by Lazu, Sotia
She swayed, almost losing her footing. Something rattled behind her. Was it a mini earthquake, or was her body protesting the idea of keeping her distance?
“Goodnight, delicious Olivia.” He gave her an obviously forced smile. “If you change your mind about this—about us—you need only say my name.”
She didn’t move until she heard his door latch shut. Then she ran to her room, kicked her door closed behind her, and threw herself on her bed.
She rolled onto her back, pulled her pillow over her head, and screamed into it. Her body was at war with her mind, begging her to invite Hyperion over and screw him and the consequences. Who cared that her first time would be with the man she worked for? Or that she’d never see him again after September? What did it matter that she was drawn to him with an all-consuming passion beyond reason, that might burn her to ashes if she allowed it to take over?
She unbuttoned her pants, tugged down the zipper, and slipped her hand inside her lace boy shorts. Her fingers slipped easily between her wet folds. Usually, it was a matter of a few strokes with the right pressure on her clit, but her touch wasn’t enough tonight.
She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on recreating the mental image of Hyperion kneeling before her, but failed to achieve the same life-like quality. The sensations spilling through her veins in the ride over were now hazy, faded, and couldn’t get her to climax.
“Hyperion.” The whisper left her lips before she knew if she was calling the man or her memory of him.
The sound of her door scraping against the plush blue carpet made her open her eyes.
Hyperion stood at her doorway without a shirt, his jeans slung low on his hips. His body was as perfect as she remembered, with those impossibly broad shoulders and the abs no sculptor could do justice. His impressive erection was clearly defined beneath the denim. But it was those amber eyes of him, almost golden once more in this light, that spoke to her subconscious and made her quiver at the expectation of his touch.
“You called,” he said in that sexy, rough accent.
Was she asleep?
No. She was awake and sober, except for the effect his intoxicating presence had on her. “You came.”
He crossed his arms and stood his ground. “You want me. You cannot sleep because you’re wondering just how good I could make you feel.”
She did want him, but it wasn’t as simple as that. They had to have rules, and not only because he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on her. If she didn’t remain in control, he’d consume her like the flame did the moth.
“Only for tonight?” She hated that it came out as a question. It should be a statement; she was making the rules.
“No.”
No? Annoyed and more than a little hurt by his rejection, she sat up and narrowed her eyes. “You were the one who—“
“I will not be your temporary relief.”
He wanted more than tonight? Didn’t he realize she was leaving after this summer? Why couldn’t he just—
“But when you do decide you want to be mine, when you’re ready for me, I’ll make every second worth it,” he said. “First I’ll take my time undressing that beautiful body and kissing every inch of your skin.”
His words held weight. They crossed the distance to the bed and fell on her body like a rain of touches and kisses that made her shiver with delight.
He smiled. “I’ll bury my face in your pussy and run my tongue along your slit and taste your juices, until you cry out my name.”
Even with her eyes open, and fully aware he hadn’t moved from her doorway, she could see him kneeling at the foot of the bed. Fantasy-Hyperion clasped one ankle in each large hand and pulled her so her legs dangled to the floor. He gripped her pants and tugged, and they were torn in half, exposing her to his ravenous gaze. What was happening? She rubbed her eyes and looked again at the still man, feet away. At the same time, she felt his fingers make quick work of her underwear before separating her nether lips so his tongue could glide between them and tap her clit.
“How are you—?” She threw her head back and rocked her hips as the Hyperion that didn’t exist sucked and licked and sent her need spiraling higher with every second. “Faster,” she whispered, but the real Hyperion, the one who was her boss and who shouldn’t be able to do whatever this was, shook his head. The tongue on her pussy kept its languid rhythm, sending jolts of electricity through her veins. She was a ball of energy, winding tighter with every long stroke. If she came now, she might pass out.
“I’ll press my thumb to your button, and you’re going to come apart,” he said.
The pressure against her clit grew, until her body tingled and shook with the force of her release. Her head was light and her limbs heavy, and still she kept coming. She’d never managed an orgasm this hard by herself, and he... What? Thought one at her? She let her eyelids drift shut and gave into the sensations enveloping her body.
When she opened her eyes again, Hyperion smirked. “And when you believe you can’t take more pleasure, I will enter you,” he said.
It wasn’t over?
She forced her body to relax, preparing for the unprecedented invasion, but her fantasy lover faded from existence.
“But not tonight.” Hyperion backed out of the room and pulled the door shut between them.
The air in the room rippled, and the bed shook. Was it an aftershock of her orgasm?
More importantly—what the hell just happened?
Chapter Eight
Hyperion was an imbecile.
He could have had her tonight. Was planning to, until he heard himself spout that nonsense about not being temporary relief.
What the fuck—he loved this word more by the minute—was up with that?
On the up side, it was obvious he could get through to her. He might not be able to read her mind or compel her into doing what he pleased, but he’d heard her heartrate accelerate as he sent her vivid thoughts that matched his promises. She responded to those thoughts like she would to his body when he made her his.
And why hadn’t he?
He dropped on his bed. She’d been ripe for the plucking, ready to offer him her maidenhood, and he’d given her a fantasy instead.
He growled and pulled at his fly, meaning to free his erection. Instead, he ended up with his jeans torn in much the way he’d thought of tearing Olivia’s.
His hand shook again, as he wrapped his fist around his shaft. A mental image of a male cast in marble flashed through his mind. A memory of his imprisonment? The image scattered and gave place to excitement and anticipation. And maybe anger at himself for not claiming Olivia’s body tonight.
And what a divine body she had...
He squeezed and tugged on himself as he remembered her moans and how she shivered, her nipples visible under the thin fabric of her shirt. Vangelis hadn’t thought much of female underwear, but Hyperion had seen those contraptions called brassieres in the man’s memories, and had noticed them on most women around them tonight. Not on Olivia, though. Her perfect, perky breasts needed no support. If anything, tonight they were ready to escape the confines of her top. Eager to fill his palms, so he could roll the nipples between his fingers and suckle on them until she arched into his mouth, begging for more.
Close. He was close.
He twisted his hand on the down stroke, and when he drew it back up, he ran his thumb over the head and shivered. This was the first thing he’d wanted to do when he became flesh. Correction—sticking his cock in Olivia was the first thing he’d wanted, but that would have to wait, because a moronic part of him decided he desired more from her than one night of passion.
The thought of Olivia quivering beneath him made his hips buck off the mattress, and hot, sticky cum squirt all over his hand and chest.
She would be so beautiful, naked and sated, and marked with his spendings and his scent.
He padded naked to the shower and enjoyed the hot water washing the evidence of his release off his b
ody.
He returned to his room and picked up his destroyed jeans. Nope. He had nothing to wear. Again.
Vangelis wouldn’t appreciate a call in the middle of the night, and Hyperion doubted clothing-store owners would be eager to jump out of bed to dress him. Then again, he did have that black credit card...
He got the wallet Circe gave him out of his jacket pocket, tossed his destroyed jeans to the floor, and slipped under the covers, enjoying the feel of silk against his body. He flipped through the wallet idly, wondering how much of a fake life came with the accounts that matched these cards. Did he have a birth certificate? Vangelis’ memories showed all males born in Greece were registered so the army could call on them when they reached adulthood. Was Hyperion in such a registry?
A flap he hadn’t noticed fell open, and he saw a driver’s license and a white business card that read in Greek, Eros is here for your emergencies.
Eros. Romantic love, and the name of the god responsible for it—if you believed in these things, which most people today didn’t.
Hyperion flipped the card around, but there was no phone number or one of those website-address things that baffled him, despite the computer classes he’d absorbed from Vangelis.
“So much for being here,” he mumbled and laughed.
A ball of white light appeared by the bed, and Hyperion rolled away from it. He wouldn’t be caught in the line of Zeus’ lightning again.
The ball grew arms and legs—as expected, when dealing with an immortal—but the head that topped the lean male body wasn’t one Hyperion had seen before, and the power that emanated from the god was nowhere near that of an Olympian or a Titan.
“Who are you?” Hyperion demanded. “Did the witch send you?”
A smile made the man’s rosy cheeks dimple and thin lines form at the corners of his pale-blue eyes. “You called me. You had an emergency?” He tossed back his shoulder-length curls and held out his hand. “I’m Eros. Cupid. I was born after you were taken away.”
Taken away. Nice way for Aphrodite’s brat to reframe millennia of isolation.
Hyperion searched inside himself for any traces of rage or the need to avenge himself and his brothers, but Zeus was long gone, and the kid in front of him was an innocent.
Eros rubbed his hands together. “So is it a girl you’re after? A boy?”
Hyperion squinted. “Excuse me?”
“What’s the emergency? You were playing with my card. What do you need? Am I to send an arrow through a fair maiden’s heart for you?”
The thought wasn’t tempting. Hyperion didn’t need this guy’s help to get his woman. His woman? What was wrong with him today? Olivia was the first female he saw after his punishment; she wasn’t the only one left on Earth. And now that he knew his power worked on her—albeit in specific ways—she wasn’t even a mystery.
Then why did every fiber of his being demand that he go to her room and take her?
Eros tapped his foot on the floor. “Any day now, big guy. Not like I have a life of my own.”
Hyperion propped himself up on his elbows. “I have no clothes. Can you bring me clothes?”
Eros rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. “Done. This is for you.” A cell phone appeared in his hand, and he tossed it to Hyperion, who barely avoided crushing it in his palm. “I’m 2 on the speed dial. Circe is 3,” Eros said. “So you don’t need any help with your romantic life? Got the tremors under control, yeah?”
“What do you know about that?” Clothing forgotten, Hyperion set the phone on his nightstand, sat up, and tossed the covers back. He wasn’t ashamed of his nakedness, and it wasn’t like Eros was covered with more than a loincloth that looked like a diaper.
Eros seemed taken aback. “You mean you don’t know what’s causing them? It’s Zeus’ failsafe.”
“Speak, boy. Explain,” Hyperion boomed. There was no reading a god’s mind, even a lesser one’s.
“The only thing that could revive one of you when Zeus decided your punishment was the proximity of your soulmate after the last of the Olympians had perished. In his infinite wisdom, he didn’t foresee frakking or global warming, both of which have contributed to waking you up. In any case, the way his curse works, if you don’t bond with your soulmate soon after rising, your powers will take over.
“The tremors will only get worse, messing with the elements, while you’re unable to control them or yourself. Earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes—you name it—will wreak havoc to the world. And then, you’ll erupt into stardust.” Eros dropped his gaze to the floor. “It was why Zeus allowed the Titanesses to live and die as humans—so they wouldn’t be around to bond with you if you woke up, and you’d unravel.”
When the Titans and Titanesses were created, at the beginning of cosmos, they were created in pairs said to share a soul between them. Hyperion had bedded more than a couple of his line, but only felt a true, deep connection to Theia, the female who birthed him the sun and the moon and the dawn, and she’d been gone for nearly thirty thousand years when he was turned into a statue.
“So I’m going to destroy the world and die, no matter what?” And why could Hyperion think of nothing else but keeping Olivia safe from his unraveling?
Eros gave him a cryptic smile. “Nobody said Zeus was right about who your true soulmate was. She might even be next door. But she must become yours willingly, not to save creation. And until she does, you’d better stay away from the other unbonded Titans, or the devastation will be compounded.”
Olivia could be his soulmate? Was that the reason for the insane attraction he felt toward her? Was it why he couldn’t read her thoughts? The last thing Eros said sank in, and Hyperion narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You mean my brothers are awake? And some are already bonded?”
Eros lifted his left forearm and looked at his bare wrist. “Look at the time. I must go. Check out your new wardrobe and don’t iron your jeans.”
Hyperion grabbed for him—he’d hold him here until his questions were answered, Uranus be his witness—but the god shimmered out of existence, leaving him with a cell phone, a full closet, and a reeling mind.
Chapter Nine
Olivia stirred toward consciousness. Was someone at her door?
Knocking, and then— “Are you up yet?”
Hyperion.
She sat up and called out, “Gimme ten.” She was still in her clothes from last night. Last night. When Hyperion had given her the mother of all orgasms without touching her.
When her legs could lift her after the jellification that came with the crazy mind-fuck, she’d started packing to leave, but the need to know how he’d done it prevented her from fleeing. Well... that, and she’d handed in her resignation to the hotel and needed this job.
And there was the off chance he’d make her come like that again.
Not going there.
She crossed the living room to his door more than a couple times during the night, but the possibility that she dreamed up the whole thing kept her from knocking.
When she finally fell asleep, it was after four in the morning, and she hadn’t set an alarm for today. Not that they’d discussed a schedule or anything, but her boss shouldn’t be the one waking her up at—she glanced at the screen of her phone—11-fucking-AM.
She rummaged through her toiletries for her toothbrush and hurried to her bathroom. Brushing her teeth with one hand, she used the other to clean up the smudges from last night’s makeup under her eyes with baby wipes.
A fresh layer of mascara made her lashes look like spider legs, but she couldn’t delay more to remove it and start over. Deodorant on. A bit of blusher and lip gloss...
She threw on a fresh pair of underwear, different cropped jeans, and a white T-shirt. On second thought, she took off her top and secured her breasts in a plain nude bra, before putting it back on. She’d need that clothing stipend soon, if she was expected to be dressed more office-like.
Hair up in a ponytail, she rushed out of her room. “I�
��m so sorry I overslept. I’m usually more professional than this.” Though that wasn’t what had her shivering under his scrutiny.
“I didn’t expect you to be up early, anyway. Room service will be here any moment now. I hope you’re hungry.” He smirked, looking yummy in his light-blue button-down and a pair of dark jeans. “Unless there’s something you’d like me to do for you first.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I thought we were keeping this business only.”
“You didn’t seem to mind last night.” The intensity of his gaze belied his nonchalant tone.
So that wasn’t a dream, and they were apparently talking about it. “About last night—”
She was cut off by another knock, this time at the main door.
Hyperion held up a finger. “We’ll discuss after breakfast,” he said to her, before calling out in Greek, “Come in.”
Nikolas, one of the bell boys, entered, pushing ahead of him a cart laden with scrambled eggs and bacon, as well as butter, jams, fresh fruit, yogurt, and local honey. The smell of coffee mingled with that of freshly baked croissants, and a better look revealed a small plate of staka butter, made of goat’s milk and packing a million calories per teaspoonful.
Did Hyperion plan on feeding her to death?
Olivia was reaching for a grape, when Hyperion’s smile turned into a deep frown, and a growl rumbled up his throat.
Olivia dropped her hand and took a step back. “Okay. You can have all of it. Jeez.”
But Hyperion’s attention was on Nikolas. “Leave. Now.”
Nikolas arched a brow and looked at Olivia, who gave him a watery smile. “He’s jet-lagged,” she said, pretty sure that wasn’t the case.
“Yeah, I bet.” Nikolas’s smile held an edge like a sneer. “I’ll unload these, and—”
“You’ll get out of this room immediately. And if you want to keep your job, you’ll never cross my path again.” Hyperion squeezed his fists, his knuckles white.
