For The Love Of A God Read online

  Oh-so-slowly, Eric pulled the undies down over her hips, smiling slightly as he did so. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight. Especially when she saw how his eyes focused on her pubic area. His lips had parted, and she saw her own chest heaving in the reflection.

  Once the panties were off her, he stood still behind her. His large hands came up to fondle her breasts, and she sucked in air at the sensation. “Look how sexy you are,” he breathed. “Your cheeks are flushed. And I can already see the moisture between your legs, right there on your delicious thighs."

  "Please,” she begged, turning away from the mirror.

  Gently, but forcefully, Eric spun her around. And made her look. And she did.

  "Now,” he whispered. “I want you to watch this. And see how truly gorgeous you are."

  As his hand roved in the direction of her female heat, Maia wanted to cry. But she didn't know if it was from shame or from the incredible lust he'd aroused in her. He was making her watch, for God's sake! Who did that?

  And yet, it was breathtaking to see.

  He touched her with one finger, and she saw her face redden. He slid two fingers back and forth across her wet seam, and she watched her lips part on a shattered breath. He reached two fingers into her, seeking refuge in her warm body, and she watched as her pupils dilated.

  And then he stroked. Stroked. Stroked.

  Her knees were starting to buckle. She was already starting to come. Only then did he permit himself a little nibble, closing his teeth on the back of her neck. Staring at her in the mirror.

  Maia cried out, and he removed his hand, delaying her release. Seeing the sense of tremendous loss shadow her features, he grinned at her. “Now. Look in the mirror, and tell me what you see."

  With a little less hesitation, she did. And took in the sight there. Her hair was in slight disarray. There was a bead of sweat on her upper lip and a pink flush to her chest. Her eyes were wide and so dark. Haunted, but needing more of him. Hungry.

  "What do you see, Maia?"

  "I'm ... I'm beautiful."

  Only then did Eric roll the mirror away. He then rejoined her before the bed and gathered her in his arms. Holding her. Caressing her. After a moment, he pulled away and smiled down at her. “I'll tell you what else you are.” He raised the fingers which had so recently been in her wet pussy and sucked on them, then licked his lips. “You're fucking delicious."

  He had her on the bed in an instant.

  She was unbelievably soft underneath him, a quivering mass of sleek, perfumed skin, and those sexy pubic curls tickling his body. Shit, he was in a bad way over this woman.

  She'd been so perfect as he caressed her in front of his mirror. A beautiful doe of a woman with large eyes and trembling legs, like she hadn't quite learned how to balance yet. And so very wet. Gods, when he'd seen her moisture all over his fingers, he'd almost lost it then and there.

  But he wouldn't. No way. Not until she came in his mouth. He wanted to do that for her before he took his fill.

  To that end, Eric decided it was a perfect time to slide down her body. He nuzzled her neck, her collarbones, and let himself drift downward, stopping only to suckle at those incredible breasts. Man, he'd known soldiers of old who would go to war over such a body!

  He had been ready to dispatch a few people over her tonight himself. Starting with shithead Jeremy and the old janitor, Wally, who'd wanted to dance with her.

  Okay, his reactions might have been a bit primitive, but he wouldn't apologize for wanting her so much.

  Concentrating only on her, he spread her legs and stared at her sex. “So pretty,” he murmured, touching one finger to her.

  Maia bucked beneath him. Oh dear God in heaven, take me now, take me now!

  But God didn't see fit to do so. Instead, he kept her there, struggling with the overwhelming crush of heart-stopping sensation. She looked up, drinking in the sight of Eric between her legs. He was propped up on one elbow, grinning like a lecherous priest, stroking her with that one sinful finger. Knowing how badly she wanted his lips and tongue on her.

  "Bastard,” she whispered.

  He lowered his head and chuckled against her skin. She felt his warm breath glide over her wetness, heightening the sensation. She lifted her hips, in a silent plea, but he continued to tease her. He blew on her, touched her with a featherlight caress, and stroked her all around the tops of her thighs.

  He just wouldn't lick her there.

  She was ready to kill for the feel of his tongue on her.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours of delectable torment, his mouth found her. His hungry lips kissed her swollen skin, his tongue slid into her warmth, and he captured the pebbled pearl of her clit. As he suckled, Maia cried out with a force totally unfamiliar to her, unexpectedly earth-shattering. She was hotter than hell and higher than heaven.

  George the archaeologist had nothing on Eric!

  And as he suckled, he murmured sweet nothings against her lips. Dazed, she lifted her head, even as each wave of the orgasm threatened to flatten her once again. She peered at Eric, trying to hear what he was saying. It all sounded Greek to her.

  But then she realized he was speaking in Greek. The same phrase, over and over, as he licked at her. Whispered against her sex between each gentle, yet possessive suck.

  She heard enough to translate it as, “My beloved."

  Her head fell back on the bed, as searing sensation and heart-stopping emotions vied for control of her body.

  At first, the words had come to Eric unbidden. They'd simply rolled off his tongue in the language he'd known for eons. My beloved, my beloved. As soon as the words were out, he wondered at the feelings prompting them.

  He barely knew her, and yet he felt he'd always known her. Since the moment he'd spilled out of Aphrodite's womb. Since his days of debauchery and lust. Something inside of him had always been searching for Maia Douglas. Something about her called to him in a language no one knew but they.

  Something about her made him want to lick and worship at her body for days on end.

  She fed his soul as surely as her juices filled his mouth. He realized he never wanted to be anywhere but here, between her legs. Making her moan and cry. Feeling each titillating gyration as she writhed under him.

  Gods, he wanted to be inside her so badly!

  But he would finish this first. Give her the orgasm of a lifetime. And then maybe he'd do it all over again.

  Zeus forgive him, he would claim Maia and ruin her for any other man. Surely her sweet whimpers had ruined him for any other woman. And though he knew he should let her stumble out of his apartment and never come back, he wanted to never let her out of his grasp and his sight.

  He just wanted her.

  And as he noticed the pink flush on the velvet softness of her stomach, he knew he couldn't wait any longer either. He needed her. Now.

  Before her orgasm ceased, Eric slid up her body and plunged himself into her. He gasped upon feeling the slick grip of her tight sheath. “Aw, sweetheart, you're tight,” he grunted.

  By Zeus, he'd never felt anything like this. She felt perfect for him. Perhaps he'd waited too long for this, and that was why she felt so damned good. Surely this couldn't be Maia's power over him. He was a god. No woman could have such power over him. He was the one who wielded the power, the gift of debilitating another with his lovemaking.

  And yet, as he thrust into her welcoming body, as he gazed down at her incredible face, he knew he was lost. Her dark eyes were tinged with need and desire and brought out the need and desire in him. She'd claimed him as surely as he'd claimed her.

  Dammit. He was falling in love with her.

  Maia could barely see. Each thrust from his strong body brought her closer to a white-hot blindness which made his image sway and distort. As much as it terrified her, she reveled in it. She'd never felt such extreme pleasure, and doubted she ever would again. Even if the experience left her blind and numb, she'd never regret a sin
gle, ecstatic moment.

  And even though she knew this was unlike anything she'd ever felt, it was devastatingly familiar as well. As if she'd felt him like this before.

  It wasn't possible.

  And then it hit her. Of course. In her dreams, Eryx had made her feel like this. Only the intensity of the dreams had always faded upon awakening.

  She clung to Eric, her mind railing. How could this man, this stranger, be so much like the god in her dreams? Could he be the reincarnation of a lost deity? Did such things even exist? Had they ever existed, or was it simply her lonely, fertile imagination which had created him?

  But as Eric shifted her body and glided deeper inside her, all her thoughts scattered. He was so deep, deeper than she had imagined anyone could get. He was reaching for her soul.

  And her soul was crying out for him.

  The power generated by their frantic coupling was enough that Maia felt removed from her body. Elevated. Resurrected. She clung to him, as if in fear of losing him. He buried his face in her hair, as if trying to memorize her scent. And as the tsunami surged through her core, she cried out one name.

  "Eryx!"

  As his body was racked under the force of his own orgasm, he grew rigid under her cold hands. He was staring past her face, his eyes glazed, as if listening for an echo in her voice. A repeat of that word.

  Neither spoke. Neither moved. The only sound in the room seemed to be their skipping heartbeats. Minutes later, they lay together, their bodies still joined and tangled. There was much panting and heaving as their lungs sought to find a matching rhythm.

  Maia was afraid to even look at him. She'd cried out another man's name! One who didn't even exist.

  Eric would hate her.

  But as he finally lifted his head from where it rested on her shoulder, she was shocked to see joy in his eyes. And tears.

  He cupped her cheek gently and kissed her mouth. “Maia..."

  "Oh God.” She felt tears gather in her own eyes. Tears of shame. What had she done? And why wasn't he kicking her out of his bed?

  He kissed her again, making her face crumple into a confused frown. “Maia. You know me."

  She barely heard a word he said, she was so overwrought, and began to babble. “I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. I guess I just got carried away. It's just you remind me of the statue... Oh God, this is coming out all wrong. I swear I've never called someone else's name before!"

  He grinned at her as if humoring her, and ran a hand over her hair. It was not the reaction she expected.

  "Aren't you mad at me?"

  "How could I be mad at you?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. “You called my name."

  "No, I didn't."

  "Yeah,” he replied, his face happier than happy. “You did. My true name. The one given to me thousands of years ago."

  Thousands of years ago?

  No. She shook her head. This was wrong.

  He was making fun of her. She should have guessed this was how it would end.

  She pulled away from Eric, or whoever he was, even though moving away from his body stung her with immediate regret and pain. “I don't know what you're talking about."

  His brow creased. “You know who I am, Maia. You knew me the first time you saw me. You recognized me as the person I was eons ago, in the time before Christ. I am Eryx, god of love. Your Eryx."

  And though he smiled at her again, she felt a horrible chill inch down her spine, squashing her need to pull him to her and love him again.

  She crawled away from him, putting as much distance between them on the bed as she could. But Eric reached for her, tried to stroke her hand, even as it shook. “No,” she cried. “You're making fun of me. The nerdy museum girl. You must have had me pegged right away.” She jumped off the bed and reached for her gown, shoving it over her head. Frantically, she searched for her heels and bag. “I need to go. Now."

  "Maia! You can't. I have to keep you safe!"

  "No!” The word came out as part shout, part sob.

  A stunned Eric, knowing he'd terrified her, couldn't move a muscle as he watched her gather her things and leave.

  He'd hurt her, disappointed her. And as much as he needed to keep her with him, in his arms, he knew he'd have to find another way to protect her. He'd die before he let Nemesis touch her.

  As soon as she was in the hall, he transitioned into a patch of fog, and followed her.

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  Chapter Twelve

  Her eyes burning with unshed tears, Maia stumbled out of Eric's posh condo, into his posh elevator, and out of the posh lobby. She half expected him to materialize behind her at some point.

  After all, wasn't that what gods did?

  She let a bitter laugh explode from her as she hailed a cab. And then she looked down at herself and wanted to cry. She'd poured herself back into Sheila's ridiculous dress, but it was askew. Her shawl was tossed over her shoulders, as graceful as a deflated balloon, and she'd stuffed her underwear into her little evening bag. The silk panties were sticking out of the bag, taunting her. She could only imagine what her face and hair looked like.

  Walk of shame, indeed.

  Somehow, without even remembering doing it, she got into a cab and gave the directions to her apartment. She relaxed into the cab's worn upholstery and stared straight ahead, thanking her lucky stars the whole time she didn't have a chatty cabbie.

  He'd said he was a god. And not even just any old god. Eryx. Her god.

  The one she'd always loved.

  Who did that sort of thing? Why would he do it to her?

  Maybe he'd heard about her strange obsession before he came to the museum. Maybe something in her had made him want to tease her. Maybe Eric Lord was just a mean, shitty son of a bitch who got off on making women love him and then breaking their hearts. Using their weaknesses against them.

  It seemed the most plausible explanation.

  But did she love him?

  The cab rounded a corner, and Maia looked out the side window, aching for something to distract her from her train of thought. It was no use. Some fog had gathered, obscuring much of the view. While the fog seemed to wrap itself around the back half of the cab, like a favorite blanket, she felt comfortable letting her guard down and closed her eyes.

  Did she love him? It was impossible. Sure, they worked together, had spoken dozens of times, but the gala had been their first official real date. Unless one didn't count the night he'd almost made love to her in her apartment. But he'd come with her to her dad's hospice. Had talked to her like he really cared. As if he was actually interested in her responses.

  And those kisses...

  Her heart hammered in her chest as she even considered being in love with Eric Lord. He'd caught her when she was pushed on those steps. And he hadn't sent the Eryx statue to Russia after all. Surely he couldn't be as dastardly as she imagined.

  Maia remembered how he touched her in his condo. How he'd caressed her in front of his mirror. Moisture pooled between her legs again as she remembered watching his fingers slide inside her.

  He'd kept telling her she was beautiful. And delicious. And she'd believed him.

  She swallowed, once again consumed by Eric's heat, even without him there. She turned to the cabbie. “Do you mind if I crack a window open?"

  "Sure thing, miss."

  The night air blew against her face as some of the fog seemed to drift into the cab. The warm breeze caressed her, enveloped her. Without knowing why, she smiled. Despite the fog, it was a beautiful night. Warm and suddenly sultry, like him.

  She closed her eyes as she soaked up the breeze. Eric had called her his beloved. Why would he say something like that if he didn't at least care about her?

  The way he'd made love to her was unlike anything she'd ever felt. His strength, his heat, his passion had raised her up. Taken her outside herself. It was the closest she'd ever come to feeling anything remotely religious in her life.

 
Total ecstasy.

  "That'll be $14.50, miss."

  Maia's head popped up as she was startled out of her little daydream. She scrambled for her money, tossing a twenty into the man's hands, and darted out of the cab.

  "Hey, thanks,” the man said. He poked his head out of the window to smile at her. “You okay, miss? You look a little sick."

  But Maia didn't hear him. She'd already turned and was headed into her building. Eager to escape the night, the strangely seductive fog, and anything that reminded her of Eric.

  "I knew I'd see you again soon,” Jim said to his daughter, smiling.

  Maia made a face at him. “Of course, Dad. Did you think I wouldn't come back?"

  "I thought you might be a little afraid to come back."

  It was true. She'd been terrified his recovery was some sort of crazy hoax or a temporary burst of energy. She sat at the edge of his bed and asked the question she was afraid to ask. “How are you?"

  He wiggled under the sheets. “Still moving. Still talking. So, I'm bloody marvelous."

  "I still can't believe... God, it must be a miracle."

  "Yup. A gift from your friend ... Eric."

  Eric. Maia picked at the tiny balls of fluff on the hospital sheets and tried to avoid the pointed look in Jim's eyes. It had been a week since she'd seen Eric. If he had been at the museum she hadn't seen him, and Sarah had said something about out-of-town meetings.

  Maia had never felt lonelier in her life. Dino and Sheila tried to take her out at night, but she refused. She wouldn't answer their questions about what happened after the gala, and after a couple of days, they stopped asking.

  And yet, oddly enough, she felt the whole time as if he were somehow near. She'd spent the better part of the week looking over her shoulder, feeling his eyes on her.

  She couldn't forget him. The way he held her, the way their bodies seemed so perfect for each other. It was killing her not to beg Sarah for a contact number.

  But she couldn't. He'd told her he was a god. Who did that? And did he really believe it, or was he just taunting her? Either way, it didn't inspire a lot of confidence.

  "Could we not talk about Eric, Dad?"

  "I think maybe we need to, sweet pea.” Jim took a breath, deciding how to tackle the subject which stymied him. “He did this, Maia. He fixed me. And it doesn't matter how long those docs want to keep me in here for observation, no matter how much they expect me to disappear into my former diseased self, I know I'm cured."