the dominant position keeping his erection from touching her but pretty much enveloping her body with his.

She felt caged, overpowered.

And she loved it. Loved having the decision taken from her. Loved being conquered.

So many people depended on her, so many decisions to make. So much—

Brandon dropped his head and sealed his mouth over hers, his kiss wrenching her back into the moment. He made her sigh in relief even as her body tightened in anticipation. He tasted so good, so
right
. His tongue rough against hers, his lips demanded a response she wanted to withhold only so he'd continue to kiss her just like this.

Her hands clenched into fists as she kissed him back with equal desire. His hands loosened on her wrists and she moaned, trying to tell him without words that she liked to be held down. He understood exactly what she wanted. He moved his hands onto hers, laced their fingers together and stretched her arms out straighter.

She didn't know how long he kissed her, but it built a charge between them.

Lucy felt her
arus
, her magic, rise so close to the surface of her skin, goose bumps coated her arms. Her magic wanted to come out and play, to wind around him like a cat and rub against him until it exploded.

But she couldn't let it get away from her. He wouldn't understand the intensity of her reaction. Didn't want to frighten him with it.

Then again, her hockey player didn't scare easily.

With his mouth still locked on hers, he drew her hands over her head and secured them in one of his. Then he drew his now-free hand down her body in a light caress. He grazed down her side, missing all the important parts, yet still managing to make her feel as if he had touched them.

Her hips tilted up, trying to brush against his cock. She felt the heat of his erection but couldn't quite touch him.

He broke contact with her mouth but remained close enough that she could feel breath on her cheek. “Did you want something, Lucy?”

She opened her eyes and looked directly into his. “Touch me.”

His hand stroked along the curve of her hip. “Here?”

“Higher.”

He brushed just under her breast. “Here?”

“My breast. Touch my breast.”

“Oh, I'm not sure you're ready for that yet.”

His lips curved in a hard, masculine grin and he ran one finger along the curve of her nose, so far from where she wanted him to be touching.

Her gaze narrowed as she thought of ways to make him pay for his insolence.

“And what makes you think you know what I'm ready for?”

“I want you to beg.”

She caught back the immediate demand that he obey her. Didn't want him to think she was a demanding bitch in bed. Still, she was used to getting her own way and there was no way she would beg.

Two could play this game.

With a quick twist of her wrist, she got him to release one of her hands. Starting at his throat, she let the nail of her index finger scrape down his chest to just above his nipple. His chest expanded on an indrawn breath then froze as he waited for her to continue.

With a lift of her eyebrows, she let her hand fall back above her head.

And waited.

As his mouth slowly lost that stomach-gripping grin, he moved until he sat back on his heels. With her legs spread around his knees, she was bared to him completely. And he took full advantage of the position to let his gaze stroke down her body.

“You know,” he reached out with his left hand and cupped her breast, as casually as if he'd reached for a melon on the shelf, “I don't think you understand the rules of the game.”

He only held her, didn't fondle her or stroke her but her body responded with a surge of lust, arching her back and pressing her breast more fully into his palm.

After a brief squeeze, he released her again, causing her hands to clench into fists before she forced them to relax.

“And what are the rules?”

“The rules are… you have to ask for what you want.”

“I thought you wanted me to beg.”

“Maybe I just want to hear you talk. You have the faintest hint of an accent but I can't place it. It's driving me crazy.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

“Baby, everything about you drives me crazy in a good way.”

Blessed Goddess, the man would make her orgasm solely using words.

“Then I'll say whatever you want me to say.”

Those beautiful brown eyes narrowed down to slits. “Tell me to touch your breasts, Lucy.”

“Please touch my breasts, Brandon.”

“I love the way you say my name.” Reaching for her, he cupped her breasts, his warm hands molding to her curves, plumping them. As she arched again, he let his thumbs and forefingers bracket her nipples then pinched them with a hard twist.

A moan on her lips, she lifted her hands to cover his, forcing him to tighten on her.

“You have such gorgeous ti—breasts.” He let her guide his movements for a little while, let her work herself harder. “And your skin is like silk.”

“And your hands are magic. Don't stop.”

With a sleek move, he flipped their hand position, wrapping her hands around her breasts.

“I won't stop. But I want to see you touch yourself.” His voice sounded like he had gravel in his throat, a low growl, another sensation that stroked against her
arus
. “I want to watch you touch yourself. Christ, woman, you are fucking beautiful.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as she followed his directions, massaged her breasts, working her desire higher. Pushing the mounds together, she pinched her nipples, flicking them into hard, aching points. She felt her orgasm build, felt the tightening in her womb.

She wanted to come, needed the release. She could lose herself in this, could make herself come and—

As if he'd read her mind, Brandon grabbed her hands and pulled them away from her body, making her cry out in denied need.

“Wait just a minute. I think you're having too good a time. I don't want you to get too far ahead.”

She opened her eyes and looked into his. “Then you need to catch up.”

His lopsided smile made her legs want to tighten, to rub together and ease the ache there. “Trust me, babe. I'm right here with you.”

With easy strength, he slid his hands behind her back and lifted her off the bed and against him. He held her high enough that he could get his mouth on her breasts.

Sucking her nipples into his mouth, he rolled and licked and nipped, working her into a frenzy. Her muscles tightened to an almost painful ache.

And then, in the blink of an eye, she combusted.

A sharp orgasm ripped through her, shooting up her spine, making her body bow in his hands and a moan fall from her lips.

Without losing his grip on her, he drew it out, tonguing her nipples. Made her body burn for him.

An inferno of repressed need consumed her and she lost herself in the vicious heat of release.

When she came back to herself, she realized Brandon had laid her back on the bed. His hands gripped her hips and he'd lost the smile. His expression had sharpened into determined lines, his desire for her stamped plainly on his face.

On his knees between her legs, he lifted her hips until her sex aligned with his. She felt the heat pouring off his body, branding her, making her wet and leaving her aching.

Then he leaned forward and let her wet lower lips brush against his cock, painting her juices all over his shaft.

The eroticism of the moment left her breathless. She barely dared to move, afraid it would break the spell he was weaving. A spell not magic, but completely sensual.

His gaze burned with it as he finally released one hip so he could push his cock down until she felt the wide head breach her sex.

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and lifted her hands to grab his wrists. She had to touch him, had to anchor herself to him in some way.

He slipped inside with little resistance because she was already so wet for him, her sheath contracting around the invader, trying to draw him deeper. He wouldn't be rushed, though, biceps bulging as he held her still.

His expression tightened, determination so clear on his face. And she knew exactly how determined he was. She'd seen him go into a corner with three opposition players and come out with the puck after a fierce battle. He could take a hard hit into the boards and still manage to get the puck out of the zone. He'd gone one on one with the best fighters in the league and was the last man standing.

If he wanted to wring every last ounce of pleasure from her before he came, she had no doubt he could do it. But that didn't mean she couldn't get in a few shots of her own.

She tilted her hips, his cock moving just enough to get a little friction. She drew in a deep breath, eyes closing as the motion sent ripples through her sex and deep into her womb.

She heard him groan, felt his fingers tighten and finally… finally, the man lost his tight control.

In one fluid motion, he fell over her, covering her completely as he crushed her into the bed.

His body bathed hers in heat as his hips began a punishing rhythm, nailing her hips into the bed as he drove inside her. Wrapping her arms and legs around him, she let him pound away, loving the heat, the power… Hell, she loved everything about him.

The rough sound of his breath panting in her ear made her sex clench around him. Her fingers dug into his back, nails surely drawing blood. It only spurred him to move faster.

He was so much bigger than her, her head fit under his chin. Tilting back, she angled so she could lick the galloping pulse at the base of his throat, the scent of his skin intoxicating her.

Her blood pumped through her veins, warm with
arus
, that certain tingle letting her know she was about to lose control.

Blessed Goddess, she couldn't lose control. Not completely. Not with him.

She shuddered, trying to reach for some measure of sanity, but Brandon wouldn't let her have it.

He tightened his arms around her, the one behind her hips lifting her into him, letting him go even deeper.

Then he punched his other hand into the bed beside her head and lifted his upper body off hers. His hips dipped and the angle hit that sweet spot deep inside.

In a flash of fire, she convulsed around him, crying out his name.

And losing her hold on her
arus
.

It burst around them, tearing into Brandon and pushing him into the orgasm he'd been holding back so desperately. His moan sounded like it was dragged out of him and his body bucked, trying to fight it. He couldn't. He pulsed his seed deep into her body before collapsing onto her with a deep sigh.

Lucy pulled him in even tighter and closed her eyes.

***

Hours later, Lucy lay with her head on the pillow, watching Brandon.

He'd fallen asleep almost immediately after he'd come, his bulk pinning her to the bed.

Though she could barely breathe, she hadn't wanted to move and disturb him. But with each passing moment, she knew she'd have to send him away. This night had been amazing. Utterly and completely thrilling. And absolutely the last thing she should have allowed. She had to get him home. It would be dawn soon and, if she was going to erase his memory of last night and have him transported back to his own bed, she needed to do it before the sun rose above the horizon and her power waned with the day.

Still… She hesitated.

Last night… Last night, she'd experienced something she'd never experienced. Something special. Something amazing.

For all of her very long life, she'd secretly wished for a man she could love and who would adore her for the person she'd become. Not the goddess she'd been. Not the obsolete object of power who no longer held much of a role in today's world.

Not even her
lucani
needed her aid as much as they had, what little she could give them anyway.

But Brandon…

She shook her head, fighting back the anger that wanted to rise up. She'd been accused by her sister goddess, Tessa, of having anger-management issues.

After she'd told Tessa where she could stick her opinion, which had only made Tessa laugh, she'd secretly had to agree. But when you were a moon goddess, your moods were ruled by the waxing and waning of the beautiful silver orb in the sky.

It could almost be said she was in a nearly constant state of PMS. Which had been getting worse these past few centuries. Loneliness could do that to a person. Even to a goddess. She wanted to keep him. But she really didn't have a choice. Tears welled and she leaned over to kiss his cheek before closing her eyes and wishing him away.

Chapter 4

Damn, what the hell did he drink last night?

Brand woke with the entire cast of
Stomp
doing their first act inside his head. Fucking hell, his head fucking hurt. Sitting up in his bed, he rubbed his fingers against his throbbing temples, waiting for the rest of the hangover to kick in. But he didn't have the typically shitty taste in his mouth. And his eyes weren't dry.

Wait,
had
he been drinking last night?

No, he didn't think he had.

So what the hell
did
he do last night? Where the hell had he been?

He'd had a game last night. He'd taken a pretty hard hit. Maybe that had fucked up his head.

No, it couldn't have been that bad. If he'd had a concussion, he would've been in the hospital overnight. Where the hell had he gone after the game? Vague memories of him having a few beers as he watched a West Coast hockey game on TV bubbled up in his brain. Then bed. It sounded right. It sounded like what he did most nights after a game.

Then why did he have the feeling he was missing something? Something important. Something to do with a certain brunette he had the serious hots for. Now why the hell would he even think that? The feeling stayed with him all day. By the time he got to the arena for the game, he'd almost convinced himself he was imagining things.

Until he got on the ice for the pregame warm-up.

And
she
wasn't there.

Lucy Aster. The woman he'd been lusting after all season. Some guy sat in her usual seat and she was nowhere to be found.

He was so dumbfounded, he nearly tripped over another player stretching by the boards.
Shit.
Where was she? She hadn't missed a game yet. And why the hell did it matter so much?

He shook his head as he skated toward the net. This obsession with a woman he'd never even met was getting out of hand. Time to do something about it.

***

On the opposite side of the rink from where she normally sat and way the hell up near the top row, Lucy watched the game with an increasing sense of dismay.

Brandon was off his game. So much so, he was a danger to himself. As she watched, he raced to the corner, head down, oblivious to the guy at his back who checked him, head first, into the boards.

Brandon went down hard. And didn't get back up. The referee blew his whistle and play stopped as the team trainer hustled onto the ice on the arm of one of the players.

Sweet
Mother
Goddess.
Lucy's breath stuck in her throat, and she gasped so loudly, the people on either side of her looked to see if she was okay.

She forced herself to control her reaction, to wipe her expression free of the breath-stealing fear before she made a spectacle of herself. How well she managed, she couldn't tell because fear made her weak.

Was he unconscious? He didn't seem to be moving. She didn't see any blood but he was at the opposite end of the ice.

Tinia's teat, this was her fault. She needed to fix this. She started to rise—and then sat back down again.

What the hell was she going to do? Go to the locker room? As far as he knew, they'd never met. She could get past the guards. A few simple spells and she'd have the run of the place. She still had enough power to control the minds of a few
eteri
.

Still… Brandon wouldn't remember what had happened last night. She'd made sure of that when she'd wiped his memories. And she knew it would cut her heart out to see the blank expression on his face when he looked at her.

Muttering apologies as she climbed awkwardly over two couples as she made her way to the aisle, she barely managed to hold back her tears until she got out of the building.

***

Brand sat in his truck in the parking lot of the arena, staring out the window at the moon.

He'd started the engine, intending to go straight home, take a shower until he'd drained the hot water tank, then fall into bed with a couple of the painkillers the team doctor had given him to ease him into dreamland.

Where maybe he could ignore the fact that his body felt like he'd been hit by a semi rather than the Elmira team's resident goon.

Instead, here he sat, seemingly mesmerized by the round gray rock that hung in the sky. He didn't want to go home. He wanted… What? What the hell did he want more than painkillers and a bed right now? Her. He wanted her. Lucy Aster.

And damn it, tonight he was going to—What? He was going to track down the address he had for her. And—Whoa. Wicked déjà vu.

Brand shook his head, then winced at the pounding headache in his temples. He didn't have a concussion from that check into the boards earlier tonight, which had been a lucky break. There was nothing lucky about the shoulder injury.

He tried to flex it but he could barely move it without being in pain. And for him, that meant he was in bad shape.

Goddamn
it.

He hadn't yet taken the pain meds the doctor had given him because they would've impaired his ability to drive. He wasn't going home.

The vision of an old stone farmhouse drifted through his head. No, not a vision, a memory. One so clear, it had to be recent. A memory associated with Lucy Aster.

Fuck it. Turning on the GPS unit, he called up the address he'd programmed in earlier tonight—No, not tonight. He remembered doing it yesterday. And last night… More images, disjointed but completely real, flashed through his head.

Images that became clearer the closer he drew to his destination. That sense of déjà vu hit him again as he drove through Oley, a town he would've sworn he'd never seen before tonight but that he recognized.

From when?

Last
night.

He shook his head again then winced as a sharp pain shot through his bruised body. That just didn't make any sense. Still, when he parked in the lot at the house owned by Lucy Aster, he knew he'd been here last night.

Trying to keep his shoulder as immobile as possible, he slid out of the car. And swore a blue streak when the fucking seat belt caught on his hand and made him pull back.

“Sonofabitch.”

“Hey, dude. You okay?”

Brand took a second to take a deep breath before turning to nod at the guy who'd appeared behind him. A guy who looked so damn familiar. “Yeah. Thanks. Just twisted my shoulder.”

“That was one big hit you took tonight, man. Thought maybe you dislocated it.”

The guy couldn't have been older than twenty-two or twenty-three years old with wavy brown hair to his shoulders, long features to go with his long arms and legs and the bluest eyes Brand had ever seen.

“Caught the game tonight, huh?”

They started to walk toward the door, the guy falling into step beside him.

“Good one till you got creamed. Then it kinda went downhill.”

Yeah, the guys had needed him tonight and he'd let them down. “Bad night.”

They reached the door and the guy opened it for him.

“Hey, we all have 'em. I'm Casey, by the way. Guess you liked this place enough to come back, huh?”

Brand froze for a second before he whipped around to nail Casey with narrowed eyes.

Casey went pale as a sheet of paper. “Oh shit. Hey, man—”

“Casey, my love, why don't you go get a drink? I'll take care of Brandon.”

Brand's head whipped the other way. That voice belonged to Lucy Aster.

Goddamn, that voice, husky and sultry. He couldn't wait to hear her sing again. Disjointed memories pushed and shoved to the front of his brain. Lucy naked and under him. Lucy singing, offering him a drink, inviting him upstairs.

“Hello, Brandon. Welcome to Howling Moon. I'm Lucy.”

His name spoken by her made his cock begin to harden. With a force of will, he cooled the lust creeping into his gut. And tried to force back the anger, as well.

He held out his hand, knowing before they touched that she'd fit perfectly against him.

“Hello, Lucy. I'd say it's nice to meet you but that'd be a lie, wouldn't it? Because we've already met, haven't we?”

She blinked, just barely, and tried to pull her hand away but Brand refused to release her, his hand tightening around hers. Careful not to hurt. He didn't want to hurt her. But he needed her to know he knew something had happened last night. Even if he didn't know what that was exactly.

“I'm glad to see you here. Why don't you have a seat at the bar, and we can talk after my set.”

Okay, he could take a hint. She didn't want to talk about the fact that he'd spent the night with her last night and somehow his memories had gotten fucked up.

Drugs, hypnosis… Hell, he didn't know how. He only knew she had the answers and he wasn't leaving until he got them.

He wanted to demand she tell him now but there were an awful lot of eyes on them right now. And none of them would have his back. Biting back the confused anger that wanted to consume him, he nodded. He'd wait until after her set.

His gaze turned to the corner where he knew a kid with a guitar was waiting. For her.

Not waiting for him to respond, she turned and walked toward the stage.

The déjà vu he'd experienced earlier was nothing compared to what he felt when he sat at the bar. The bartender came over immediately and Brand looked into his eyes. He knew those copper-colored eyes. He'd looked into them last night and thought how strange they were.

And when the guy put a Seven and Seven in front of him without asking… Brand had to take a deep breath because he felt like he was suffocating.

How much weirder could this get? And why did he still want Lucy with a lust bordering on obsession?

The first notes of “My Funny Valentine” echoed through the suddenly silent room, and he turned to watch Lucy without taking a sip of his drink.

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. And so damn familiar, he felt he knew her voice as well as he knew his own. What the hell was going on?

***

Lucy let the last note of the ancient Etruscan lament hang for a few seconds before cutting it off.

As one, the audience inhaled, as if they'd been holding their breath, then began to applaud. Usually when she'd had a bad day, that sound lifted her spirits. Tonight, the adulation fell on deaf ears. She couldn't hear, couldn't see anything but Brandon.

She felt his intense gaze from across the room. He hadn't taken his eyes off of her for the entire set.

He waited impatiently for her to come talk to him, watched as she greeted the
lucani
and a few
linchetto
as they made their way out the door. He sat on the same stool as last night. She knew he'd regained his memories. And the suspicion in his expression bit into her conscience.

What had she done wrong last night?

Well, that's easy. You didn't
want
to
wipe
his
memories
so
you
did
a
shitty
job
of
it.

No, she didn't believe that.

Come
on. You didn't want him to forget you.

That she couldn't deny.

And
now
you're stalling.

Silently, she told herself to shut up and made her way to the bar, pulling herself onto the stool beside Brandon. She barely had her ass on the cushion before he said, “Tell me why the hell I didn't remember I was here last night until about two hours ago. And don't lie and tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. I
know
I was here.”

His brown eyes bored into hers. Anger, determination, and desire made his voice drop almost to a growl.

Behind the bar, Ty tensed and set down the rag he'd been using to wipe bottles. Her son would fight to the death for her. And he'd win.

She shook her head at Ty then watched as he poured her a tumbler of Crown Royal and set it before her. After a healthy sip, she took a deep breath.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She smiled at Ty, though she knew it didn't reach her eyes. “Why don't you get going? I'll lock up tonight.”

Ty looked like he wanted to say something but he must have thought better of it. Finally he sighed and nodded. “See you tomorrow. If you need anything…”

It was Brandon's turn to stiffen, as if he was offended by the implication that he might hurt her. But he didn't say anything.

“I'll be fine. Good night, Ty.”

Brandon stayed silent as Ty made his way out the door. But his gaze never left hers.

“How badly are you injured, Brandon?”

His mouth drew into a straight line. “It's a deep bruise. I've had worse. What the hell happened last night? Was I drugged? Hypnotized? What?”

She took another sip of her drink and looked him straight in the eyes. “Yes, you were here and no, you weren't drugged.”

A muscle in his tight jaw jumped and his hand tightened into a fist. She had no fear that he would hit her but she worried that any excitement would agitate his injuries. “Why do my memories seem messed up, jumbled?”

“Are you really sure you want to know?”

He didn't answer right away, as if he were thinking about it.

“Why wouldn't I?”

She took another sip of her drink, listening as Ty closed and locked the front door. When he'd walked back to the bar, he stopped behind Brandon, staring at her steadily.

Her lips quirked at his frown before she nodded and Ty left through the kitchen, leaving her alone with Brandon. “Because you might not like the answer. You might not
believe
the answer.”

And tomorrow morning, he wouldn't remember the answer. She would do a better job of the spell this time. She had to.