Kles battles to steady us.
The whirlpool disorients me, pressing down on us with the full strength of the sea.
Somehow, Medusa was given control of the waters, a perfect insult to the dead god that once ruled them, and she wields it with impunity in her final act. Maybe we can’t suffocate to death, yet if we can’t break free, we can end up trapped for an interminable amount of time in this watery hell.
No telling where the ocean will take us. How deep.
My mind engages with the harrowing scenario. A sense of irrational panic is birthed. Some fates are worse than death, I know that better than most. Would rather die than be trapped indefinitely in the sea.
I’m spiraling into the fear-induced scenes, until out of nowhere, the waters become calm.
Thoroughly so.
I’m lifted into the air, all but flung onto a sandy bank. Once again coughing water, I swipe my sodden hair out of my eyes.
Kles’ marked hands sink into the rock wall on the edge of the shore and he lifts himself out of the ocean.
My tongue practically rolls out of my mouth.
That dark gray shirt is molded to his upper body more than ever. Every muscle flexes as he pulls his body up and his black-forked eyes are on me. That golden helmet seems forever affixed to his face and head.
The heart that broke for him on that beach thumps weakly with hunger.
Hunger.
As if I didn’t feed on his cock prior to us returning to Earth. It’s been less than a day, yet my body is as hollow as it’s ever been.
This isn’t normal. Not even by succubi standards.
Kles flops onto the sand near me. Crab-crawling away from me, he doesn’t stop until his back hits a man-sized stone. He grabs onto the lion helmet and tugs with every bit of his might.
It doesn’t budge.
To see him of all beings struggling so . . .
He tries a few more times to pull it off to no avail. A growl rumbles in his chest and he slams his head into the rock.
Chunks are obliterated on contact.
The next sound he makes drips with venomous self-loathing.
“You were right,” he rasps behind that lion’s face, stare glittering. “You were all right. I deserve to die.”
“Not for what you are!” So we’re defending him now?
“For what I’ve done!” He rams his head back into the stone. “I’m a fucking monster. It’s true. I was mad when I killed them. Mad with the desire for glory when I left you behind.”
My leg tingles with renewed agony as the bones begin to slowly reform. Dragging myself up to a seated position, I dare to ask him, “Who exactly did you kill, Kles?” Who did you murder to inspire those rumors against you?
“My parents!” The confession leaves him in a pained exclamation. He starts trying to yank that golden headdress off again.
“You what?” I ask in a small tone.
He rears to his feet, self-loathing rippling through his frame. “Alcmene and Amphitryon!” His birth mother and his step-father, as Amphitryon would be called today. “I tore them apart with my bare hands!”
Oh gods.
Oh freaking gods.
Looking back on every memory of him I have, the weight of that was always there. Forever haunting him. Hera singling him out for misfortune because she couldn’t make Zeus personally pay for his infidelity and favor toward Kles wasn’t the source of his self-hatred. Zeus’ inability to truly claim a demigod as his own wasn’t it, either.
It was that. His most famous crime.
“You didn’t do it on purpose, though.”
He glares down at me, ripples of black cutting along his irises, like they’re threatening to change once more.
Like Madness is warning me it’s about to come to the fore.
“I—the byproduct of my mother’s infidelity—killed her. Her own son. Killed a man kind enough to forgive and raise me as his fucking own. I became my mother’s ultimate punishment.”
“Hera did this, not you! She put Madness in you before you were even born. We both know it’s true! She was a cowardly bitch lacking the power and balls to take your father on directly, so she came after you.”
“I still killed my fucking parents, Meg! Tore into them like they were the most heinous of enemies. Left nothing but chunks of them behind.”
“Because of something you couldn’t control and didn’t even know what it was ‘til a few moments ago!”
Scoffing in disgust, he turns his back on me. “What the fuck does this all even mean? If it was inside me from birth, does that mean I was always a god and didn’t even know it?”
“Maybe. Maybe it was semi-dormant, waiting to be fully awakened. Perhaps that can account for you only having the abilities of a demigod until you ascended to Olympus.” And left me behind.
“So I’ve been a degenerate from day one.”
“You listen to me, damn you. If anyone knows what it truly means to be a freak, it’s me.”
Kles flashes to me, bending down on one knee. His fist comes down on the ground next to me, sinking nearly elbow deep and kicking up waves of sand from the collision. “Don’t fucking call yourself that!”
I jut my chin out. “I’m a cum-eating nymphomaniac freak, Kles. A constant murderer by trade, on top of that.”
His stare goes soft within that lion mask, the effect that much greater due to how the lion’s sharp teeth frame his forehead and lower face. “You didn’t choose to become any of those things.”
Gritting my teeth as my femur reunites with my hip bone, I flex my arms and push myself into his face. “And the only thing you actively chose to become was the God of Power, you vain-glorious asshat!” Sure, he didn’t know he’d become the God of Power on his quest, only that he would ascend to being one of the gods upon succeeding, yet it’s still the truth.
Deflated, he falls to sit next to my hip on the sand, facing me. Two more tugs on that helmet and his arms drop to his lap, as defeated as the rest of him. “I think this thing is forever molded to my face.”
His demeanor is almost that of a forlorn little boy; I hate how I have to bite back an endeared chuckle at his predicament. “It manifested in the water out of energy. I saw it. Guessing you were really pissed down there, huh?”
He throws me an incredulous scowl. “It was fucking hurting you.”
Don’t you dare soften for him. Don’t. Do. It.
“Shit, Meg.” Exhaling a sigh, he looks around our location. “God of Power and God of Madness? How is that even supposed to work?”
“The same way it’s been working.”
“But it hasn’t. Don’t you get it? Except for the last few instances—which I’m convinced have been a fluke—every time it’s taken over, the consequences have been horrific. And it’s getting so much stronger now.”
“I don’t think they were a fluke . . . have you considered that maybe it’s taken over that viciously in the past because you’ve spent your entire life ignoring it? It takes you by surprise and overwhelms you because you haven’t gotten to know it, yet. Haven’t made it your ally.” Hypocritical much, Meg? When did you ever turn those nymph abilities to your advantage? Never. Not on any mission or quest.
“It killed my parents,” he grits out.
“Hera killed your parents. Assuming that part of your myth about killing me and our children”—my chest tightens oddly at that part—“and she infected you with visions . . .”
“Before I blocked out, I do remember being trapped in some kind of nightmare. It was so long ago and the visions have faded, but I remember the fear.”
“Then think about,” I say. “Who’s to say Madness wasn’t as overcome by the nightmare as you are? That it didn’t kill your parents by accident?”
He grumbles something under his breath.
Like a petulant child, I swear. “What’s that?”
“I said you should stop making so much sense.” His eyes dart to my healing leg when I wince as another piece of bone r
eunites. “You aren’t healing fast enough.”
Well, aside from the damage being that extensive . . . I nod at his arm and shoulder. A tear in his shirt exposed the wounds from our fight with Scylla and Charybdis. “Neither are you.”
He darts a glance at the barely mending wound. “Yeah, well, it happens to beings under . . . you know.”
“Oh, come on. Time moves different in Hades, but we’ve been spending time on Earth. You—you also feed me. So it makes no sense why my effect on you would be that bad.” Makes no sense why I’m starving like a newborn nymph that’s never fucked before. “Besides, you aren’t a novice. I know you’ve encountered my kind on your travels in the past.”
“Oh, come on,” he throws back at me sarcastically, ginger eyebrow arched. “We both know why your effect would be ten times more powerful to me.”
We engage in a silent stare off, a pulsing challenge in the air between us.
He’s daring me to admit it to myself.
I’m mentally engaged in the wrestling match of my life, trying to silence that new and unfamiliar voice that’s trying to—because he loves you. He wants you more than he ever wanted his past grandeur.
What. The. Hell.
Anyway, too fucking late. What does it matter if he feels that now? When I needed him to be that consumed, I came last to his vanity.
Then why am I eating him up with my gaze? Trailing the exposed ridges of muscle on his chest and abs that are being hugged indecently by that wet shirt?
Going even lower than that, to where his slate gray tactical pants are also soaked and tented indecently by—
I tear my eyes away, the vein in my neck pounding painfully along with my heart. This is my reality: ever since I awoke into immortality, I’ve been this beast. Controlled by this hunger. Driven to devour at the slightest provocation.
And this male is my mortal weakness. Always was, even when I was human. I could gag on his dick a million times and I’ll always want more.
“Meg.”
I close my eyes and fucking tremble at the way he murmurs my name.
“You should really, really let me feed you right now.”
Gods. Damn it.
“You already fed me.” And then some, my inner whore sighs wistfully, recalling how I couldn’t even swallow all that he gave me in that cavern.
Kles shifts closer, the heat of his body blasting along my side. “You’re not healing fast enough and neither am I. Clearly, it wasn’t enough.”
His logic is sound.
Oh shut the fuck up! I open my eyes and narrow them as I look at him. Know without a doubt that the stare I give him is full of partial disgust and the desire I have to ride his face, helmet and all. “If me sucking your dick the first time wasn’t enough, what makes you think doing it again will make a differ—eep!” I yelp as his large hand, with its black and gold markings, and his darkened finger tips, wraps around my good thigh.
He tilts his head and stares at the spot between my legs as if it’s still his and he has every right to it. “Mmm. Maybe we need to explore the possibility that I need to give it to you elsewhere. Might make more of an impact.”
Oh, I fucking remember what kind of an “impact” he’s capable of giving. “You’re just trying to get into my pants.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners; the only indication I get that he’s smiling beneath that mask. That, and his playful tone. “Is it working?”
I . . . I . . .
This is happening.
Damn right it is!
“Fine,” I snap, angry at this eternal weakness when it comes to him. “Lay back.”
“Uhh, Meg? I’m not sure your leg is—”
“If you want me on that dick, lean the fuck back, Kles.” My leg’s regenerated enough for me to figure this out. Besides, I’ll be damned if I don’t make sure I remain in complete control of how this goes down this time around.
“I’m still not sure—”
I push him with all my strength, slamming his back into the sand, and lift up onto my knees to crawl over him. “Shut up, Kles. I’m taking what you offered.”
HERAKLES
My hips surge of their own volition at her demand; a silent repetition of said offer.
She doesn’t miss it, violet eyes dilated and flashing with her disdain.
This female still hates me to death and back.
A starving succubus with the acidity of a killer in her veins.
And I’m about to let her ride my cock.
Fuccccckk. I’m so hard.
Need her skin to skin with me so bad I doubt I can give her the dominion she obviously craves.
Not that Meg gives me much of a choice.
She never did.
Tearing at my pants with a vengeance, worse than back in that cavern, she releases my swollen, bobbing dick.
Her hand wraps around me in a blur.
If I thought she was seeking to inflict pain the last time . . . arching in the sand, I groan up to the sky. “Use your nails if you really want to hurt me, baby,” I demand gruffly, hips rotating in her brutal grip.
Her eyes narrow. She hates that I’m enjoying this.
The scent of her willing pussy magnifies, penetrating through this fucking helmet I can’t remove.
A part of her loves this and she can lie to us both as much as she wants—it isn’t just her nymph side that’s into it.
“Do it.” I thrust into her grip faster, even as she tightens her hand with the intention of making that impossible. Or breaking off my dick. Who knows? Lifting a hand, I press my blackened thumb along her plump bottom lip, the sight of it’s dark, gold-specked scar stark against her gold-tinged skin. “Hurt m—shiiiiitttt,” I cry out when her nails, as sharp as claws, sink into the side of my length.
Holy fuck, I didn’t know I’d be into pain, but I’m about to blow.
Megara dematerializes her pants, yet leaves every stick of my clothes on.
A barrier.
That’s what she wants, huh?
No matter. She’s hairless now, soft, swollen lips hugging her cute little clit. Wet to the point of madness. As if she’s already come three times for me.
She can try to keep us separated, but simply breathing the same air we become an electric charge of sex that can’t be denied.
Chuckling breathlessly, I let my head roll back against the sand, and watch as she throws a leg over me to mount me.
Those lips spread, bearing glistening, juicy flesh.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Releasing my erection, she presses her hands on my pecs hovers right above it, as if to prove a point.
She proves it alright.
Like it has a mind of its own, my dick throbs up toward that cunt, searching in desperation for a way into her.
I have two options. Wrap my hands around those hips and take what’s mine by force, therefore angering her further, or give her the answer she seeks in the hopes she’ll put us both out of our miseries. “Nothing. Just thinking it’s probably a good thing I’m wearing this fucking thing. If not I’d have your thighs on either side of my head as I drink you down.”
Her eyes go heavy and those small teeth come down on her bottom lip in a quick flash. She tries to hide it as soon as it happens, but I caught it nonetheless.
I wasn’t the only one thinking it, was I?
Laying my head on my hands, I curse the golden monstrosity covering it and flex my hips for her. “Once I get this thing off, I’m eating you for hours.”
“No, you’re not.”
Whatever you need to believe, baby. “For now, let me pump all this cum deep in that pussy. Like I used to do every gods damned night. Remember?”
She exhales like a deadly viper, nails sinking into my chest. Leaning down so we’re face-to-face, she mumbles, “Of course I do. I remember everything. Especially how it all ended, you fucking ingrate.”
Without give me a chance to respond, she rubs her warm cunt around my tip, then slams down onto me, taking
me to the base.
CHAPTER 19
HERAKLES
For a male, any male, busting their load in an instant is a fucked up, humbling experience. In retrospect, that is. I’m sure I’ll be embarrassed about this once it’s over, but for now I’m lost in the craziest orgasm of my life.
I’ve been inside one other nymph in my life, before meeting Megara thousands of years ago.
Just one.
Yet it wasn’t this one. The main source of my addiction.
Fucking a succubus is supposed to be a mind-altering experience.
Taking one you’re actually in love with will be the motherfucking death of you.
That tight, soaked cunt pulsates around me as soon as I’m in and my head all but explodes.
Teeth gritted, I try to hold back my shout.
Keep my hands to myself.
Waves of fiery sensation ride down the length of my dick into my balls. My groin. My legs. Up into my heart. Across every inch of my skin, turning me into a writhing mass of stimulation beneath her, logic disappearing in a sexual blast.
My hands fly down to her hips.
My own hips thrust up to her with manic, untraceable speed.
Words tumble from my lips in nonsensical spurts. “Amazing. Fuck. This right here. That. Fucking. Pussy. Waited . . . too long . . . fuck, it hurts.”
And Meg?
True to her succubi nature, she throws her head back, freaking purring up to the sky with every drop I give her. Her hips rotate in languid circles, breasts heaving with satisfaction. That tanned skin flushes as she derives her nourishment from me.
Stretched around me, she continues to throb, and a spurt of our combined juices leaks out of her and slides down the side of my cock.
Her suckable clit remains swollen, begging for my tongue.
She won’t stop those short, draining movements and neither can I. Even as a part of me screams for a reprieve. “Gods damn, female. This is—too—slow down. Stop. Let me just—”
Sacrifice Page 19
