She shrugs. “I’m the only single one this year, so yay me, I got the Valentine’s Day gig.”
“Well, I’m currently out of work entirely,” I mutter, “so you’re one up on me.”
“What did you do?”
“Hmm?”
“Your job? What did you do?”
“Oh. I shot people,” I mumble, twirling my glass between my fingers. Then I see the look on her face. Shit, maybe I’m drunker than I thought. “Tattoo gun, you know. Bit of a joke.” Which is total bullshit. Artie’s the tattoo artist, not me. I couldn’t draw pretty pictures to save my life.
She blinks, then frowns down at my unmarked arms. I smile and quickly change the subject.
“So what’s your name anyway?” She’s not wearing a name tag, I already looked.
“It’s Katie.”
“Just Katie?”
“Yeah.” She gives me a strange look. “What’s yours?”
“Call me Cue, everyone does.”
“Okay, Q. I feel like I’m in a Bond movie.” She giggles again. Giggling women usually drive me around the bend, but she sounds so damn cute I don’t have the heart to correct her. “Except I should have a code name, like Pussy Galore. Maybe I could go with Lady Vajayjay.”
“Or Sugar Punani.”
“Cha-Cha Boink.”
“Bearded Clam.”
She snorts the rest of her shot and has such a coughing fit I lean over and smack her lightly between the shoulder blades. She’s more delicate than she looks, the fragility under my fingers giving me pause. I slide back onto my stool as she pulls away. By the time she catches her breath, a group of guys is hollering for a round of beer.
When Katie finally gets back to my side of the bar, she’s shaking her head at me. “Bearded Clam is an awful nickname for a vagina and not at all sexy. Besides, I’ll have you know I wax. Thoroughly.”
“Silky Pearl, then.”
“Oh my god, quit.”
“I could go all night.”
She raises an eyebrow before getting called away again.
The flirting was automatic, or so I try to tell myself as I watch her go, sipping my tequila and feeling a flicker of interest from my cock. Which is nuts. I don’t do cute. Or freckles. Or strawberry blonds. I’m a purist. Red should be flaming, rich and dark. Blond should be pale gold or silver. Not a rosy pale copper that is neither one nor the other. And that riot of curls is ridiculous. I prefer sleek and smooth.
Dat ass though.
It’s round and pert, almost a perfect heart shape. The denim clings to her curves so intimately that it’s no stretch at all to imagine her naked, bent over this bar and—
Well, that’s it. Now I’m hard.
She glances over her shoulder as if she can feel my eyes on her. Her eyebrow rises when our gazes meet, like she’s catching a glimpse of the R-rated movie playing in my head. Her nose wrinkles, making that dusting of freckles dance as she sticks her tongue out at me.
I laugh and shrug, making myself look back into the crowd. Pushing the cute, coltish bartender out of my head. Or trying to.
Because now I’m wondering if she has freckles on her ass, too.
I had intended to keep bar crawling until I passed out, but somehow I end up staying at Pandora’s Box for the rest of the night. There’s something about that bright-haired bartender that keeps my ass on the barstool even as customers straggle out one by one, letting in a swirl of sage-scented desert air with every exit.
I ponder the attraction as the night goes on. Maybe it’s because she’s a contradiction from head to toe. Tall and willowy, but with an ass to make men weep. Eyes that don’t know if they want to be blue or green. At first glance, she seems a bit of a hayseed, innocent and unpolished, but her wit is honed to a razor-sharp city edge. Even her name makes no sense. What self-respecting millennial chooses to go by Katie? It should be Katt or Kateryna or something equally obnoxious and trendy.
Two a.m.
It’s just me and her and some dude singing “I Want to Know What Love Is” to himself in a corner. She escorts him out, patting his shoulder and then handing him his coat before shutting the door.
“Do I need to call the cops to see you out, Q?” Her gaze is watchful and cool as she hits a switch. Outside, the flickering neon fades to black.
“Nice try. But you don’t want me to go anywhere.”
“Don’t I?” she says as I approach, watching me from under suddenly lowered lashes.
“Nope.” I shove her against the door. She gives a little gasp as it rattles in its frame, as if she didn’t expect me to be rough. But she likes it. Her eyes dilate and her lips part.
She likes it even more when I pin her wrists above her head and slant my mouth over hers.
Chapter Two
It’s been a while since I’ve tasted a woman, and damn, Katie tastes good. Hot and sweet and eager.
Minutes later, I’m knocking the peanut bowls off the closest table with a sweep of my arm, while my other sets her on the newly cleared four-top. She’s got both of those long legs wrapped around my waist, the heels of her boots hitting my ass. Then her fingers are in the hem of my shirt, yanking it over my head. I groan as her nails skate over my skin.
“Mmm.” She leans back to get a better look at me, eyes going heavy lidded and soft. “Not bad, Q. Not bad at all. But do you deliver in other areas as well?” Her cool little fingers dance over my stomach, making the muscles there tighten before she drops to tease the waistband of my jeans.
“You’ll see soon enough. First, it’s my turn.” I pull her tank off, frowning at the bar’s pink logo before I toss it behind me. My eyes go wide. Her taste in lingerie is straight-up sex kitten.
She’s wearing a see-through black bra that laces up like the corsets of old. Her tits are small but perfect and covered with freckles. I smile as I run a finger along the top of one lacy cup. “You are just full of surprises, Katie.”
She shivers, nipples tightening and lips parting.
Another inconsistency to investigate further. Her bottom lip is full and sweet, her upper one a thin swoosh of pink. I kiss her again, nibbling on them both, cupping and squeezing those sweet tits until she’s twisting in my arms.
“Stop playing. I need you inside me,” she demands. “Now.”
Fuck. This woman turns me on.
She’s frank and straightforward, not the slightest bit of shame to her. But even with how blunt she is, she’s not crude. She’s open and giggly sweet and just her. Katie.
And right now, I want Katie so much I ditch my plan to make her crazy.
She wants to fuck, we’ll fuck.
Then something occurs to me through my liquor-and-lust-fueled brain. Shit.
“I don’t have a condom.” Maybe it’s my daddy issues, but I’m a little hyper about safe sex. I don’t plan to ever have a kid I don’t know about. And the thing about gods is, we’re potent, especially where humans are concerned. The disappointment that hits my gut is sharp as I try to step back. But Katie’s legs tighten around my waist, holding me in place.
“I have one.” She sits up and slides a hand down her calf and into her boot. Then she holds up the familiar brand name that always makes me want to roll my eyes even as relief makes me grin. Odysseus’s clever trick turned into an even cleverer punch line.
“You have a condom in your boot?”
“I’m a safety girl,” she singsongs at me with a wink. I know that’s from a movie, but I can’t remember which one. It doesn’t matter. I try to snatch the wrapper from her, but she yanks it back. “Let me.”
Dammit, if she puts it on me, I may finish all over her fingers. But I grit my teeth and nod. “Fine.”
She rips it open with her teeth, then spits the torn pieces on the floor. “Let me see what you got, Ace.”
Shaking my head, I unzip and shove my pants down my thighs. I’m so hard it hurts, and there’s a pleasant, heavy tingle in my balls. She looks from my swollen cock to me, then back again.
> “I don’t carry Magnum.”
I can’t help it. I laugh so hard I choke. “I’m sure it’ll fit,” I finally manage.
“I’m not,” she mutters, and I don’t think she’s talking about the condom anymore. But then her hands are on me, warm and soft and I can’t breathe. It takes everything I have not to thrust into that sweet pressure.
“Hurry.” I’m like an untried kid instead of a god who can remember when the Coliseum was a vacant lot. I’ve had hundreds of women—thousands, not to put too fine a point on it—and I can’t remember the last one that made me feel like this.
As soon as her fingers leave my cock, I’m pushing her back on the table. Stripping her jeans away, throwing her boots under the table, I grab one of those long, long legs and draw her ankle up to my shoulder. She curls her toes around the back of my neck.
“You’re bendy. I like that quality in a woman,” I growl as I line myself up.
“And you’re thick,” she gasps as I thrust. “Which is my absolute favorite quality in a man.”
“Except that quality is now in you.”
I shove a few inches deeper and both our eyes roll back. Damn, that feels good.
“Technically, yes.” Her nails scrabble at the table. “But less talking. More fucking.”
So I shut up and do as the lady asks, driving hard and fast until the table is shaking under us. But Katie is shaking harder. She really is incredibly flexible, and it’s hot as fuck. I’m bending her nearly in half. She’s got one ankle wrapped around my neck, her heel banging into my spine, while her other leg is clenched around my ass as I drive into her over and over.
One of my hands has a death grip on the table, the other on her calf, fingers digging in hard enough I know I’m going to leave marks, but I can’t help it. Usually I have more finesse, but with her I’ve turned into a mindless machine, unable to focus on anything except the sweet warm pussy wrapped around my cock, and the gorgeous body trembling under mine. Her tits bounce with every one of my thrusts, still tangled up in her bra, one nipple covered up, the other exposed, a dark and tempting treat.
I let go of her leg and manage to lean forward and roll the taut tip between my fingers. She comes unglued, writhing and crying out. Cursing, I rip the fabric off of her, needing more of those sweet, desperate sounds. I cover her tit in my hand, squeezing the firm, silky flesh roughly. Shifting my rhythm, I pull back, from fast and hard to slow and grinding, circling my hips as she starts to pant.
“Oh my god, Q, that’s it. Don’t stop.”
She slides her hand between us, spreading her pussy without an ounce of shyness, touching herself as she looks directly into my eyes. “Make me come. I want to come so hard all over your beautiful, thick cock.”
She circles her clit faster as I watch. Her nails are dark and short and soon coated with her juices. Now I’m the one panting for air. Fuck. This woman.
I spread her thighs wide as I go deep. Deeper than before, lifting her ass off the table. Her fingers are moving frantically now and I think she’s coming, but the roaring in my ears is drowning out every sound but the beat of my heart.
So fucking good. Why did I stop having sex again?
I can’t remember, but as I thrust one more time and her muscles latch on to me, slick and hot, I reacquaint myself with paradise. She screams and the sound sets me off.
Like someone pulled a ripcord, the orgasm tears through me, my thighs and ass clenching so hard I couldn’t pull back if I wanted to, and damn if I want to.
By the time the last shiver fades away, I’m wondering if I could stay between these freckled thighs until morning. With a lazy smile, I look down to check on Katie. Her hair is tangled over her face, rosy strands obscuring her eyes. Those pretty pink lips are parted, her breathing as fast and shallow as mine.
We’re so tangled up in each other I almost can’t tell where I end and she begins. Finally she wriggles and I realize I’m crushing her.
“Fuck. Sorry.” I ease back and she takes a deep breath.
“Oh, that was nothing to be sorry for, Ace.” Smiling up at me, she makes no move to cover herself. Both of us shiver as I pull out, yanking my jeans half up to cross the room and take care of the spent condom.
When I get back, she’s leaning back on her elbows, watching me with a gleam in her eyes. “Nice to see the back is almost as fine as the front.”
I shake my head, lips twitching. “Almost? Should I take that as an insult?”
Her gaze falls to my half-hard dick. “Definitely not.”
Her breath hitches as I start to swell under her appreciative gaze, letting my jeans fall again.
“I think you have a magic cock,” she whispers. “Do you see what it’s doing?”
“I see.” I laugh as I step between her thighs again. I stroke myself, watching her face. “I think it likes you.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, I like it right back.”
With my other hand, I run my fingers over her silky-smooth mound and watch her shiver. “And I like this.”
She smiles, but her eyes are heavy lidded with disappointment even as she arches into my touch, thighs trembling. “I only had the one condom, Q.”
“That is unfortunate,” I murmur, easing a finger inside her slick, wet heat. As she whimpers and clenches tight, the fierce and sudden urge to sink my bare cock inside her nearly overwhelms me.
I curse and pull my finger from her, fighting to get ahold of myself. Am I losing it after one taste of pussy in a few years? Incredible pussy, but still . . .
“I guess that’s good night, then, eh?” Katie scoots to the edge of the table while I just stand there, pants around my ankles, my hard cock bobbing between us.
Fuck that.
“In a minute.” I spin her around, then push her back down over the table, face-first this time, running a hand down her spine before grabbing one sweetly rounded ass cheek. “I need to check one thing before I go, satisfy a little curiosity of mine.”
“What’s that?”
“Whether or not you have freckles on your ass.” I lean back, fisting my cock nice and slow, watching her squirm. “And, Pearl, you are covered in them.”
And about to be covered in something else.
“Pearl, huh?” She giggles, the sound breathless and low.
“Well, you didn’t lie about the waxing.” I slide my fingers between her legs and cup that smooth little pussy. “So, Silky Pearl it is. And Pearl, I’ve got this sudden urge to come all over your ass.”
She shivers. “And what do I get out of this sudden urge of yours?”
I slide two fingers inside her this time, giving a hard smile as she pushes back into my touch with a high-pitched whine. “Another world-class orgasm.”
“World-class, did you say?” Her voice has gone all breathy and ragged.
“Yes,” I whisper as I find that rough little patch in her tight channel and she moans. “I fucking did.”
Chapter Three
I love living in Vegas.
It’s hot and dry, like home, only without any of the relatives. Usually. But less than a week after Artie’s Valentine’s Day visit, there’s a knock on my door.
The guy on my step is leaner than me but almost as tall, with dark hair buzzed close to his scalp on one side and falling in spiky layers halfway down his back on the other. He’s got more holes in him than one of my sister’s targets and they’re mostly filled with various bits of metal and glass. I’ve always suspected Merc requires magic to get through airport security.
He’s also inked from head to toe, and most of it is Artie’s work.
“How’s my favorite nephew doing?” He wraps me in a hard hug before stomping over my threshold in his motorcycle boots as if he owns the place.
My uncle, Mercury. I turn to watch him, folding my arms and trying to figure out what is going on and pretty sure I’m not going to like it.
I have three “uncles.”
Mercury, Hephaestus . . . and Ares. Which means, of course,
that Ares is both my uncle and my sort-of stepfather. My family is more than a bit twisted.
Zeus adopted Mom when she was a teenager. She was his mistress Leto’s child and he gave her a home on Olympus, such as it was before Hera killed her mother. But even Zeus’s mad queen never dared touch Aphrodite, at least directly. Mom was everyone’s favorite—and that definitely included Zeus’s sons. All of them.
It’s rumored the three brothers fell in love with her on sight. I’ve even heard that my aunt Athena was enamored, but Ares was the sibling that succeeded in seducing Mom. Darker whispers say he raped her, but Mom has never given me a hint either way. Then again, she wouldn’t. She knows I’d have to try and kill him, and we both know that’s a fight I’d lose. Most of the time, though, I don’t think it’s true. She despises Ares, but I also get the impression she pities him.
Things aren’t quite as complicated with my other two uncles. Hephaestus is cool, but he keeps himself very much to himself. Which is to be expected when most of the world sees him as a hideous demon. I couldn’t tell you the last time Uncle Heph left his forge. Mercury, however, is a lot like me. Sometimes he seems more at home in the mortal world than out of it.
Besides Artie, Uncle Merc’s my favorite relative. But that doesn’t mean him dropping by without warning is welcome.
“What’s going on?” I shut the door and step inside. He’s examining the salt-water fish tank that fills one wall, stroking the glass with a long finger that flashes with rings.
“Got this charity gig tonight. Figured I’d ask if you wanted to check it out.”
Merc’s a rock star, literally, as lead guitar player for Caduceus. Their style is punk fused with badass blues and a little bit of raunchy soul. They sell out shows in every city on the map and some off it. The other musicians in the band are human, but his backup singers are the Fates. My uncle and those witches go way back.
I frown. “I didn’t hear anything about you guys being in town.”
“Last-minute deal.” He shrugs, then turns around, two tickets with the flaming golden wings that are Caduceus’s logo in his hand. “Got anyone you might want to bring along?”
Cupid's Bow Page 2
