In Pursuit of Prey: Of Gods and Consorts, Book 1

by Savannah Jordan

  However, this is Mace’s time, his chosen place, and it would look bad if I ripped the man’s lips off and fed them to him. Mace doesn’t act on his obvious anger though, choosing instead to remain by my side.

  “Sorry,” Mace deadpans. “One time only. But maybe your sister’ll give you a little action.”

  The antagonist’s jaw drops. Then, seeming to favor an appearance of intellect, he snaps it shut again.

  The palpable tension eases in my consort, he unfurls his fist and draws me to his hip. Pausing for a moment, he gives the loudmouth an opportunity to answer the barb. The man sways on his feet, blinks, opens and then closes his mouth. With a wave of his hand, he refuses to engage in verbal battle. Mace snorts, laughs and then says, “Well, then, maybe not.”

  Laughter can be healthy or harmful. This time Mace’s laughter hit as hard as a fist.

  I once led pharaohs into battle, slinging arrows of flame to vanquish all enemies. Times have changed. Mace has every capability of dealing that man serious physical harm, but he chose better. I pull closer to him, appreciating him all the more for his sensibility.

  Wrapped in each other, we lurch through the door. I let my predator out and pin Mace to the outside wall. A surprised breath woofs from his lungs, then he makes a moaning sound deep in his throat when I run one hand along his chest, his stomach, and then stroke the tightening bulge in his jeans. Taking a cue from my aggression, he growls and fists his hands in my hair and pulls my mouth to his.

  The kiss is deep, his tongue in my mouth, me biting his lip. He frees one hand from my head and glides it down my back to squeeze my ass.

  I stroke him harder, moving from his lips to kiss a path down his neck. Mace groans, low and throaty, then says, “We’ve got to stop this.” At my pouty expression, he gives me an awkward grin and hitches at his pants. “These jeans are getting uncomfortable enough as it is.”

  “That is not a problem.” I take his hand and lead him toward my darkened alley. “I don’t plan on leaving you in those clothes long. You can bathe at the Temple. Or…” I trail a fingertip down his chest and stop just short of his denim-clad erection. “I can bathe you…”

  “A bath would be good. But I don’t have any clean clothes…”

  “Little consequence,” I say. “I can create servants for the laundry.”

  “Wait a minute. What kind of Temple are you talking about?”

  “Mine.”

  “You own a hotel named The Temple? Or you are a goddess with a Temple?”

  “The latter,” I answer.

  Mace stops dead, as though running hard up against a wall of reality. His fingers loosen their grip. His eyebrows pinch together. I sense a war in him, desire fighting some kind of hesitation. Before he can second-guess his, or my, intentions, I turn toward him. I bring my palms, pulsing with red light, up beside his temples. I hold his gaze, reaching in, trying to burn out the fear I see vining through him like the black thread once had.

  “Do not be afraid.”

  He’s silent.

  His cocoa irises cloud over with questions. My only answer for him is silence and the sick, twisting sensation I know results from touching my flaming hands to his head. Humans aren’t made for realm travel. Mace’s gorgeous eyes roll, then he slumps against the brick wall.

  Our bodies deliquesce and disappear…

  Chapter Six

  The Prey

  Spinning. So damn dizzy. Every vein burns like someone filled them with acid.

  I focus on slow, deep breaths, in and out. Each breath drags in the spicy perfume of the blonde goddess who had already worked her way into my heart. Whose hands caught fire. Who pressed that red flame into me and set my body burning, and then pumped my melted mass through a giant funnel.

  At least that’s what it felt like.

  Oh, fuck me. This is worse than any morning after Naami stole moments of my life.

  I let out a groan. And peel open my eyes.

  Holy crap.

  I’m not leaning on a wall, I’m flat on my back. Plumes of incense drift over my face. Pale sandstone walls replace pitted concrete. Then temporal vertigo hits, and I slam shut my eyes. This place is not a street corner in Michigan, and it’s not nighttime. Heat and light fill this place, press on my skin and eyelids, zing in the lines of my tattoos. No no no no… Disbelief runs through my mind, snipping my thoughts into ribbons of nonsense.

  Where the—?

  How in the fuck—?

  Just who in the hell—?

  I can’t believe this. And then one coherent thought: Does any of it matter?

  No woman has made me feel the way she does—sickness of the moment aside. She’s a need pumping in my blood, a craving, itching on every nerve. The “goddess” has grown into the sun my pathetic rock-singer life wants to orbit around.

  “Where the hell…” I mutter, then wipe a hand across my forehead. She’s kneeling by me, her full lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed in a look of concern. “Where the hell have you brought me?”

  “I told you once already,” the gorgeous blonde purrs, “that you would not be in hell. This is my Temple.”

  She stands, her jeans and black tank top totally out of place here. I can just imagine how wrong I look in her life. Sheer curtains billow in a hot breeze, polished stone floors spread wall to wall. Gold shines on altars, burgundy pillows fill a bed and most of the seats. Metal baskets cling to the walls, exhaling scented smoke.

  The goddess sighs, a wistful smile plays on her lips. She’s home, I can read it in the energy she puts off. She’s more…powerful here. There’s nothing muting her magick. Her arms lift, an almost casual motion. Shimmers in the colors of sunlight and red wine swirl around her body, glowing like fire and smelling like cinnamon and ginger.

  There’s no longer room to question her divinity. Or that Naami will rip what’s left of my life out through my ass when Jeneva tells her who I’m sleeping with.

  “Temple…” I sit and take in the ancient Egyptian shrine. It’s still so hard to believe. It’s a holier, elevated version of my bedroom. It’s…impossible. “So, you’re really a goddess? No playing around?”

  “No playing around.” She nods. “Except for me playing with you.”

  She steps forward, her intent on my seduction screaming from her. Damn my heart for racing. This can’t be real. I’m Mace Reynard, from Michigan, nobody special. And I sure as hell don’t fall for ancient goddesses.

  Scratch that noise. Who am I trying to kid? Despite it all, my heart knows the truth, and my cock agrees. Impossibilities aside, I still want her. She hesitates at my knees, an obvious indecision shadowing her sexy smile. Still, she drags her fingernails up my thighs. Little electric jolts shock my groin, and then she pauses with her fingers at my fly.

  “What’s stopping you now, Goddess?”

  “Nothing.” She tips her chin down, her voice all breathy and her eyes in that sexy come-and-get-it angle. “I promised you respite from these clothes, did I not? And a shower…”

  “You hinted at washing me…”

  “So true.”

  With one elegant hand held up, she snaps her fingers. To my slack-jawed surprise, a servant—tan skin, white linen wrapping his waist, shaved head—snaps into existence out of nothing. He looks like a 3D version of one of those hieroglyphs, only with straight legs and arms, not bent limbs at funky angles. He eyes me, then bows to his mistress and stokes the flames beneath a cauldron high up on the wall in the corner. He backs away and moves behind a curtain.

  The mental me is still fighting to make sense of it all, so I let the physical me take over. My dick has done me wrong before, but this goddess is everything right.

  “Follow me,” she says. Dizziness whooshes in my skull for a second when the goddess takes my hand and tugs me to my feet. It adds another layer to being turned on, almost heightens it. Like that’s necessary…

  She leads me toward the corner, the steaming cauldron and what could only be the goddess’s shower. Deep red
curtains spill like liquid from the ceiling to land on the floor and wall off the area when she pulls on a gold cord. Flames jump to life with a snap of her fingers and dance in sconces on the wall, their light as gold and warm as the glow from the goddess’s eyes.

  Blood surges just with her stepping closer. The warmth of her cheek touches mine, her breath bathes my neck. But nothing makes contact. The connection we’d forged the first night builds and spreads, from a single thread to a mesh net pulling me into her without moving.

  Her breath tickles when she inhales. I’m not sure if mine penetrates her wild mane of hair, but when I draw her in I smell magick and musk and spice. This close, without touching, smelling her skin while my head is buzzing… God, it’s an aphrodisiac for my dick. Blood surges, pushing against my veins. My want careens into craving, the craving crashes into need.

  I break the spell first, sliding my hands up her back, then down and curl my fingers under the hem of her tank top. The goddess follows my cue, hooking her fingers in the beltline of my jeans.

  Lust takes on a life of its own, uncoiling and filling me.

  Burying my face in her neck, I pull up.

  She pulls down.

  Both of us stop here. After all we’ve done in clothes, even half-naked we’ve crossed some barrier, and there’s no going back.

  Her skin is smooth, glowing and perfect. My mouth waters to explore her curves. But it’s the goddess’s eyes, and the fire there, that bewitches me. The power, and unbridled passion for me, rides my nerves and slams into my heart.

  I drop my chin, step out of my jeans and touch her cheek. Eyelashes sweep down when she closes her eyes and presses her face into my hand. It’s such a tender thing my heart jackrabbits in my chest, runs laps on my ribcage. When her eyes open, the rest of our clothes come off in a heated rush. Stepping back, fingertips brushing the skin of her shoulder, I admire her body in its naked glory.

  “Oh, my goddess…”

  Zipper teeth chatter across the tile when I kick the pile of our clothes underneath the curtains and out of the way. She radiates hunger, the tilt of her eyes offering me…everything.

  She’s a goddess, but I’m taking control.

  Her skin brushes my dick when I push her back to the wall. She lets out a surprised breath. Tension dances in her muscles, and her eyes say she’s used to being in charge. Well, not this time.

  I lean on her chest, pinning her to the sandstone while I explore her body by hand, learning her flesh and what makes her respond. High, round breasts, her nipples tightening beneath my fingers. Her hips and ass such a delicious ride for my fingertips. Then I ease my hands down her stomach, her pelvis and beyond. She catches a breath, eyelashes sinking closed when I slide my fingers over her hidden lips.

  Instead of letting her moan, I drink that breath and kiss her. Her lips are ready, part for my tongue. Her hair whispers over my skin when I bury a hand in it and curl my fingers.

  A feather of energy on my inner compass tells me she submits and surrenders the reins of control.

  She gasps, and her eyes light with excitement when I yank a gold rope from the curtains and tie the goddess’s hands—wrist to wrist—together. Then, I lash it to a length of gold pipe on the wall, hands above her head.

  Brain off, dick on, I tour her body with my hands and mouth. I touch and taste the warmth of her skin, the sweet of her lips, the firm brown tips of her breasts, anything and everything to make her react. At my mercy, she twitches, moans, tugs on the cord binding her wrists.

  I kiss her nipple, rubbing that sensitive skin with a hint of mustache stubble, and she shudders. My breath bounces from her skin when I say, “I like you like this.”

  “And I love you like this.”

  “Good.”

  Using her shoulders, I spin the bound goddess to face the wall. Above her I notice a shelf of blown glass bottles.

  “What’s in the bottles?” I ask, one hand on her breast, rubbing the erect nipple, the other teasing her clit.

  “Oils,” she gasps.

  Pressing my pelvis to the round curve of her ass, I sniff bottle after bottle. My cock does the choosing. The stopper comes out of a bottle of sweet spicy oil, like the smell of her throat after the concert. Lilies and lust. One deep sniff and my erection grows and hardens in response.

  Oh hell yeah. “That’s the one.”

  I pour the oil into my hand, not even surprised when it magically replenishes itself in the bottle. The smell blooms in the heat of my hand, filling the space. Using the oil, and my body, I massage the goddess: Shoulders down to her calves, then back up, with the head of my cock sliding along the cleft between her legs. She sighs, wriggles back, buttocks sliding on my cock.

  Oh God yeah. Temptation whets my appetite, and I want to ride into her.

  I’m not ready for that yet.

  “No-no.” I smack her ass, then turn her to face me. “Naughty Goddess.”

  Her gold eyes are wild with desire, a high blush pinks her cheeks, and her lips droop in a sexy pout.

  She purrs when I kiss her hard and take that full bottom lip between my teeth. I slide my oiled hands in circular patterns over her sides, her arms and legs, then her breasts. She tugs at the rope, muttering something in ancient Egyptian that sounds like a prayer when I trace wet, gliding patterns down her stomach, over her navel and below.

  My fingers slip over the edges of her slick opening, tease a little deeper and stroke her clit. The goddess groans. And I like that.

  “Water?” I ask. I might be done with the oil, but I’m not through with her.

  Biting her lip, she points to a lever beside the pipe I’ve tied her to. A stone aqueduct stretches overhead and terminates in a gold mesh above our heads.

  Warm water cascades over us when I flip the lever.

  I watch it course down her body, slicking her curves into a kinky slip-and-slide.

  Using a natural sponge from the shelf of oils, I wash the goddess, excruciatingly aware of my dick touching her here, riding her thigh there. Following a rivulet of water down her body, I lick her skin, suck at each nipple. A hint of the oil remains, sweet and spicy and possibly magick, the way my jock reacts.

  Then, one knee on the shower floor, and one up to support her foot and give me access to her pussy, I kneel before the goddess.

  Her body glistens, her hair hangs in a thick tangle of wet curls, her panting breath passing her open lips. I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful. Never had a more erotic moment, knowing I’m worshipping at the feet of a goddess and she’s mine. Our connection burns brighter then her eyes and as hot as the sex between us.

  Smiling, I skim the lips of her pussy with my fingers, brush circles over her clit until she moans. Then I ease my shoulder under her thigh and blow a breath across her sensitive flesh. The moans shifts to a mix of ancient Egyptian and panting and pleading in English. I see her hands clench around the rope when I stroke my fingers just inside the edge of her crease. Then I close my eyes, separate those edges and lick her cunt.

  The goddess repositions her leg on my shoulder, using it to drag my face closer. I smile on her lips, then plunge my tongue into her heat. Adopting a rhythm of tongue and touch, cunt and clit, I reduce the goddess to a clinging, writhing woman. Her hips take on a counter rhythm, rocking along with the pleasure I’m giving her.

  “Mace,” never sounded more like a prayer than when she whimpers it. And God knows I love every minute. Making her moan makes my cock harder, balls tighter.

  Her body’s so close to orgasm, it throbs with each press and retreat.

  “No,” she groans, “not like this.”

  “No?” I echo. Another lick. Another tremble of her body.

  “N-no…” Her body begs, though, she wants it so bad I can taste it on her.

  Another press of my tongue, deeper this time, followed by two fingers. Breath catches in her throat, her thighs shake.

  “Not like this,” she pants. “Please, Mace.”

  “The goddess of sexua
l heat asks?”

  I blow across her pussy to watch her writhe.

  “I do.” She yanks on the rope binding her hands. “I ask…”

  I hold her foot with one hand, then crouch before her. Hooking that ankle, I lift her leg and stand, guiding my cock along the inside of her thigh, then into her. Her pussy envelops my shaft. Snug, wet, and then she thrusts it down on me…

  “Oh God,” I groan.

  Now I’m the one fighting for control.

  Every nerve is on fire, veins of my erection distended and soaking in her heat, screaming the need for release. I pull nearly out, just the tip of my cock in, feeling every beat of her heart in my skin, every clench of muscles so close to orgasm. Then I ride up and deeper into the goddess.

  I shudder.

  So does she.

  I struggle against the need to finish. Then can’t, and give in to the primal drive, riding the agonizing waves of pleasure. She wraps her leg around me, writhing on my jock in twitchy thrusts, clawing at the rope tethering her. She gives up, collapses against me. I brace our doubled weight on the wall with one hand, thrusting as she cries out for more.

  Then her head tips back, her eyes roll shut when she comes. Her muscles tighten around me as she climaxes, her sexual heat supernovas around my cock, and I lose any grip I had and come too.

  Groaning, I fumble with the knot and free the goddess from her shredded bonds. Her arms drop over my back, and we slide as one down the wall of the shower. My chest heaves as I suck in air, my breath hoarse as I pant.

  The goddess, however, purrs contentedly, curls her arms and legs around me. She kisses my cheek and whispers, “I knew I chose you for a reason.”

  Chapter Seven

  The Goddess

  I droop in Mace’s arms. No god or demigod, no mortal or created lover, ever made me feel like this. Satisfied. But more than that, the connection we’ve made is soul-deep. It’s as if he strode from Nun, the primordial waters of creation, made for me.