Goddess of Love (23 page)

He grinned back at her. “Don't you remember? When we met I said she's my favorite goddess.”

Venus nodded faintly. She hadn't remembered. She hadn't really even thought about it.

“Yeah, I'm intrigued by her,” he said, staring at the sculpture. “The Goddess of Love, born from the sea—not even needing a man to come into being.” He shook his head. “I suppose it's always seemed a little sad.”

“Sad? What do you mean?” Venus felt her mind fluttering about like it was suddenly filled with confused butterflies.

“Well, think about it. The Goddess of Love doesn't need a man. It makes me think that the goddess carries love around with her, creates it for other people, but doesn't keep any of it for herself. It makes her seem untouched and untouchable.” He raised his glass to her and his playful grin was back. “But your hobby is mythology. What do you think of your namesake?”

She waited a long time before answering. Then she said the most honest thing she could. “I think she would love your sculpture of her.”

He walked over to her and fingered the escaping wisps of her silver-blond hair. “So, my goddess, have you decided what I am yet?”

“What you are?” His nearness was making her breath come faster.

“Before we got to the gallery you said a man who is an artist and a warrior had to be either exceptional…unusual…” He paused, twining a strand of hair gently around his finger. “What else was it you said?”

Venus raised one brow at him. “I said a man who is an artist must be either exceptional, unusual, abnormal, aberrant, or maybe simply peculiar.”

“And, my goddess, what is your decision about me?” His blue eyes were boyishly mischievous.

“I'm leaning toward exceptional or peculiar.”

Griffin moved even closer to her. “Let me see if I can shift the vote in favor of exceptional.”

He didn't give her time to respond. He simply cupped her face in his hand and bent to possess her mouth. She let him take her in a kiss that blazed through her skin. Venus reveled in the fact that this man took her, without hesitation, without making his touch a game of worship that ended in his begging a boon of her. She'd heard it so many times for century after century:
Accept this offering of my body to you, Great Goddess of Love, and please grant my request to have the maiden I desire love me.
Even the immortals weren't above asking for her to help them. Vulcan had even married her, ironically, because his desire had been to hide from love. She was well and truly sick of it. Tonight she wouldn't be Venus the Goddess. Tonight she would be a mortal woman who was being loved by a mortal man, which meant she would relinquish her famous control to Griffin.

Without a word, Griffin put her glass of wine next to his on a low metal coffee table. Then he took her hand and led her to the wide stairs to the second floor and the loftlike bedroom that opened to below. His bed was large, with an iron frame and covered with a thick dark comforter and king-sized pillows. He didn't turn on any more lights, but let the illumination from the room below spill softly over them, creating an effect much like candlelight. Griffin sat on his bed and pulled her close to him so that she stood between his legs. Then he tunneled his hands into her hair, causing the precarious updo to come undone and fall down her back and around her shoulders.

“I wanted to do that from the moment I saw you tonight,” he said.

She shook her head so that all of her hair came free. His hands moved from her hair, down her neck, and then slowly, slowly, they continued down, outlining her body as if he wanted to memorize her shape and form. She shivered, thinking how his hands had the ability to create such beautiful, sensuous works of art—how they had somehow been able to create a perfect rendition of her without his even knowing it.

“Are you cold?” he whispered. His hands moved from the back of her thighs up and around, until his thumbs caressed the core of her womanhood. Venus's breath caught on a moan of pleasure. “I can warm you up,” he said, his voice going all rough, like speaking had suddenly gotten difficult. She rocked forward against his firm touch, thoroughly aroused by the sensation of his hand stroking her through the layers of soft panty and rough slacks.

“I remember everything about how you felt that night. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind. You're like a drug that won't clear my blood.” His voice was deep and his breathing had increased. “I remember how hot and wet you were, how I slid into you and how I could feel you come.”

She met his passion-glazed eyes and the heat and desire she saw there had lust thrumming through her already sensitized body. “Did you think about me when you masturbated afterwards?”

“Over and over again.” He moaned. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“I thought you'd used me and then cast me aside,” she admitted.

“Never!” His eyes were bright with passion. “I would never do that to you. Come here, Venus.”

He reached up and pulled her mouth down to his. She opened her lips and accepted the heated thrust of his tongue, so that Griffin devoured her. Still kissing her, he turned and swept her off her feet so that she was lying across his bed. His hands moved down to unzip her slacks and she lifted her hips so that he could skim them from her body, pulling her stiletto pumps off at the same time and tossing them to the floor with the slacks. His fingers splayed low across her stomach, then they slid seductively down over the silky wisp of black panty she was still wearing to circle her clit with his thumb, and down still farther to gently stroke the folds of her vagina in the same caress he'd been teasing her with before he'd taken off her slacks.

“You're so wet your panties are soaked,” he said.

And then she groaned in frustration as his hand left her clit so he could pull off his own clothes in several impatient movements.

He was truly a beautifully built man. Darker and more masculine than Adonis, taller and stronger than Achilles. She wanted him to claim her as his own with a desire so fierce and so overpowering that it made her dizzy. When he lay back down beside her she found the hard length of his phallus, and she let her hand stroke him while she met his teasing tongue. He chuckled deep in his throat and grabbed her wrist.

“No, I don't want it to be over too soon. Tonight we take our time with each other.”

“I don't know if I can wait,” she said, with a rush of breath.

He smiled. “I can. I can wait. And so can you. This time I'll be the teacher.” Then he began unbuttoning her sweater, following the trail his fingers were making with his lips and tongue. When her black silk bra was finally uncovered he flicked his tongue along the top of it until he found the hard nub of her aroused nipple. He licked and sucked it through the thin layer of silk, causing her breath to pant hard and fast. His talented artist's hand caressed a path down her body, sliding off her panties. Then he cupped her ass and brought her firmly against his erection. But instead of plunging into her wetness, he positioned the head of his cock so that it could slide back and forth, from her clit down and then back up. He rocked her body against his and she gasped, grinding herself closer to him.

“You're making my cock all wet,” he whispered against the nipple he was still teasing with his tongue and teeth.

“Enter me!” She moaned. “Please…”

“Not yet, my goddess, I want you to come first.”

“Yes,” she cried. “Oh, Griffin, yes!” She rubbed her soft slickness against his engorged head faster and faster until she felt the delicious explosion build between her legs and cascade out through her body.

But instead of stopping at her orgasm, Griffin pulled off her bra and cupped her breasts in his hand, kneading and caressing while he repositioned himself against her wet heat. This time the head of his cock was pressed lower, so that it slid back and forth the length of her velvet slit, teasing her opening but never entering it.

“I remember what you taught us in class today.” His voice was rough with lust. “How, if a man truly cares about a woman's pleasure, she can have one orgasm after another. He just has to keep her aroused and then he can bring her to climax over and over.” He thrust against her, his hard phallus gliding against her soft wetness. “Is this the right place?”

“Yes.” She moaned. He slid himself over her, back and forth. One of his hands firmly cupped her ass and kept her grinding rhythmically against him, and the other teased her breast, holding it up to his hot mouth. When she came again she couldn't help crying his name.

“Now,” he said, pressing her against the bed and holding himself up so that he could look into her eyes. “Now I have to be inside you.” And he plunged into her, impaling her already engorged vagina with a ferocity that made her moan her pleasure aloud. The feeling of fullness was almost too much for her to bear. The sound of his heavy breathing mixed in perfect harmony with her own pants, and she could smell the musty scent of their mingled sex. He captured her mouth, and Venus immersed herself in the salty, sexy taste of him. Everything combined to heighten her desire for him. She reached between them and cupped him with one hand, squeezing gently and teasingly. With the other she stroked his hardness as he thrust in and out of her, loving that the cream that covered his phallus was her own wetness.

“You're mine,” he said with a growl, moving his mouth from hers to trail down the slope of her neck, where his teeth teased and nipped, as if he actually was a virile male animal marking her as his own. Intensely aroused by his possession of her, Venus lifted her hips, meeting him with equal passion. She was still stroking him when his shaft began to spasm, and he pounded against her so deeply that he found the pleasure center within her, finally releasing a gush of overwhelming sensation as her cries of ecstasy mirrored Griffin's.

A
couple days earlier Pea would have found it utterly bizarre that
she wasn't feeling one hint of nerves while she puttered around the kitchen getting ready for a date that had the potential to be amazing.

“I've gained confidence,” she told Chloe, whose attention was focused solely on Pea, as if the Scottie could will her to drop something.

Chloe sighed, disgruntled at Pea's neatness.

“Well, it's true. And it's not just about the hair and the clothes and the makeup.” She chattered at the dog, ignoring Chloe's grumpiness as she tossed the salad. “It's about the goddess I've found in here.” She pointed at herself with a long leaf of romaine lettuce.

Chloe woofed softly at her and Pea laughed, tossing her a dog biscuit.

“Try to behave yourself tonight. There's something special about this one. I can see it in his eyes….”

Pea carried the salad out to the deck, putting it on the little picnic table that was already set with a cheery red-and-white-checked tablecloth and matching napkins. Her good china look strangely perfect mixed with the casual chic of the little Italian picnic she'd set up. The Chianti was open and breathing—the garlic bread was keeping warm in the oven, and the spaghetti sauce was ready. Pea lit the candles on the table and added more pinion wood to the large chimenea. Then she completed the finishing touch by plugging in the minilantern lights that she'd strung along the inside of the lattice woodwork of the sides of the deck. Pea smiled. Everything was perfect. Even the weather had cooperated and stayed as unseasonably warm as the Channel 6 news guy had predicted.

“How magical,” she whispered. “To eat outside in February.”

Pea decided it had to be a good omen.

She was stirring the sauce when he knocked on the front door. Her stomach did get a little flip-floppy then, but it was more anticipation and excitement than nerves. Pea scrunched her curls one last time, quickly reapplied her lip gloss and opened the door. He was wearing a black cable knit sweater and a dark shirt under it, with a pair of jeans that fit him well enough to make Pea's mouth water for more than spaghetti.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” she said.

Then they just stood there, staring at each other and smiling until Chloe's insistent barking registered on both of them.

“What do you call her?” he asked.

“Chloe. I'm sorry her manners aren't better. She doesn't really like men, but hopefully she'll get used to you and then be quiet.”

He crouched down and reached his hand slowly forward, palm down, offering Chloe a sniff.

“It is good that she is protective of you,” he said to Pea, and then turned his attention back to the disgruntled Scottie. “You are a fierce advocate for your lady, aren't you?”

Pea watched him curiously. His tone was completely serious. He didn't sound coaxing or cajoling, as so many people did when confronted by a growling dog. Instead he sounded appreciative, something Chloe seemed to instinctively react to. She'd quit growling and was cocking her head attentively at the tall man.

“I would never allow harm to come to her. I give you my oath on that, little protectress.”

Chloe sniffed his hand and wagged her tail. Then she sneezed and went in search of her cat.

“Well, that's truly weird. Chloe doesn't usually like men.” Pea smiled at him. “So you winning her over must mean it's safe to let you in.”

Victor stepped into her home and lifted her hand, pressing his lips to it in greeting while his eyes met hers.

“The hours passed slowly.” He let loose of her hand reluctantly.

“I thought they would for me, too, but I had to help my, uh…friend”—she floundered over what to call the goddess—“get ready for her date tonight, so time passed really fast. I had a lot to do.”

He smiled and sniffed the air. “Something smells delicious. Are we not going out for dinner this evening?”

“I thought it would be nice to eat in.” She almost added,
If you don't mind
, and then thought better of it. The old Pea would have worried and fussed and stressed about whether she was being too forward taking charge of their date. The new and goddess-improved Pea believed she had a right to choose the venue of their date—that her desires were important. She wanted to eat in, so they were going to eat in. If he didn't like it, and her fabulous food and her amazing home, then he wasn't the man for her. Period.

“I'm honored that you would cook for me.”

Pea beamed at him. Victor had given her the exact right answer. “I like to cook.”

“You also like to make a comfortable home,” he said, glancing around her living room.

“Yes, it's important to me.” Pea was pleased that he'd noticed. She'd brought men home before. Not a lot of men, but a few. A couple of them had had “eloquent” comments like, “nice house” or “great place—the value will definitely go up in this area” but none of them had understood that her gift was in making a “nice house” a home.

And Chloe had hated every last one of them.

“Of course it is important to you.” He nodded like he actually did understand. “Your home is your creation, so it should reflect you.”

“Then let me show you my favorite room—the kitchen.”

She motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen. She went straight to the stove and automatically stirred the sauce. Pea smiled over her shoulder at him. “I hope you like spaghetti.”

“I will like anything you prepare.”

Her grin widened. “Want to try it to make sure?”

“If you would like me to, I will. Tonight, Pea, your every desire is my command.”

Pea felt the thrill of the message behind his words begin to quiver deep within her core. She wanted this tall, powerful man whose limp made him somehow accessible and human. She wanted him and the promise of their future that she read in his eyes.

Pea lifted the spoon to him and blew on it gently, as if she were brushing his skin with her breath. “Then taste, but be careful it's hot.”

His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I'm very comfortable with hot.”

He tasted the sauce and it seemed he was tasting her. Again.

“Delicious,” he said.

“Are you hungry?”

“For many things.”

Pea loved the rush of heat he caused within her body. Part of her wanted to drop the tasting spoon and have him take her right there on the kitchen table; the other part of her (the more sane part) wanted to prolong this sweet game of foreplay they'd just begun.

The sane part of her won, but only just barely.

“Good. Dinner's almost ready.” She turned up the water that was waiting for the angel hair pasta. “Let me show you where we'll be eating.”

She took him out the back door to the patio. “Perfect” was all he said, but it was enough. It was exactly what Pea thought of it, too.

“Why don't you pour us some wine, and I'll finish up the pasta.” At the door she turned back, about to ask him to feed the chimenea some more wood, but he'd apparently anticipated her request. He'd already gone to the outside fireplace and was stoking it, although with the sudden intensity with which it was burning she wasn't sure the thing needed any more encouragement.

Well
, she thought as she added the pasta to the boiling water,
he's a fireman. He should know what he's doing with fire
.

It didn't take long to finish the last touches for dinner, but she was eager to get back to him and glad she'd chosen angel hair pasta, which cooked in a snap. Pea loved the way his eyes lit up when she returned, and then was ridiculously happy at the hearty way he dug into the meal, which complimented her even more than his words of praise.

When she looked back on the meal she was surprised to recall how easily they spoke of nothing—the warm weather, how the lanterns made the deck look fairylike, the recipe for the spaghetti she'd discovered in an old out-of-print Italian cookbook. Normal things. Mundane things. It was almost as if they had always been together.

“I'm glad you chose outside for us to eat,” he said, after he'd swallowed his last bite and poured them each another glass of Chianti.

“I was worried about it turning cold, but the night is beautiful and the chimenea helps.” She nodded at it, surprised to see it still burning merrily.

Victor smiled. “A good fire always warms things.”

“I would think a fireman wouldn't be so fond of fire.”

“When you are intimate with fire it's hard not to appreciate it, and learn from it, as well as respect its destructive ability.”

“Appreciate and learn from it…” She paused, sipping her wine. “Okay. What has it taught you?”

“Fire teaches about purification and renewal. For instance, a wildfire that rages across a forest is, at first, what appears like a disaster. In truth the forest grows back healthier because it has been cleansed of choking weeds and dead wood.”

“That makes sense. What else does it teach you?”

“I see stories in the fire.”

“Stories? What do you mean?”

He studied her solemnly before he answered, and Pea got the odd but distinct impression that he was weighing her…considering how much he could or could not say to her.

“Think of fire as you would an oracle. It's ever-changing and it really does have a life of its own. It breathes. It eats. It can die. Yet it's eternally old. So why can't it collect stories?”

Pea thought about it. It made a strange kind of sense. “I suppose it could. I guess it just needs someone who knows how to hear the stories to translate them.”

Victor's smile was brilliant. “Exactly.”

“Tell me some of them.”

Victor considered, glancing up at the sky as it seemed to Pea that he sifted through his thoughts and memories. “Come with me and I will show you.” He stood and held out his hand to her. Pea took it without hesitating, and he led her to the far edge of the deck that had been built with a wide, waist-high ledge. During the spring and summer, Pea kept large pots of geraniums on the ledge so that her deck seemed to be in bloom.

Victor dropped her hand, and she had just begun to feel the loss of that physical contact with him when he rested both hands on her waist.

“May I?” he murmured.

She looked up into his dark eyes, and didn't care what he was asking.
Anything
, she thought.
Tonight I want to give him anything and everything.

“Yes,” she said.

Surprising her, he lifted her so that she was sitting on the ledge, then he turned her, so that instead of facing him, Pea was leaning back against him, and his strong arms were braced on either side of her. When he spoke, his lips were beside her ear, his cheek resting softly against her hair.

“Fire tells stories of ancient times—ancient peoples—ancient beliefs.” He pointed up into the night sky. “For instance did you know that the full moon for this month has been known for ages as the quickening moon?”

Pea looked up, following his direction. “The quickening moon? Sounds beautiful.”

He brought his hand down and let it rest on her thigh, where he began to caress her softly, as if his touch was part of the story he was weaving for her. “Generations ago it prodded people to look inside themselves for dormant possibilities as the creatures who slept deep in the womb of the earth felt the pull of being on the cusp of spring's awakening.”

“What else does it tell you?” Pea asked, as she gazed at the full February moon, mesmerized by his deep voice and the heat that radiated from his touch.

“The fire of this world calls to mind the brilliance of the constellations—those distant stars that have their own cold fire.”

He looked to the south and pointed just above the visible horizon. She turned her head and felt a delicious shiver of sensation as he swept back her hair and kissed the curve of her neck.

“Do you see the small constellation there?” His lips moved against her skin as he spoke. “The one that has the double star?”

“Yes.” She breathed the word so that it sounded more like a moan than an acknowledgment. She could feel his lips turning up in a smile as the tip of his tongue flicked out to tease her skin.

“That is the constellation of the ram. The story goes that the king of Thessaly had two children, Phrixus and Helle, who were abused by their stepmother. The gods heard the children's cries, and Hermes sent a ram with a golden fleece to carry them to safety on its back. Helle fell off the ram as it was flying across the sea known as the Hellespont. Phrixus was heartbroken, but was carried to safety on the shores of the Black Sea at Colchis, where he lovingly sacrificed the ram to the gods in thanks, and its fleece was guarded by a terrible dragon. The gods honored the ram by sending its soul to the heavens.”