Destiny for Dionysos (Olympians Ascending, #3)

by Lazu, Sotia

  Why why why can’t I control my libido around this man? I mean, I do have hormones, and I occasionally remember to exercise them, but I’ve never felt this uncontrollable attraction—this need to become one with the other person. To meld with him.

  I rinse off, twist most of the water off my hair, and exit the stall. Will need to figure out how to work the dehumidifier, and where on earth it’s located, to dry up the room and the towel I wrap around myself. Or I can dry it up in my room. Heat’s strong enough. I tie my curls in a tight bun, to keep them from dripping, slip my feet in my flats, and throw open the bathroom door.

  A screeching sound has me covering my ears with both hands and almost dropping the towel. The alarm? Why is it blaring? And how the fuck do I turn it off? I all but run to the door, my shoes slapping the wooden floor. My finger trembles as I press the buttons. One-two-one-nine. But does the fucker stop? No. I press Away. Nothing. I press the numbers again, and is it me, or is the sound getting louder?

  A phone rings. I can’t get it; I need to switch off the alarm before the cops show up.

  A rattle at the door, and then it’s flung inward, and Dionysos stands at the opening, gaping.

  Fuck. Me.

  His shoelaces are undone, and he’s shirtless again, dark locks tumbling down his bare shoulders. His jeans aren’t done all the way up and ride low on his hips, allowing me a glimpse at a thatch of curls.

  I can’t move, frozen in place by both my obvious guilt and the desire surging inside and making every square centimeter of bare skin tingle.

  Dionysos snaps into action first, tapping the right keys to finally make the alarm stop. The phone rings again. No, it’s a different sound. He pulls out his cell from his back pocket, takes the call and spits out something I can’t make out with my ears still buzzing. He pockets the phone again, crosses his arms over that glorious expanse of chiseled chest, and looks at me expectantly.

  I should explain why I’m dripping wet and wearing only a towel, shouldn’t I?

  Shit.

  Say something.

  I sputter. “I got some grease on my clothes, and I—”

  “Decided to take a shower. And happened to have a large towel with. And you’d locked up and set the alarm first.” He arches a dark eyebrow, but his lips twitch.

  My cheeks burn at the memory of how those lips made me feel earlier. I try again. “I... I...” Can’t string ten words together, obviously.

  He kicks the door shut and leans against it. “You wanted me to find you like this? Is this a weird way of evening the score for this morning?”

  I hear the question clearly through the din in my head, but his lips don’t move. Did the siren sound burst a vessel in my brain? Am I hallucinating voices? Is hallucinating even the correct word?

  “Well?” There’s the arched eyebrow again.

  I can’t tell him I’m staying here because I don’t have a place to live. I shake my head, in answer to the question he didn’t ask. When he doesn’t speak, I say, “I didn’t want you to find me.”

  “Then what is this?” He indicates all of me with a slow tilt of his head. His nostrils flare, and his irises are dilated, only a slim silver ring visible. He’s not unaffected by what he’s seeing, only determined to do nothing about it. Why? Just because I work for him?

  Or maybe because I’m the psycho pussyfooting around his bar in the middle of the night, wearing only a towel? Eh, I’m screwed anyway. May as well fess up. “Kneeing that asswipe in the balls yesterday got me homeless, as well as jobless. I was renting an apartment from him, and he kicked me out. So I crashed here till I found a new apartment. I know it’s wrong, and I’m so sorry, and I understand that you can never trust me again.”

  Dionysos arches both brows, and to my dismay, buttons his jeans the rest of the way up. “You know the law is with the renter, right?”

  Yeah, about that— “Only if you have a contract. We had a gentlemen’s agreement. Only neither of us was a gentleman, so...” I shrug.

  He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Come on. Get your things.”

  He’s gonna kick me to the curb too? Seriously? “It’s the middle of the night. Let me stay here till morning, and I’ll be out of your hair for good at the crack of dawn. Swear. You don’t even have to fire me; I quit.” I hate this squeaky quality to my voice. Hate that I need to ask him for a favor, on top of taking advantage of his kindness.

  He recoils as if I slapped him. “I’m taking you to a hotel, woman. My brother has a thousand of them, remember? You can stay there till you find a place. I’ll arrange it with Sei.”

  My brain creaks with the effort to come up with an appropriate response, but I blink mutely for more than a couple heartbeats, before I finally whisper, “Why? Why would you do that?” Is he that nice, or is he expecting something in return? Fuck. Nobody is that nice, and as happy as I am to have sex with him for fun, the thought of doing so for accommodation sours the chicken salad in my stomach.

  Dionysos raises his face to the ceiling. “Because you need help and I can provide it? Because you’re in a shitty situation that’s not your fault?” He throws me a glance I bet was meant as impatient but that looks fiery instead. “Do you plan to get dressed at some point?”

  I look down my front, where the towel has dropped a couple centimeters, and then meet his gaze. He offered to set me up at the hotel till I move on, but I can’t take him up on it for longer than tonight, and since I lost this job too and won’t be returning here, I may as well make the most of the time I have with him.

  I should be heading to the backroom, to put some clothes on. Instead, I stalk closer to him, holding his gaze. It’s now or never. “Why did you kiss me earlier?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs. “Because I wanted to.” His eyes hold a challenge I’m more than up for.

  “And why did you stop?” My face is mere centimeters from his. One tug on the towel, and I can be pressed against him, naked.

  His hands come up to my shoulders, but don’t touch. Is it to pull me closer, or hold me in place? “Because of our... power imbalance. I shouldn’t take advantage of it. Of you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, inhales deeply, and when he opens them again, drops his hands to his sides. His irises don’t look silver; they are silver. Mesmerizing. Impossible.

  There’s too much about him that doesn’t make sense, but I don’t want to think. I want to feel. “I’m not working for you anymore. I quit. No power imbalance now.” Not that there was one before. Getting this job was a win on a bad day, but I wouldn’t starve without it. I could swallow my pride and turn to my parents for help, if push came to shove.

  Then why work here? Why stay here?

  The questions in my head are asked in his gruff voice. The answer is simple—because I wanted to be near him.

  Dionysos rocks back on the heels, as if thrown off balance. He’s still not making a move, but I can taste his desire. Plus, the evidence is poking me in the stomach. So I do what I’ve wanted to do since we kissed this afternoon. I splay my palms on his hard chest, tease my fingers along the sprinkle of dark hairs, and arch up to timidly brush my lips against his. That hint of friction produces enough electricity to spark along my skin. And then it’s gone, as he steps back, eyes wild.

  He felt it too. I know he did.

  Dionysos shakes his head. “Can’t,” he mutters. “Shouldn’t.”

  Or maybe I think I heard him, because my ears are still buzzing, and he spoke so low.

  He squares his shoulders and cracks his neck. He seems about to go into battle. When he says, “Here goes nothing,” I expect him to throw me over his shoulder and splay me atop the nearest table. Can’t say the thought doesn’t make me shiver in anticipation.

  Rather than going caveman on me, he licks his lips and asks, “How about that chocolate soufflé?”

  Is he fucking kidding me? My nipples are acting as coat pegs for the towel, and I’m wetter than I was under the shower, and he wants to talk dessert? “No.” Did I sound as incred
ulous as I feel? Hope so.

  He ghosts his fingers across my cheek, and doesn’t pull away when I lean into his touch. “Are you sure?” He watches my face. “Think of that gooey chocolate decadence coating your tongue.” This seems to be really important to him. Does he have a food fetish?

  I can work with that. I practically taste the sweet, dark flavor melting in my mouth. Any other time, I’d say yes, please. But not now. Can’t wait however long it takes for him to prepare that soufflé, when I need to feel more of his skin against mine this very moment.

  “Sounds incredible,” I say, “but I have other indulgences in mind. Unless you don’t want to.”

  “Can’t remember ever wanting anything more.” His lips don’t move, but this time I’m sure about what I heard. I feel it tightening in my belly.

  “Then why are we talking about chocolate?” My question rides on a wave of frustration.

  “Because I need to be sure.”

  That he wants me? If he still doubts that, there’s nothing I can do but give up. “Guess chocolate is a good alternative, then.”

  Dionysos’ expression falls, and he hangs his head. What’s the matter with this guy? Does he get a kick out of my rejecting his offers?

  If that’s the case, I’ll oblige him. “But not at this hour. It’s really late.”

  The most beatific smile splits his face, and his arms come up around me, locking me in a steely prison. One I wouldn’t mind spending hours in.

  “So you like me saying no to afterhours baking, huh?” I joke, because I need something to distract me from the silver irises swirling above me.

  Then he slants his mouth over mine, and I’m pretty fucking distracted.

  Chapter Ten - Dionysos

  Moira wants the soufflé. She’s practically salivating over it. And yet, she resisted when I offered to make it for her. Resisted although I was trying to get her to drop her defenses.

  Like Irine has been invulnerable to Sei’s mind-control since they first met, Moira isn’t affected by my powers. That can only mean this abandon with which she’s returning my kiss is solely borne of desire. She has free will, and she’s exercising it by sucking on my tongue and tugging on my jeans.

  My elation that this is possible—that it’s actually happening—is overshadowed only by my hunger for her.

  Fuck. I want her now. Here.

  She deserves better. Deserves a king-size bed with silken sheets, to say the least. And she can have it later, when I take her to the Glyfada Olympian Suites. For the moment, the closest horizontal surface will have to suffice, because I need to taste her like I need to breathe. More than I need to breathe—oxygen deprivation causes me no permanent harm.

  I lift her to me and carry her the three strides to the nearest table, mouths still locked together. She tastes like toothpaste, fresh and minty, and I take my time licking and nibbling on her bottom lip, before thrusting my tongue in her mouth again.

  I help her sit on the table, and my heart skitters when she withdraws from our kiss. Expression bordering on somber, she says, “Does this mean you accept my resignation?”

  Never. I’m never letting her go.

  Fuck, I’ll need to. Our link isn’t fully formed, and yet moments of my past with Ariadne seeped into Moira’s dreams. If we bond, she’ll know what I did. She’ll resent me forever.

  No bonding then. But she and I can have a relationship. Be together. I’ll happily turn monogamous for her. Hell, if Hermes could do it...

  I have enough presence of mind to not say any of that aloud. “No. You’d better be on time tomorrow, or I’ll have to punish you,” I tell Moira.

  She moans as if I’m already spanking her, and the sound goes straight to my hard dick. Trapping it in place by buttoning up seemed smart while we were just talking, but the denim digging into it now is pure torture. I want to free my erection, but won’t until I’ve made her come with my mouth.

  But can I take her, make love to her, without causing the bond to form? Double fuck. Bonding is supposed to take consciously pledging my love to her while we mate, but I can’t risk it. No sex until I talk to C about how we can do it without completing the bond.

  Triple fuck. Or zero fuck, to be more precise.

  Moira’s holding the towel in place and watching my face intently. She looks so vulnerable. If only she knew what power she holds over me...

  Maybe she does. The smile curving her lips as she unwraps the towel and lets the edges fall to the side says she has some inkling. “Oops. I dropped it.”

  “Remind me to punish you for that too.” It takes effort to form words—Chaos, to form thoughts—as I take in the golden softness of her belly and the supple breasts with the dusky nipples. Her every curve is made to fit my palms, and I let my gaze caress each line until it falls to the bare triangle between her legs. She’s so wet, I see her slickness covering her nether lips and inner thighs. All this for me, and I haven’t touched her yet.

  She laughs and tugs at my fly again, but I trap her wrists in one of mine, stopping her. “No. Not yet.” I sound like a freaking virgin on her first date—and Hermes would probably deem me sexist for even thinking that line.

  Oh great. Now I’m thinking of Hermes while I’m about to eat pussy.

  I lock my gaze on Moira’s. Silver swirls in her irises. It suits her. Pity I can’t see her eyes anymore once I lower my head to one perfect, puckered nipple. I flatten my tongue over it and suck more of her breast inside my mouth. This is what ambrosia must taste like. I palm her other breast and squeeze gently. Trap her nipple between two fingers and tug. Her gasp makes me do it again. I feel the tip pebbling further, as my dick hardens painfully. I straighten so I don’t sprain it, and watch her face as I cup my hands a hairbreadth from the perfect mounds. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of my not-a-touch, as if her skin itself rises to my caress. Her eyes are closed, her breath coming in short bursts.

  I claim her lips again and try the one thing I never expected to want to work—I think at her. “I want to taste you as you come. Feel your thighs squeezing my head.”

  She snaps her head back. Her eyes are open wide, the pupils blown. “How did you do that?”

  I can tell her the truth. Let her know who—what—I really am and how our fates are intertwined. I can do what neither of my bonded bros did, and ask what she wants before we go any further than kissing and groping. But the reason they didn’t talk things through with their mates was this imperative need to become one with them.

  Sei and Hermes described the feeling, but until this very moment, I couldn’t grasp its magnitude.

  With a last peck on Moira’s lips, I take a step back and shrug. “I never learned not to talk with a full mouth.” Chicken.

  She tilts her head, and one corner of her lips twitches. “Sounds like a talent I need to see more of.”

  As she sways her legs back and forth, I clasp the left one and lift. Her ass slides closer to the edge of the table, and she leans back with a startled giggle. “Hold on, you caveman.”

  Her giggle shuts off abruptly when I drop her leg. “Stay there,” I bark. If we don’t do anything more than this, I must make it memorable. I grab a bottle of chilled champagne from the fridge, the cold against my palm helping me focus on something other than how much I want to fuck her.

  I return to find Moira exactly where I left her, only looking around with a frown that melts when she takes me in.

  “Thought you left,” she says. In my head. Does she know she’s doing this?

  I hold up the bottle for her to see, before tilting it and twisting off the muselet. I can do this without the loud pop, but sometimes you need the extra oomph, and a little messiness is good. Gives me the chance to show her how long my tongue is, as I lick the bubbles cascading down the neck of the bottle.

  Moira jumps a little as the cork releases. Closes her legs. Worries her bottom lip with her teeth.

  I part her knees with one hand and step between them. “I want to drink this off you.”
>
  She hisses when the first drops of pale gold liquid land on her belly, but holds still until it forms a small pool around her navel. I lean in and use her body as a chalice, while I pour more champagne. I trail my tongue along one hipbone, then the other, worrying the flesh with my teeth while I drink my fill of her and the champagne. Moira sighs and moans and tilts her hips toward me. I could draw this out more, but if I don’t taste her now, I may go crazy.

  I drop to my knees and raise her left leg over my shoulder. Face centimeters from her glistening pussy, I inhale her scent. Earthy, with a hint of pine. She used my shower gel. Why does that get me even harder?

  I’ll end up with a busted cock if I don’t adjust—

  Fuck. My cock was just adjusted by an invisible hand. My invisible hand. I thought I should do it, and it was done. Let’s see if I can replicate that. I think of spreading Moira’s nether lips, and before my eyes, they part to reveal her swollen pearl. Her moan when I run an imaginary finger down her cleft says she feels my mental touch. And if I concentrate hard as I slide my nonexistent digit inside her, I feel her wet heat engulfing it.

  This offers a lovely array of possibilities to be explored, but for the moment... I take a swig straight from the bottle and carefully keeping it from spilling, wrap my lips around her clit. She bucks as I suck her and the liquid in. I dip my tongue—my real, actual tongue—between her labia, flick her clit, and pour another rivulet down her slit. Her hips come up, and I place my forearm across them to keep her in place as I lick her again, gathering the champagne and her juices and allowing her tangy, salty flavor to erupt on my taste buds along with the bubbles. She tastes like sunrise, and I’m ravenous.

  “Mmm...” I hum against her pussy and resume lapping at her, gliding my tongue from her opening to her clit. I flatten it and tap the tender button. Trap it with my teeth and rub it with the tip of my tongue. Push my tongue inside her pussy and feel her walls constrict. When I return my mouth to her clit, to suck on it, I slip my thumb inside her. Not to toot my own horn, but I have thick, long fingers, and I know how to use them.