by Lena Loneson
She had three small cups of ink prepared, each a different shade of purple. The middle one matched the plum of Jaime’s new hair. Then there was a deeper violet for the outline, nearly black, and light wisteria for the highlights. The vine leaf she’d asked for on her shoulder wouldn’t be the same as the god’s, with his additional touches of green and deep burgundy—the colors were all her own.
“Ready?” Talia asked.
Jaime nodded. Talia started the gun. The shrill sound filled the room, reminding Jaime of high school shop class. The artist in her had never liked cutting into wood. She wanted to make something, not destroy it. She breathed deeply and Dionysus squeezed her hand. But now, the sound was almost soothing. She imagined it cutting through the magical chains binding his wrists. She imagined it cutting through her own fears—fears of the pain, of the djinn, of commitment after the mess that was her life with Keith.
When the gun touched her shoulder, she held still. You can do it, James. It doesn’t hurt that bad. Okay, it does. It felt as if she had a sunburn, a blistering sunburn, and then Talia was scratching it with a nail. No, make that a rusty nail.
Talia had told her to focus on the pain. Embrace it, rather than try to block it out. Blocking it out never worked. She was aware of Dionysus murmuring something soothing in her ear. Her shoulder hurt like a motherfucker. What was he saying?
“Open your eyes, my silly love.”
She did. And when she looked at him and let her fear fall away, the pain went with it. Or rather, the pain filled her up, until it was a part of her, and she a part of it, so it didn’t hurt, it was just right. They were together. She could handle this. Hell, with a god at her side, she could handle anything. The pain became almost sensual. Between the tattoo, the sex that week, and painting again, Jaime hadn’t been this aware of her body for a while. She’d spent her days hunched over a computer screen for too long.
When Talia was finished, Jaime hopped off the chair and craned her neck to see the tattoo. It was beautiful. The vine leaf was done filigree-style, and it was lacy and delicate, feminine and artistic. Very different from the twisting, almost sinister vines on Dionysus’ arms. Her injured skin puffed red around it. Jaime couldn’t wait to see what it would look like fully healed.
“Your turn,” she said to the god beside her.
“Did it hurt that much?” he asked. She laughed. Dionysus had told her he scraped off his own skin with a razorblade. Surely he couldn’t be that scared of a little tattoo?
The paleness of his lips told her otherwise. She leaned in and kissed them.
“Okay, lovebirds, I got one more to do before I’m out of here.”
“Sorry,” Jaime said, but she wasn’t. Talia winked at her and Dionysus took the seat. This time, it was her turn to hold his hand. He twitched when the gun first touched his back. She wondered if he derived the same comfort from her touch as she had from his. The small smile on his lips told her the answer was yes. Jaime lost herself in his gaze until Talia tapped her on the shoulder.
“Sweeties, this is my last fill, and then you’re officially ink married.”
Just as Jaime had chosen a representation of him on her shoulder, the vine leaf, Dionysus had picked something for her. At first he’d wanted a computer tablet, which she’d instantly vetoed—it wouldn’t make a particularly artistic tattoo, no matter how happy he was that she’d introduced him to the Internet. They’d gone with an artist’s palette, done in a very light sepia, with paints of the seven colors of the rainbow spread out upon it, right at the small of his back.
Talia lowered the gun to his flesh once more, and Jaime caught her breath as the harsh sound filled the room again. When she pulled it back the last time, the room filled with mist—the same mist that had covered her bathtub the night they’d met. Jaime could barely see through it, so she leaned in close.
“What’s going on?” the artist asked, though her voice was curious rather than alarmed.
“Watch,” Jaime said. And they both did, as the vines on Dionysus’ arms came to life. The greens and purples became more brilliant than they even had been on his flesh. With a sucking sound, they pulled free of his skin. He grunted with pain and bright crimson blood streamed down his arms. Jaime held his hand tightly, feeling the blood wash down her hand.
When the mist lifted, the blood was gone, and the ink had turned into plants. Real vines wrapped themselves around his arms and up his shoulders, down to his wrists, trembling with new life.
“Holy fuck,” Talia said. “I thought I’d seen everything.” She stared at him in wonder and Jaime knew that stunned but thrilled look was mirrored on her own face.
“Dee,” she said. “I think you’re free.” She looked at him for confirmation, and he untwisted one of the vines from his arms. It fell free, down to the floor. He did the other arm, and the two vines twined together before burrowing into the tattoo parlor’s floor and disappearing.
“I think you’re right,” he said in a soft whisper, as if he were afraid to acknowledge his dream out loud.
They took the garbage bag off the nearest mirror and waited. All they saw within was their own smiling reflection.
“Well. That was a trip,” Talia said. It was a serious understatement.
“Are you going to be okay?” Dionysus asked. “I can help you forget what you’ve seen.”
“I’d never want to forget this, sweeties.”
They said their goodbyes, Jaime hugging the artist lightly, and promising to come back for a visit and portfolio photos when their ink had healed.
When they reached Jaime’s house, she smiled shyly at him on the doorstep. Then she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “I have one more fantasy.”
“What is it, love?”
“I’d like my new husband to take me inside and fuck me like he’s never going to leave me.”
“I’ll never lea—”
Her mouth captured his before he could finish the promise. “No foreplay this time,” she murmured against his lips, their teeth clacking together. He whimpered his assent and plunged a hand into her purple hair, twisting her around and pressing her against the front door. She fumbled at the lock as his mouth worked its way down her neck. Their skin smelled of blood and disinfectant. She was soaking wet and ready for him.
She closed the door behind them and pulled him to the bedroom, taking down the covering from one of her mirrors so she could watch herself with him. Their bodies moved as one in the glass, her new purple hair wild and mixing with his dark curls. Dionysus pressed her front against the bed and she leaned into it, her breasts rubbing against the blankets.
Dionysus scraped his teeth down the back of her neck, avoiding the freshly inked and bandaged area on her shoulder. She pressed her ass firmly into his waist, grinding against his growing erection. His mouth was everywhere—on her neck, grunting in her ear, biting down on her uninked shoulder. She reached down and pulled up the skirt of her sundress. His hands pulled her panties off and she kicked them free of her legs.
When he thrust deeply inside her it was as shocking as the first play of the tattoo gun across her skin. She slammed her ass back against him, wanting it to hurt. She felt completely alive, and needed to bind them in flesh as well as in ink. As his cock thrust into her again and again, his other hand played at her clit, first teasing her nerves lightly, then squeezing and gripping with no rational pattern.
She caught a glimpse of them again in the mirror—just them, no one else, and nothing to fear. Her hair splayed out messily like an aureole around her head, his shirt soaked through with sweat, her face flushed pink with pleasure. The only thing she could hear was them, her moans, his balls slamming into her ass with every thrust.
He came before she did this time, filling her with his semen, and still his cock pulsed inside her, he drove her to completion with his fingers against her sweet spot, flicking softly at the nub of nerve endings, then moving faster as she gasped her encouragement. The orgasm started at her clit and spread outward,
down to her toes, hovering in the pain of her tattooed shoulder.
When they were finished, they collapsed together on the bed, the ache of released pleasure between Jaime’s legs as strong a sensation as the pain of the fresh ink on her shoulder. She fell asleep without fear this time, ready to start her life with him, and looking forward to an infinite number of fantasies.
About the Author
Lena Loneson is pretty much a Canadian cliché: she complains when the temperature rises above zero, says “Eh?” far too often, and loves her beer and poutine. However, she somehow missed the memo on learning to play hockey, so she constantly lives in fear of deportation. Please don’t report her to the Mounties so she can continue to write stories about love and sex in snowbanks, forests, canoes, and maybe one day (if she gets a chance) atop the CN Tower.
Lena’s favorite erotic romance stories are those with a bit of the unusual: you’ll see her reading and writing a lot of paranormal, sci-fi, fantasy, and horror. Other hobbies include playing piano, walking large dogs, searching the forests for unicorns (they *must* exist!) and anything outdoorsy.
Lena loves to hear from readers, so please check out her website or drop her an email!
Lena welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Lena Loneson
Alpha Mountie
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
God of Ecstasy
ISBN 9781419941047
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
God of Ecstasy Copyright © 2012 Lena Loneson
Edited by April Chapman
Cover design by Fiona Jayde
Photos: Hotdamndesigns.com, Sgrigor, Konstantine and Yuri Arcurs/Shutterstock.com
Electronic book publication July 2012
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