God of Ecstasy Page 6

  She blinked away the beginnings of tears. Don’t be ridiculous, James. Enjoy what you have, while you have it.

  The shower shut off, so she ran a comb quickly through her hair, trying to fluff it, but it hung straight to her waist as usual. She wrinkled her nose. Jaime would have to do something about her hair—it looked like dry straw. It always had. She should have cut it all off as soon as her ex had left. For now, she let it hang there. She pulled her robe tight.

  There was a tentative knock from the other side of the bathroom door.

  “Come in,” she said. Couldn’t think of something sexy, James? Maybe put the emphasis on come a little more?

  Well now, that doesn’t even make sense as a pun.

  He opened the door. He wore the new shirt, a button-down top in a deep burgundy that complemented his tan, slightly olive skin tone. He had replaced the brown bellbottoms with a pair of dark indigo wash jeans, slightly baggy. It was very different from his previous style, but Dionysus had said last night that he preferred to fit in with modern fashion if possible. A belt of woven leather completed the look.

  She walked over to him and kissed him deeply. He reached for the tie around her waist but she pushed his hands back, leaning into him. “My turn to take the lead tonight,” she said.

  He raised his hands in mock surrender, a smile playing at his mouth. “I await my orders.”

  “Stand still.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She leaned in to kiss him again. “And be quiet.” He nodded his acceptance, dark eyes twinkling with splashes of light.

  Jaime ran both hands down his chest, feeling him under the light shirt fabric. She touched the outline of his pectorals, skimming a finger across one of his nipples, then growing bolder and placing both palms flat on his stomach, pushing him against the dresser, one of the only surfaces in the room without wet paint. She undid each button of his shirt slowly, teasing him. “Tonight,” she said softly, “is my thank-you for the house today. I loved your present. And my friends loved you too.”

  That’s an awful lot of the L-word, James.

  Shut up.

  “But it’s also for me,” she said. “I think we both had the same idea today. Something in your arrival reminded me of how much I loved art. I don’t know, maybe it was exposure to magic again.” She slipped the last button free and pulled the shirt open, leaning forward to blow lightly across the hair on his chest. He sighed in response. “When I first picked up a paintbrush and realized I could mix any color I wanted—that was a form of magic,” she said.

  “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 grou
nd, 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.

  “Be careful,” she warned him, “or I will punish you for real, god of wine and theatre. I took a few classes in undergrad and I might still have Electra’s speeches from the Oresteia memorized. And I am a terrible actress.”

  Dionysus widened his eyes in mock horror, shaking his head.

  She leaned forward and touched him again, enjoying the feel of his chest hair under her fingers. It reminded her of walking barefoot on moss in the woods. She tickled it with her tongue, tasting his sweat. It held echoes of the deep berry wine taste of his mouth, and something earthier that she couldn’t place. The room was growing warmer, and she felt sultry with the heat of the candles and their two bodies. He squirmed beneath her tongue. She planted tiny kisses down his stomach, dipping her tongue into his navel, nipping at the soft flesh around it. It was the only soft part of his torso—for all that he wasn’t built like a wrestler, his muscles were tight and his skin taut and firm.

  She leaned back and rose from the bed. “I’ll be right back.” Leaving him to moan with frustration, she filled a glass of water in the bathroom. She took a quick peek in the mirror, smoothing out the purple lace she wore, and noting her own flushed cheeks. She returned to the bedroom, pulling out the watercolor set and a brush. Jaime hadn’t painted with watercolors in years. It took her a moment to get the swirling motions correct as she wet the brush and then the paints.

  She started with a dark purple to match her lingerie, and because it was her favorite. Dionysus was smiling now around his makeshift gag. She leaned over him, dripping wet paint across his chest. She didn’t even try for a proper picture, but flicked it in an imitation of Jackson Pollack. When the droplets touched his skin, he shivered. She left small splatters of purple across his chest and down his stomach.

  Since Jaime knew she wouldn’t be able to paint over the tattoos, she avoided them. Instead, she chose to complement them. The purple captured the shadows in the ink. Next, she pulled out a light green. She ran the brush lightly down his legs, painting quick sketches of leaves. She dipped it under his cock and tickled his balls with the very tip of the brush. His breathing grew heavy. She leaned up over him, skimming his torso with the fabric covering her breasts, and pulled the gag out of his mouth.