Heat for Hephaestus

by Sotia Lazu

  “Well, you either usually make sense, or you’re surrounded by idiots.” She shrugs. “If we really are created for each other, being together won’t be a chore; it will be bliss. We’ll just be speeding through the awkward first stages of will-they-won’t-they, with no suspicion and no double-talk. And if you’re lying—for whatever reason—or you’re delusional, we both get mind-blowing sex out of this.” She splays her hands in a how-simple-was-that gesture.

  She broke our situation into palatable bites that I’m dying to devour.

  And I’m stomped for a counter-argument. Did a mortal outreason me?

  Chapter Fourteen - Laura

  WOW. I sound like I really know what I want, and it’s an eternity with a Greek god.

  In my need to be right, to show Hephaestus how smart and clearheaded I am, by covering all angles of our situation, I’ve successfully argued a case I’m not sure I want to win.

  I just hate how he ruled us out. Without even talking it through. Don’t tell me something is impossible, unless you want me to go for it. And seriously, don’t make decisions on my behalf.

  Seeing his irises glow silver in a very non-human manner makes my heart stammer. He’s gorgeous and smart, and if he’s not feeding me bullshit, he’s trying hard to resist me so he doesn’t trap me in a relationship I may not actually want. Even as my mind reels at my eagerness to convince him the bond is a good idea, my body shifts closer to him.

  My legs frame his knees. A few centimeters forward, and I’ll be straddling him. His heat burns me through the denim of his jeans. He is the god of fire, and I can sense the volcano of desire he’s hiding behind that stony expression.

  That volcano calls to me. But am I ready for what will happen if I give in to my instincts and claim what I desire?

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

  “Don’t you know? Can’t you tell?”

  His smile looks pained. “I want you to choose to tell me.”

  He is all about choice, isn’t he?

  “I’m pondering my options.” My gaze travels his enormous body, grazing muscles I want to map with my hands and mouth. He’s tight and bulging everywhere, but if I indulge in the promise of pleasure he embodies, it won’t be for a day or a week.

  My words from before echo in my head. If we really are created for each other, being together won’t be a chore; it will be bliss. I believed it when I said it, but now it feels true. His touch will be bliss. Being with him will be magic.

  Having him inside me will be transcendental.

  Why am I so certain? How did I know how his lips would feel before he ever pressed them to mine? Why am I so desperate to have him—to own him—when I never laid eyes on him before yesterday? I refuse to believe I’m supposed to feel this way. Nothing so visceral can be less than real.

  Hephaestus leans forward, and his arms close around me as solid as steel bars. He pulls me in his lap, and it’s the most natural thing in the world, for me to curl up against him. My skirt is bunched up, the hem digging into my upper thighs. I don’t mind the discomfort; his leg pressing against my pussy is making me dizzy with desire.

  I seek his lips, and he offers them in another slow, sensuous kiss that packs less urgency than the one we shared last night but lacks none of the passion.

  I clench my fists, to keep from touching him, because if I touch him, a kiss won’t suffice, and the stakes are too high for me to jump his bones.

  Can this work? Can we work? On paper, we can. I’m stupidly drawn to him. Like, I’m so drawn to him, I go stupid when he’s within a ten-meter radius. And looking forever like I do in my prime is tempting. Plus, he intrigues me. Life by his side can’t possibly be boring. And if it is, I’ll just kiss him more. God, I can keep kissing him forever.

  But how literal is that forever? And what’s expected of a god’s soulmate? Will I need to leave my career behind and become a prim little homemaker? The chill that spreads up my chest clashes with the warmth swirling in my belly. I can’t be that woman again—the one who doesn’t speak her mind and pretends not to know or care how cars work.

  Hephaestus chuckles against my mouth, and I break the kiss to lightly slap his shoulder. “Thought you weren’t listening in on my thoughts.”

  He clasps my hand and turns it to press his lips to the pulse point on my inner wrist. “I wasn’t trying to. Your panic at being expected to be a housewife was written in neon in your thoughts.”

  “Is my fear legit, though? Will I need to be like Vesta?”

  He nuzzles my cheek. “Vesta?” I’m trying to remember the Greek equivalent for the goddess of home and hearth, when he says, “Oh. You mean Hestia.” He draws a long breath—smelling me?—and then lifts his head to look me in the eye. “I’d never want you to be something you’re not.”

  He doesn’t speak aloud; he thinks it at me. This mental communication feels more natural by the second.

  And boy, I’m feeling a lot this morning.

  Hephaestus’ palm on my knee scorches me. I lick at the seam of his lips and squirm into his touch, but he drops his hand. His eyes are sad. “We shouldn’t...”

  I cover his hand with mine. My squirming has lifted my skirt higher, so it’s bunched around my hips when I lead his hand up my thigh. “Please? I need your touch.” Can he see how intense that need is?

  He palms my ass, nothing but lace between us, and kneads the flesh. His fingertips brush the seat of my briefs, and I push closer, aching for more.

  “Please?” I whisper, desire screaming in my head and pooling in my pussy.

  His groan is one of hunger and despair and resignation. “Get up.”

  No. He can’t drive me away again. I won’t let him.

  “Get up and sit with your back to me,” he orders in my head.

  “Okay,” I mumble. I make no effort to adjust my skirt, as I stand on shaky legs. I turn and lower myself backward between his legs, knees together and hands clasped primly on them. Not facing him should make me feel braver, but I’m trembling in anticipation of what he’ll do next.

  Hephaestus nuzzles my neck, as he grips my hips and lifts me so I’m sitting on his cock. He grasps my knees and opens my legs so they drape outside his thighs.

  I’m like putty in his hands.

  He skates both palms up my inner thighs until his thumbs reach my pussy, and spreads my nether lips so the lace of my underwear grazes my clit.

  I push upward, chasing his touch, but it’s gone all too soon.

  “I want to play you like a violin.” His jeans dig into my mostly naked backside, as he uses one hand to caress up my stomach and closes the other over my throat. “Have your body create music for my ears only.”

  I run the fingers of one hand along the taut muscles of his arm. Trace the veins. He’s made of pure power—the god of fire—and it thrums just beneath his skin.

  He caresses down my belly, to the apex of my thighs.

  When he cups my mound, I press my hand over his, holding him in place, and buck my hips.

  Hephaestus chuckles. “So impatient.” His breath is hot against my cheek. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

  He has no idea. If he dips under the— Oh.

  The calloused pads of his fingers graze my pussy when he slips them beneath the lace, and a shiver runs down my spine. His appreciative hum makes my body vibrate with need. Buzz with desire. I squirm into his teasing touch, and he obliges me by pushing my underwear aside and sleeking his fingers along my slit.

  I buck my hips again, and drop my hand to his hip, to steady myself. “Don’t tease me.” It’s supposed to sound demanding, but it comes out a plea.

  Hephaestus tugs on my ear with his teeth and slips a finger inside me. It’s long and thick, but not nearly thick enough.

  I want him to fill me. Stretch me. Make it hurt just so right.

  I need more.

  As if he read my mind— What am I saying? He is reading my mind when he adds a second finger. It’s a tight fit. Perfect alternative, if I ca
n’t have his cock.

  “Is this enough?” he asks in my head, pumping his hips against me. He has long fingers. Thick. And talented. They locate a sensitive spot inside and focus on it, sending liquid fire swirling in my core.

  His hard cock pushes into my ass in time to his thrusts in my pussy.

  “Not nearly.” I mewl when he slides his fingers out of me, and moan when he pushes them back in. My eyelids flutter shut and I drop my head back against him.

  “Don’t,” he whispers in my mind. “Watch how greedily your body sucks me in.”

  I suck in my stomach and tilt my hips forward, so I can see his fingers disappear inside me time and again, glistening with the evidence of my arousal.

  “So wet,” he whispers again, with something akin to awe.

  “For you,” I think at him. It’s not a line; I’ve never been this wet. My body’s never responded to someone’s touch with so much fervor.

  I can tell Hephaestus hears me, because his hand stills. When he starts moving his fingers inside me again, his thrusts are faster. He sucks on the side of my neck. Nibbles. It may leave a hickey, and I’m too old for love bites. Plus I have a shoot next week. And I couldn’t care less, as I reach behind me to scratch his shoulder with my short nails.

  Wish I had longer nails. Then I could mark him as mine.

  “Harder,” I hiss.

  I don’t know if I’m talking about his mouth of his hand, but he redoubles his efforts with both, until I’m so very close to coming, I can taste it. I’m panting for breath, my head swimming with lust, hypoxia, and his coxing voice, telling me he can’t wait to feel me fall apart against him.

  I clench around him, arching my back and pushing out my breasts. They obscure my view of his fingers, but I don’t mind that much, because he lets go of my throat to skim his palm over my breasts. My nipples are so hard, I’m amazed they don’t rip the fabric, to peek through.

  “You didn’t wear a bra,” Hephaestus scolds in my head, cupping one breast and squeezing just this side of pain. “You came here to yell at me, braless, knowing these”—he tweaks the nipple—“would distract me.”

  I let my head fall back and my eyes drift shut, as his growly voice assists his hands in driving me closer to the edge.

  “How was that fair?” he asks. “How was I supposed to argue, when all I could think of was doing this?”

  What is unmistakably teeth close around my other nipple, and I open my eyes startled, to see the top of a shaved head. My stomach tightens, and I instinctively try to close my legs, but I see the head’s outline shimmer. It’s Hephaestus’ shaved head. “Is this part of the being-a-god thing?” I sound as breathless as I feel. “You’re... projecting yourself?”

  “Stop thinking,” Hephaestus says behind me. “Let me pleasure you.”

  Well, okay then. His fingers and mouth make it hard for me to focus on forming words, so I turn to look at him over my shoulder, and clasp the nape of his neck to bring his real mouth to me for a kiss that has me melting into him.

  “You’re wet for me. Ready for me.” Hephaestus’ voice in my head is tinted with awe. He raises his head and leans away, to meet my gaze, as he withdraws his fingers. Before I can protest, he slips them higher, to brush my clit. And again. Harder. Faster. Until he’s rubbing it in tight circles. “I want to suck on this. Taste you as you come in my mouth,” he thinks at me.

  I bite my bottom lip and raise my hips to meet his thrusts, my body tensing with my imminent release.

  “Want to be trapped by your thighs, as you ride out your orgasm.” He pinches my clit between middle and index finger and twists. Presses. Twists again.

  His fingers are in me again, even as they rub my clit. His mouth tortures one breast and then the other—both at the same time?—though his lips ghost along my neck.

  My body shudders, my heart threatening to burst out of my ribcage with the force of my orgasm. Every molecule ruptures with pleasure that threatens to steal my senses so all I am is this hunger Hephaestus has ignited in me, that no other touch can satiate. I’m floating on a hard, muscular cloud, and I never want my feet to touch the ground.

  Chapter Fifteen - Laura

  HEPHAESTUS GIVES MY nipple a playful little tug and brings his fingers to my mouth, to lick them clean of my juices. His groan makes me want a second round of what just happened, but it wouldn’t be fair when he’s had no satisfaction.

  I wriggle until he drops his arms away, and then get up so I can drop to my knees before him.

  The tent in his jeans is enormous. Is it the denim, making his cock look bigger than it is? Only one way to find out. I reach for his belt, but he moves faster than my eyes can see, to clasp both my wrists in one hand.

  “Not a good idea.” His tone and expression are icy, nothing like the volcano of a man who made me come moments ago.

  I can change that. I lick my lips and arch a brow. “You’ll find it an awesome idea, if you let me elaborate.” I tug an arm free and scrape my fingers up his thigh, to cup him.

  He is huge.

  I rub up the length of his cock, and it presses into my palm. “It must feel constricted.” I meet Hephaestus’ gaze.

  Unlike his cock, he doesn’t seem excited. “You should stop. This won’t end well.”

  It may not end at all. Ever.

  Hope and fear mingle in my ribcage, threatening to squeeze the air from my lungs. They’re not my hope and fear; they’re his. I open my mind to him, and welcome fragmented thoughts that sooth instead of jarring me. He wants me, but he doesn’t want to want me. For years, he’s been convinced bonding would be a mistake, and giving in now goes against what he’s held dear all his life—reason.

  Because he thinks I’ll want to leave him.

  No, that I should want to leave him, but the bond will hold me back.

  Hephaestus tells himself he’s used to rejection, but I see how he fears it. No woman would love him of her own free will, so how can I? I’ll grow sick of him, betray him despite the bond, and he won’t even see it coming. It’s happened before. The thoughts are in my voice, but they’re not mine. They’re his insecurities.

  This has nothing to do with who I am, and everything to do with who he is. He was in love before—it rips into my gut, to glean his all-consuming love for another woman—and her betrayal was so painful, he slams a mental wall around its details before I can see more.

  But how can he believe I’d hurt him? Can’t he sense my desire? Or is that the very thing that scares him the most? That I can only ever feel fate-mandated desire and nothing more?

  Did I play into his fears, by asking him to touch me? By riding his hand?

  How can I convince him he’s more to me?

  And why am I sure I can love him so completely, eternity won’t be enough time for us?

  I climb to my feet and fix my skirt, before sitting in his lap sideways, to rub my nose against the corded muscle in his neck and inhale his scent. The faint whiff of gasoline isn’t jarring, it’s intoxicating, and so is his proximity. I splay my palm over his heart and feel it race. His dick presses into my thigh, but I act as if I don’t notice, when all I can think of is cupping my hand around the hard shaft.

  I won’t make a move, when his panicked thoughts scream for me not to.

  His self-restraint is near snapping, and he worries that, if we bond, I’ll end up resenting him. That I can’t love him forever, when I barely know him before we are bound together.

  So I’ll have to get to know him first.

  The elation on his face when I opened the puzzle box was buried under a thick layer of disbelief, but I didn’t miss it. Didn’t miss his anger and disappointment when he read the note, either.

  “Who is Cassandra, and why do you need to find her?” I ask.

  He shifts me off his lap but keeps me tucked against his side. “Fuck if I know.” His voice radiates pain.

  I draw a line across his hard peck with my index finger. “What did you expect the note to say?”


  “It was supposed to tell me where my parents are. Why they left me outside a church when I was only two years old. Why they never came back for me.” He traps my finger in his fist and draws circles on my knuckles with his thumb.

  I tangle our fingers together and pull his arm tighter around me. “I’m sorry. That they left you. That the note wasn’t the explanation you needed.” That it didn’t provide the healing he deserved.

  Hephaestus shrugs, jostling my head. “It wasn’t that bad. I didn’t stay in one place long, but I wasn’t mistreated or anything.” Just always felt rejected by the people supposed to love him no matter what. “If this Cassandra knew what happened to my family... Whoever she is, she’s now three decades older than when this note was written. She could be really old. Or dead. Unless she was a kid back then too? She might be my biological sister.” The muttered theories sound like he’s talking more to himself than to me. “Or she may have something to do with... my world.”

  His world. A goddess? Jealousy slithers around my heart like a snake. I shoo it away, following a thread in what he said. “Were your parents people? I mean human people?” I ask.

  He grunts. I guess that’s a yes.

  “So how can you be immortal? Don’t both parents need to be gods or Titans to have a god-kid?” At least that’s what I got from mythology. If one parent was mortal, the offspring was a demi-god, so it only follows that both parents would need to be divine in his case.

  Hephaestus leans away so he can look at me. “I never thought of that. You’re brilliant. How could they have an Olympian kid without some interference?”

  Not hard to put two and two together when you only have a total of four clues. “You think Cassandra had something to do with it?”

  “Not whom I had in mind.”

  From Hephaestus’ thoughts, I pick up the word chaos. It sure must have been, when he realized who he was. And when was that? “Did you always know you’re a god? Like, were you a godly baby who could set fire on things?” I ask.

  He squishes me to him. “I couldn’t do that till a few minutes ago. Didn’t know who I was till I was... adopted, I guess you’d call it. Though it was more like a guy showed up and said he was there to take me home.”