The Goddess (5 page)

Chapter Seven

As Darius bolted off—long strides up the hillside, strong arms pumping—Helene grabbed
an armful of flowers and her shell, and she high-tailed it after him. She was no match
for his athletic gait and speed. When he said he’d race her, he wasn’t joking.

Along that pine-encased path, he got so far ahead she lost sight of him. Out of breath,
with a trail of flowers scattered behind her, she careened around a bend—and there
he was, chest heaving, with a big cheeky smile drawn across his handsome face. Then
he set off again.

By the time Helene stumbled through the villa’s doorway, wheezing but exhilarated,
she’d lost all the flowers. Darius stood in front of that mirror, his eyes filled
with nothing but intent. He closed the distance between them. His mouth landed on
hers and their bodies—sweaty and breathless and hungry—roped together.

He spun her around then crowded her back up against a wall. With one hand splayed
out flat near her ear and his lips covering hers, he pinned her with his hips. Her
fingers clinging to his sinewy neck, Helene pushed back.

His hands found her shirt’s hem. The interlock whipped over her head and then he was
kissing her again, his tongue probing and twirling and darting with hers. He tasted
of apple and raw sexual need, and as he spun her away from the wall, she stuffed her
shell into her back pocket and fumbled to release the buttons on his shirt.

As she smoothed his muscled chest, he unsnapped her bra then wound the shirt off his
back. His teeth grazed the slope of her neck as his palm molded over her breast. When
his fingers fanned shut and closed over her nipple, he broke the kiss, and his head
dropped down.

Arching into him, she let his arm support her weight as the tip of his tongue swirled
and flicked. He switched sides, and her head fell back as her fingers alternatively
clenched and raked through his hair. By the time his lips slid down over her ribs,
and further, she felt like she was boneless.

He dragged her shorts down past her thighs and she felt a line of moist kisses dipping
below her navel. The denim dropped to her ankles, he caught the sides of her underwear,
and he eased them down, too. Then he cupped her behind and the warm moist oval of
his mouth dived lower still to the apex at her thighs.

His tongue swirled a tight wet circle before his head angled, and he oh-so-gently
nipped one side. When he kissed her there, she released a lungful of air in a rush.
By the time he found his feet again, she was trembling, in a fog. He swept her up
and carried her to his room.

He laid her on the cool sheets of an unmade bed then wrangled off her shoes. A heartbeat
later, their limbs were intertwined again. While her palm sculpted the rock of one
shoulder, his weight pushed her onto her back. Then they found each other’s eyes.

Time seemed to slow. He brushed away hair that had fallen over her face. Leaning into
his palm, she concentrated on the rhythm of his heartbeat vibrating against her skin.

“I won’t ask if you’re all right,” he said.

She laughed. “No, please don’t do that.”

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever catch up.”

“I hate to think of you twiddling your thumbs,” she teased.

“I’d have waited.” He nibbled an ear lobe then murmured, “All day if I had to.”

His sandpaper jaw grazed down her cheek and across her chin, and when he kissed her
again in a deeply erotic way she felt some ingenuous part of her drift off and leave
her for good. He dropped a run of scorching kisses between her breasts and she shimmied
back into the sheet, beyond ready to set every one of her inhibitions free.

His hot palm trailed along her leg. When his touch slid up the crease between her
thighs, her pulse came faster, throbbed deeper. His mouth left her cleavage to cover
her lips again. As his tongue played and swirled with hers, fingertips feathered between
her folds and came up to wind and gently tug her curls. With his tongue probing and
one hand kneading her nape, a finger dipped and hooked inside of her. Groaning in
his mouth, she pressed down at the same time as he went deeper. It felt as if he tickled
her before he slipped out to stroke over and between her folds. The contact was so
light, so skilled… She had to grip the sheet to divert energy and help stem a whimper
of longing.

His finger entered her again, rubbing a certain volatile place that pulsed as it swelled
and then smoldered. When her hips lifted and she wrenched at the sheet, he growled
against her lips, a sound of deep satisfaction. A second finger joined the first.
The next time he rubbed, the sensation shot flames to every nerve-ending in her body
from her tingling scalp to her curled little toe.

He repeated the move again and again. Friction built and, bit by bit, the burn speared
closer to a more intense heat.

When his fingers slid away, the tension spiraled down, and her muscles relaxed. Then
he began stroking the bead above her opening, circling and gently prodding for long
blissful moments before pressing back into her opening again and repeating the move.

Every part of her was present and connected only to him. Even with her eyes closed,
she sensed his gaze on her face, gauging her responses—particularly when he varied
the speed or angle—and her head rocked back, or she released a gasp or sigh.

When she wound her arms up over her head, he shifted to taste a leisurely line down
her throat, across her breasts. His teeth took a nipple and lightly tugged. The glow
at her core blazed brighter, muscles squeezed tighter, and her neck arched while her
spine pressed down.

He murmured something—an endearment that, translated, meant
my love
—and other things she couldn’t concentrate on because the throbbing between her legs,
inside her womb, had whipped up a fever. A white-hot storm gripped her core, sensations
balled up inside, then collapsed in, catching light, and then…

Then there was a flash of calm. She felt herself hovering, quivering. Braced. When
his mouth captured hers again—when the stirrings of his kiss merged with her ticking
time bomb down below—the fire broke free and every part of her blew apart.

…

When the roll of contractions finally eased, Helene relaxed into the sheet and blinked
open heavy eyes to see Darius’s face close. His incredible mouth was softly smiling.
Humming out her own smile, she filed her fingers through his thick black hair.

“You like?” he asked.

She cupped his cheek. “Very much.”

“I like you. Very much.”

He took her hand and dropped a kiss on the underside of her wrist then her forearm.
When he reached the crook of her elbow, his scratchy chin tickled and she let slip
a soft laugh. His grin grazed higher before skipping across to nuzzle her breast.
Then an arm hooked under her knee.

He took his time leaving a trail of kisses all the way from her shin to her thigh.
When he didn’t stop there, Helene held her breath and clutched the pillow behind her
head. His tongue dipped into her center then curled an inch higher, and as he continued
to gently kiss and tease her, her body’s responses condensed, and then soared. Surrendering
completely, she coiled a calf over his back and pressed in.

Too soon, splinters of light began to converge, melt together. Everything shrank down
to a pinhead and, a heartbeat later, her second orgasm hit. Gates flung wide open.
Blasts of pleasure rushed out. The contractions kept coming, squeezing then rolling
until she couldn’t say which way was up, didn’t care that she was writhing and entirely
lost.

On the fringes, she was aware of a drawer opening, of Darius sheathing himself. Then
his long, strong body covered hers—a hot mantle of muscle. As she caught her breath,
her palms traced down the sides of his neck and fanned across his chest. She nestled
into his forearm as he positioned himself then slowly entered her.

Her body and mind were filled in a way that went beyond physical. Every inch of her
was “woman”—intelligent, beautiful. Limitless. Desirable. When he began to move inside
of her, heat streamed through her blood and intensified with each thrust to warm every
cell.

His tempo increased. Before long, his pelvis was slapping hers and she was hugging
the pillow at her ears. When he suddenly stopped and shifted away, she wondered why
and dragged open her eyes.

He was crouched between her legs, scooping his big hands under her behind. He lifted
her hips to meet his erection and then, tendons rippling, he penetrated her again.

His strokes were long and measured. Every time he pushed, he hit a spot that made
her walls quiver and grip. The heel of his hand settled low on her mound. As she concentrated
on the way their bodies fit and moved together, he lightly massaged the top of her
slit.

When his hand dipped lower, the waves swelled higher. He stroked her folds then shifted
to catch her nub between a finger and a thumb. As he gently squeezed and rubbed and
plucked, her muscles clenched and twitched and hummed. Just when she was certain she
was ready to break, he shifted to cover her again.

His strokes were quicker and deeper now. She fastened one leg over the back of his
thigh and, heart racing, clung onto his chest. When his pace picked up another notch,
the sensitive spot inside of her started to feed on itself and glow.

Veins stood out like cords down his neck. With each breath, his nostrils flared. He
stopped long enough to push up on one elbow then drag her leg higher up the back of
his thigh. His body gleaming above her, he lifted his face to the ceiling and started
pumping again.

Tremors built. Air burned in her lungs.

And then the rocking stopped and he stilled completely. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

She was about to ask if he was okay when he pumped again in a deliberate, precise
way. Sensing his body harden more—feeling him tremble and pulse—she clutched the sheet
at either side and held on. A moment later, he buried himself to the hilt and, groaning
aloud, spasmed deep inside of her.

…

Darius’s orgasm gripped him with a ferocity he hadn’t known before. He wanted to bury
himself deeper and embrace the sensations longer. He didn’t want the feeling to ever
end. But he’d make sure this wouldn’t be their first and only time. They would come
together again like this, so he relaxed and gave in to the booming pulse pounding
through his blood.

As the spikes of pleasure petered out, he caught his breath and felt normal brain
function return. Pushing higher on his elbows, he searched Helene’s eyes. Smiling
softly, she looked as sated as he felt.

She stole a loving kiss and lingered close to say, “I have a feeling the dishes won’t
get done today.”

His fingers curved around her cheek. “Who cares about dishes?”

“I’m supposed to.”

“Not anymore.”

A sultry smile lit her eyes. “We’re going to spend all day in bed, aren’t we?”

Although that didn’t need a response, to answer her question, he kissed her again,
which only served to ramp the buzz coursing through his body back up to high. When
his lips left hers, her gaze was dreamy and her demeanor downright amenable.

He arched a brow. “I take it you don’t object?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

Rolling onto his side, he kept her close. His hands wove down her arm and her back.
At the same time his mouth slid up to her earlobe. When she didn’t respond straight
away, he understood. She needed time to recuperate.

But then she stiffened.

Drawing away, he peered into her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Except… You don’t feel even a bit bad about any of this?”

Letting out that breath, he dragged his lips down the side of her throat. “How could
this possibly feel bad?”

She twisted in his arms and he made himself clear. “Helene, I don’t regret this.”

Her uncertain gaze drifted over his shoulder—to the safe.

He wanted to laugh. “Don’t tell me you feel uncomfortable about the figurine being
in the room?”

“It’s dumb, I know. But you spend so much time in here with her alone. Just then,
when I thought about it…” She gave an awkward shrug. “I kind of feel like I’m intruding
somehow.”

He chuckled. “That
is
dumb.”

Her smile crimped to one side, but her gaze shifted again to that safe.

He looked over, too. “Would it help if I brought her out? You could see that she hasn’t
come to life and concocted any spells.”

“That has to be against tradition.”

“We’re not exactly going by the book here.”

“And that doesn’t make you nervous?”

He twined strands of flaxen hair around a finger. “Having you here with me like this
doesn’t make me feel nervous at all. It feels good.”
It felt…right.

Before he thought about that too much, he eased away. He’d show her the figurine one
more time. But he’d clean up first.

…

As she watched Darius saunter into the bathroom, Helene swept up the sheet to cover
herself then studied the safe again. She did feel a little strange knowing the figurine
was waiting quietly behind that thick steel door. Not because she was aware of any
ancient mystical powers wafting around the room—what had happened between herself
and Darius was completely natural, with no hocus-pocus involved.

Although…she could admit that every moment she’d spent in his arms had indeed seemed
magical. They’d made love—unbelievable
superlative
love—and, by the sounds of it, the good stuff wasn’t over yet.

With a towel wrapped around his hips, Darius walked back into the bedroom. His smile
was gone. Actually, his complexion looked almost chalky. He sat on the edge of the
mattress and took her hand in his while she pulled herself up.

“Something’s wrong,” she said.

“Probably nothing.” He gave a thin smile. “We’d have to be pretty unlucky.”

His gaze lowered before his shoulders straightened and jaw tipped up. “The condom
broke.”