God of Ecstasy (7 page)

“The first time I had an orgasm, well, that was magic too.”
She slid the shirt over his shoulders, exposing his tattoos. The shirt fell to
the ground. She pressed her lips into his neck and stood beside him, running
her tongue slowly down the vines on his shoulder. She traced them with her
tongue, leaving a moist trail behind, down his arm, lowering herself to the
ground as she moved, dipping her tongue into the crook of his elbow, finally ending
on her knees.

“You remind me there’s still magic in the world. It’s easy
to forget that after the hurt of my divorce. So, thank you.”

Okay, enough seriousness for one night.

“I have always wanted to undo a man’s belt with my teeth.
Mind if I try?” She looked up at him without hesitation this time. He shook his
head with a smile.

Jaime leaned in, resting her forehead on his bare stomach.
She could feel him breathing. Her own breaths came quickly. She grasped the
belt lightly with her teeth and pulled. Nothing happened. His stomach vibrated
with laughter. “No mocking!” she scolded, though she was laughing herself. “Let
me try again.” She pulled on the braided leather, bracing herself with both
hands on his ass. This time it slid free. With her tongue, she worked at the
belt buckle but dissolved into laughter. “Okay, okay, I’m a failure at this!”

“Not entirely,” he murmured. She was about to admonish him
for speaking when he pressed his erection into her face.

Jaime laughed again. “Okay, mission accomplished.” She undid
the rest of the belt with lithe fingers, then unzipped the jeans and slid them
down to the floor. She hadn’t bothered to buy him any underwear, since he
hadn’t worn any when they first met. She was still on her knees, so she leaned
in and placed a small kiss on the tip of his penis, a promise of what was to
come.

Then she stood and marched him to the bed. “Lie down,
please.”
James, I don’t think you’re supposed to say please. A dominatrix,
you’ll never be.

He lay, completely naked. She stopped to study him as if he
were a subject she was about to paint. His body was as beautiful as she
remembered from the night before, and it glistened slightly with sweat. It had
to be from desire rather than heat—she saw goose bumps on his arms under the
tattoos and down his un-inked legs. She studied the tattoos again. They made
her think of all the artist boys she’d had crushes on in university. Now she
finally had one of her own.

His hair still had that long, anachronistic cut that she
loved—something that didn’t change with his clothes. Dark curls spread out
behind him on the silk pillowcase. Jaime had bought new bed sheets in her
favorite colors—an art deco print in salmon, deep mauve, and light gray.

His cock stood upright, olive skin surrounded at the base with
more of those gorgeous dark curls. The tip of it was darker, nearly purple like
a deep wine. It glistened with pre-cum.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? Me being in charge?”
Jaime asked Dionysus shyly.

“Trust me, love, women have done far worse to me.” His full
lips twitched into a grin.

She blushed, wondering if she wanted to know. Part of her
wanted to ask him to tie
her
up and tell her every naughty thing he’d
ever done, her own
Thousand and One Nights
of pleasure stories. Another
part of her didn’t want to think of him with any other women. Ever.

Probably not the best thoughts to have about the god of
orgies, the god who could release the inhibitions of dozens of women at once.

But for tonight, he was hers entirely. Hers alone. And she
intended to savor it.

She leaned forward and softly brushed his mouth with her
own.

After the clothes shopping, she had stood outside the sex
toy store for a long time, embarrassed and hesitant, before rustling up her
courage to enter. A bag on the floor beside her was filled with her purchases—a
silk blindfold and pair of pink fur-lined handcuffs. The woman in the store had
introduced herself as Carol and helped Jaime pick out beginner-level toys.
She’d had a kind smile and at least ten piercings in her ears and eyebrows.
Jaime had liked her immediately.

The other bag held a fresh set of student-quality watercolor
paints and brushes. While Jaime was used to oils, they wouldn’t work on the
human body as nicely. And she planned to paint him—literally.

Her final purchase, the lingerie, she hadn’t shown to the
god on the bed yet. Jaime was clad in that same silk robe she’d worn the night
they first met, and didn’t plan to take it off until he was securely tied.

“Ready or not?” she said. She pulled the cuffs out of the bag
at her feet.

His expression darkened.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. She furrowed her brow and
looked at the handcuffs. They were covered with pink fur. Maybe he hadn’t seen
them that way before? Were fur cuffs a new thing, not around in the sixties?

“It’s nothing,” he said. But Jaime could swear she heard
fear in his voice. She placed a hand on his stomach. He was shaking, so
slightly that she almost couldn’t tell.

“You don’t want the handcuffs,” she said. It wasn’t a
question. She was sure of it. But it wasn’t as if they were anything
particularly kinky. In fact, Carol the sex toy consultant had specifically sold
her the cuffs and blindfold as something safe and easy for beginners. And Jaime
was definitely a beginner. Surely the god of orgies was more experienced than
that?

“Don’t be silly. It’s fine. It’s your fantasy,” he said, but
the tremor in his voice was still there.

Decisively, Jaime tossed the cuffs on the ground, kicking
them under the bed. “Nope,” she said. “I’m only playing if you want to. It’s
both our fantasies, or neither.”

For a moment neither of them spoke. He stared at her,
wide-eye with wonder. She held his look with her own, and felt as his shaking
stopped under her hand and his breathing slowed. “Will you tell me?” she said.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” he said. He shook his head.

“Dee, there’s nothing to apologize for.”

He smiled at the nickname. Good. He was getting back to his
old self.

He held out one of his arms. “You see my tattoos?” he said.

“Of course, I think they’re amazing.”

His smile was sad now. “They weren’t always ink. The grape
vines were one of my symbols as a god—you know, like Zeus and his lightning
bolt, Athene and her owl.”

That sounded vaguely familiar, so Jaime nodded.

“They were constantly alive, thriving, wrapped around my
arms, and sometimes my legs if I needed more power. They connected me to the
earth. But they were never a prison. I could remove them and grow new ones at
any time.” He took in a deep breath. Jaime chewed at her bottom lip, disturbed
by the sorrow in his voice. He remained lying on the bed but his whole body was
tense. His cock had grown flaccid.

“When I was cursed, that all changed. The djinn cast the
spell, using some of my ichor—the blood of the gods—and mixing it with Agathe’s
blood. He made a wine of it and drank it himself.”

Jaime wanted to wrinkle her nose. This was getting a little
too close to the horror of some of the myths she’d read online. She kept her
expression as steady as she could. She didn’t want to judge him until she’d
heard the whole story.

“When he was finished, the vines took on a life of their
own. They burrowed under my skin, latching themselves into the marrow of my
bones, twisting themselves around me. The pain was excruciating. It’s rare that
a god feels pain. This was unbearable. But I had to bear it.”

She leaned forward, wanting to stroke his hair in sympathy,
but he held up a hand to stop her.

“Please, I have to get this out.”

She saw now that the tattoos around his wrists seemed to
pulse. They really were like none she’d seen before, so fresh and crisp, as if
they were alive. Magic. The vines twisted around his wrists in exactly the spot
handcuffs would, if she had put them on him.

“The inked vines are what hold me to the curse. Between
mistresses, they cuff me to the bottle, so I cannot escape. And when I’m
outside the bottle, in my moments here with you or with another, I can’t get
rid of them. I’ve tried. I’ve inked over them, but they grow back and the fresh
ink vanishes. I’ve tried cutting them out, with a razor, slicing through the
skin like paper.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Jaime, I need you to understand this.” He looked away from
her. “I deserved it. Every last bit of pain. Every year I’ve spent enslaved.
The djinn is evil, but he wasn’t wrong.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I killed her. Agathe, his mistress. He loved her, in a way,
or at least valued her in the way demon kind value those they entice. And I
took her away. I showed her freedom. She thought the only way to make it in the
man’s world of ancient Greece was to harness the power of a djinn, casting
spells. But I showed her the power within herself. We made love under the
stars. We danced in the woods and up the mountainside.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. It was her choice to leave him.”

“When he came looking for her, she asked me for help. I was
a lover, not a fighter, and I told her that. But I also said she could get
strength from my gaze—that it would lower her inhibitions enough to allow her
to stand up to him. Which was true. But it turned out that she wasn’t looking to
fight him after all. And when she looked deep into my eyes that night, the
wildness finally overtook her. She threw herself off the side of the mountain.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that. You didn’t kill her.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “At the time, I agreed with you. I
told the djinn that Agathe chose to give herself to me. But it wasn’t really a
choice, was it, if she didn’t know the risks? Which is why I had to tell you,
and every woman I’ve known since, how to counteract my power. I need everything
you do to be your own choice.”

Jaime nodded. It was an awful story. She couldn’t deny that.
But he wasn’t the callous young god he’d once been, the one she’d read about in
the stories. She could see he felt genuine regret for the woman’s death. “What
can I do to help you?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid.”

But she knew that wasn’t true. She must be able to help, or
why would the djinn be interested in her?

“Except, if you could leave the cuffs off, for tonight?” His
eyes were bright with unshed tears and his voice was hopeful.

“Of course.”

“And don’t fear the ink or be repulsed by it. The vines are
still a part of me, even if they’ve been turned against me.”

She nodded. He held his arms up to her. She traced the vines
with her fingers, showing him that she still found his body beautiful, which
was the truth.

“Would you care to fulfill another of your fantasies, my
mistress?”

She grinned. “Absolutely. Will you lie back? Don’t move
unless I tell you to.”

He nodded.

She met his eyes with her own and saw her desire reflected in
the sepia irises. She let his influence seep into her mind, her inhibitions
lowering. Rather than changing her, she realized, it made her feel more like
herself—her goofy, sarcasm-loving self that emerged around her friends, but
never around the men she had dated.

“I was going to arrest you, but I guess I’ll have to come up
with another punishment. Want me to read you your rights, or would you rather
have a lawyer present?” Jaime grasped at random phrases she’d seen on American
TV shows.

He laughed. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“Well, uh, you’ve spent far too much time looking sexy
without a warrant.” She giggled, feeling ridiculous. She liked it.

“Guilty as charged. What else?”

He must have been watching TV as well. Maybe on her tablet;
it seemed as if the god had been obsessed with the thing this morning.

“Hmm, let’s see…one count of failure to wear underwear. But
don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve got enough for both of us.” She leaned back,
settling her ass on the bed next to him, and ran a finger slowly down her
chest, starting from her neck, to the open area of the robe north of her
breasts. She trailed the finger downward, parting the silk fabric to expose
deep purple lace. She focused on his face. He wet his lips, watching her skin
as she exposed more of it.

Jaime untied the belt at her waist, sliding the silk through
her hands, letting the robe fall open. Her pale thighs peeked out. She stood
up, letting the robe fall to the floor.

The purple lace negligee she’d bought earlier that day ran
from spaghetti straps holding it over her breasts, down to the top of her
thighs with opaque fabric covering the hair between her legs. The darker
aureoles of her nipples were barely visible through the fabric. Large swaths of
skin were uncovered down her sides, and it was tied together at her waist and
with thin straps over her shoulders. There was nothing underneath the bottom of
the negligee. She saw his fingers twitch and knew how badly he wanted to touch
her, but he would play along with the spirit of the game.

There would be time for that, but not right away.

She curled the silk belt in her hand, rolling it up into a
tight ball of fabric. She leaned forward and asked him, “Any last words?”

He shook his head and opened his mouth to give her space for
the homemade gag. She placed it in gently, leaning over him so that the lace
covering her breasts skimmed the fabric of his shirt. When the gag was in place
she kissed his forehead, down his nose, over to his ears, and whispered, “Okay,
then, take your punishment.” His chest shook against her breasts with
suppressed laughter. “Shut up!” she reprimanded him with a smile. “This is very
serious business.”

He nodded and blinked at her contritely. She arched an
eyebrow at him and put on her best stern face. There was absolutely nothing
contrite about the god’s expression.