Goddess (21 page)

I closed my eyes and ran my finger across my tattoo. I couldn’t sense where it ended and unadorned skin began, but I knew it was a part of me. I wasn’t like other women. I was beginning to accept that. Love couldn’t change who I was, but it could change what Ashland and I had right now. I didn’t want that to happen.

When Ashland’s knock finally came, I hopped up, determined to take charge again, to keep our relationship on the physical plain, to avoid the complications of deeper emotions.

He stood in the doorway, still wearing his suit, a bottle of champagne and two glasses in his hands. “You took your sweet time,” I complained, taking the bottle from him and leading him by his tie into my temporary boudoir.

“If only my fellow archeologists understood how little I cared about their views on Magoa and how much I wanted you.” He paused for a moment, standing back to let his eyes roam freely across my body, admiring my legs, my hips, my stomach, my breasts. “You are an amazingly beautiful woman,” he said.

“And you are one hot dude.” I pulled him to me for a long lingering kiss. “I want your cock inside me,” I whispered in his ear. “I want you to fuck me like you’ve never fucked me before.”

I could feel him rise to full firmness against my belly, as if it had its own set of ears. He kicked the door closed and followed me to the bed. He set the two glasses on the nightstand and popped the cork on the bottle. The bubbly began to overflow and he quickly slipped a glass under it.

“A ’72 Dom Perignon,” he announced, handing me the glass. “TJ left me his collection.”

He started to pour a second glass. “You won’t need that,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow as I took a sip. “Delicious,” I announced. I took a longer drink, then reached out my hand and pulled him to me again. He kissed me deeply as I let the champagne flow from my mouth to his. His hand moved down the thin fabric of my negligee and slipped into my panties. It roamed across my twin mounds and then moved around front to my pussy. Ashland’s index finger slipped easily inside, sending a shiver down my spine as he pressed on my G spot. His finger now thoroughly soaked, he slipped it into his mouth, enjoying the taste of my juices. “Do you want to be a bad boy tonight?” I whispered in his ear.

He bit down on my lobe. “There are so many naughty things I’d like to do with you.”

“Promises, promises,” I teased.

I let his tongue explore my ear while his fingers worked their magic below. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Don’t waste time on foreplay,” I told him. “I need you inside me. Now.”

Taking a step back, a sweet, seductive smile on his face, he pulled off his jacket and tie and dropped them on the floor. With shaking fingers, I hurriedly unbuttoned his crisp white shirt, slipping it off his broad shoulders. I ran my tongue along his firm pectoral muscles, stopping at each nipple to tweak them between my teeth. At the same time, I unhooked his belt and pants, lowered his zipper, and let them fall to the floor. As he cupped one hand around my breast, he kicked his pants over to join his other clothing. I quickly pulled off his black boxers, freeing his engorged cock.

I stepped back to admire Ashland just as he had admired me. He was a magnificent specimen, worthy of a goddess. His cock honed in on me like a divining rod. I took it in my hand, enjoying its heft.

And then, in one motion, he ripped my panties away. He lifted me into the air. I clung to him, our mouths trying to swallow one another whole. “Take me,” I demanded.

He entered me, and I wrapped my legs tightly around him. It had been so long; the sensation of being filled by him was incredibly satisfying in a way no other man had felt before. It was as if we were meant for one another.

Perhaps we were.

I shook the thought from my head. No. This was about tonight, not the future. I locked my eyes on his taunt shoulder muscles as he grasped my hips firmly. “Go deeper, Ashland.”

As he thrust his hips forward again and again, it felt like he was reaching a place I had never been touched before. It felt like he was reaching right up to my heart.

Again, I shoved the feeling away. I gripped his hips, urging him on. “Please, just be with me,” I moaned. “Be inside me.”

But I could sense that he had gone to a place I was afraid to venture. I could see it in his deep blue eyes. He was no longer fucking me.

He was making love to me.

I could feel my orgasm rising from deep within my soul. It swirled around my heart, wanting to release that part of me.
No. I’m not ready. It’s too complicated.

I focused on the sensation of him moving in and out of me. I wanted to stay in this purely physical place, a goddess who was worshipped, not brought down to earth by the complications of love and commitment.

I came, digging my nails into his torso. I felt like I was free-falling, until I opened my eyes and realized he had gently lowered me onto the bed. He was standing over me, still hard, still ready.

“Ashland…” I exhaled. “My bag… on the nightstand… get it.”

He retrieved my black leather purse. As he held it for me, I fished around inside until I found what I was looking for.

A tube of lubricant.

I didn’t know if this was something he wanted. We had never discussed it before. But I wanted it, and I knew he would give it to me.

“Come here,” I said.

He knelt on the bed. I squeezed a generous amount of the thick, cool lube on my hand. His cock was already wet with my juices. I added more to the head. Was it just my imagination, or was he bigger than I had ever felt him before?

I passed him the tube.

I rolled over, positioning the thick pillows the hotel had so thoughtfully provided so that they were underneath my hips, offering myself to him.

His fingers felt delightfully smooth as he spread the lube around my back passage. He slipped a finger inside and coated it too.

“Go slowly,” I said.

“I will,” he promised, his voice tense with anticipation.

An intense jolt of pleasure mixed with fear hit me when I felt the head of his penis brush against my anus. I closed my eyes and concentrated on relaxing every muscle. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes… please…”

His cock pushed against my opening, gently at first, then with more determination. Just as I became convinced that he would never fit, the head slipped in. “Oh, god,” I moaned.

“Are you all right?”

“You’re so big,” I managed to utter. “You’re so amazing.”

He cautiously pressed deeper into me. The feeling of being so filled, so tightly wrapped around him, was incredible.

Then he began to move, his hands gripping my hips tightly. The sensations became more intense. His stroke was slow and gentle. He was obviously afraid of hurting me. “More,” I said. “I want more of you.”

He gave me more, almost his whole length. I pushed my face into the mattress, biting the sheet, wanting to cry out, first in pain and then in pleasure. “Yes, fuck me,” I demanded.

I could feel the impending orgasm stirring inside me. I reached down and fingered my clit rapidly to help it along.

“Julia,” he groaned. It sounded as if the pleasure of being inside me was bringing him to the brink of tears. I wanted to see his face, but at the moment I was consumed by my own hedonism.

“Yes, Ashland. I want you so much.”

I love you.

The words flashed across my consciousness. I wanted to smother them in the purely physical act we were enjoying, but the feelings were still there, like an ocean that refused to be constrained.

Ashland had remarkable stamina, but I knew when I embraced my power it put him over the edge. The groan he unleashed reminded me of a wild beast. The feeling of his orgasm deep inside me was enough to slam my own body with wave after wave of intense pleasure.

He slowly withdrew from me and we collapsed together on the bed, trembling, holding onto one another as if we were on a raft in a stormy sea. He gently kissed my face and the palms of my hands. “You are an amazing lover,” he whispered.

“Ashland…” I said. Any other words remained unspoken.

After awhile, we forced ourselves to get out of bed so we could clean up. I returned to the bedroom and unclasped my necklace, setting it on the bedside table. We crawled under the covers and lay together for a long time, quietly talking over what to expect tomorrow. Occasionally, we heard laughter and voices in the hallway, but we were in our own post-coital bubble.

“We should get some sleep,” he finally said.

I drifted off to sleep feeling physically satiated. But my heart was still in turmoil.

CHAPTER 15

The next morning I awoke early. The only light seeped in from the edges of the curtains. I lay quietly on my side, observing Ashland’s face. For a moment, I allowed myself to fantasize that we were together in our home, in our bed. Would it feel different? Would I be happy there? Would I still take time to contemplate that face, ten, twenty, thirty years from now?

Would I still love him?

My phone, sitting on the bedside table, startled me. I rolled over and tried to answer it before it woke him. “Hi,” came Lily’s cheery voice at the other end.

“What are you doing up so early?”

“Six-thirty practice. I just wanted to say good luck.”

“That’s very sweet of you.” I looked over to the other half of the bed. Ashland was awake, watching me.

“Dad’s here. He wants to talk to you.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I listened as she handed the phone over to Matt. “How’s everything going?” he asked.

“Good. Everybody’s read Dr. Stewart’s article, so they know what to expect today.”

“You’ll do great. Did you sleep okay?”

I watched Ashland slip quietly out of bed. “Yeah, it was fine.”

“Well, good luck. Call me after your talk.”

“I will,” I said. I watched Ashland, naked, gather up his clothes.

“I love you,” Matt said.

I hesitated. “I love you too.”

I hung up the phone as Ashland pulled on his boxers. “I’m sorry,” I said to him.

“I did know you were married.”

“I mean, I’m sorry that was so awkward.”

Ashland climbed back into bed and wrapped his arms around me. “If it’s awkward, it’s because of me.”

“No,” I said, kissing him gently. “For the last six months, I’ve tried to compartmentalize my life, but it’s an illusion, really. I’m just not sure what to do about it.”

We kissed for a while instead of talking, because neither of us knew what to say.
Finally, I slipped out of bed. I could feel his eyes roaming my naked body. I found my chain on the table and slipped it around my neck. “Julia,” he said. “After the conference, I want to take you someplace on the way back. It’s where I disappeared to over Christmas. Being there helped me figure things out.”

“And you think it’ll do the same for me?”

“Probably not on this trip, but maybe later.”

I looked at him severely. “You’re being very mysterious, Dr. Stewart.”

We shared a prolonged kiss. “A little mystery in life is good,” he said when he released me. “You taught me that.”

~*~

An hour later, I was in the lobby wearing a gray business suit I had bought for the occasion. I slipped into the banquet room, where Ashland’s presentation had quickly been relocated when it became apparent that even the largest conference room wasn’t going to accommodate all the people who wanted to be there. The tables had been moved to the edges of the room, which was now filled with every available chair. Even though I had arrived early, most of them were already occupied. I found a seat in back, next to a tall, attractive woman who looked to be about 10 years older than me. She introduced herself as Dr. Geraldine Baker. “I was Ashland’s TA at Harvard,” she announced.

“Really?” I said. “What was he like?”

“Brilliant and driven, inexorable, just like he is now. All the girls were in love with him, even me.” She seemed to read the question in my mind, because she added, “Too bad he wasn’t interested in any of us. He was already madly in love with his future wife.”

“You knew Adriana?” I tried not to sound too eager.

“You couldn’t not know Adriana. She was the only one who could outshine Ashland, academically and in the looks department. All the women wanted him, but as soon as I saw the two of them together, I knew he was a lost cause.”

A lost cause.
I had always imagined Ashland’s dead wife in relation to the young women who currently surrounded him. Now I realized what dim stars they would probably be next to Adriana’s light. Yet, now he wanted to replace her with me.

A stir of whispers rose in the back of the room. Dr. Baker and I turned to see Dr. Crusher standing alone, his cane gone. “The shark is in the fish tank,” Dr. Baker commented.

He walked slowly but assuredly towards the front of the room. There were no seats available; a woman quickly rose to vacate hers. Dr. Crusher sat. A moment later, the president of the archeological society stepped up to the podium. It was time.

After a brief introduction (because no introduction was necessary), Ashland strode to the lectern. He glanced at me for just a moment, and then his eyes swept the room. He looked completely serene, like a mythical warrior about to do battle with no fear or hesitation in his heart.

I have to admit that I didn’t listen closely to Ashland’s presentation. I had read it several times already. It was brilliant and persuasive, at least for me. Instead, I watched the faces of the people around me. Their expressions ranged from receptive, to skeptical, to openly hostile. Graduate students took photos and video with their phones, eager to capture the day when the archeological world changed.

I tried to catch a glimpse of Dr. Crusher. It was difficult—there were too many people between him and me. Finally he turned his head and I could see the expression on his face. It was very different from anyone else in the room.

He was downright gleeful.

I had to slip out before the question and answer period, when Ashland’s rival was likely to go on the attack. My presentation was scheduled to start a half hour after Ashland’s talk ended.

Arriving at the third floor meeting room, I found 30 empty chairs lined up in placid rows. After seeing the reaction to Ashland’s presentation, I had an overwhelming desire to keep them unoccupied.

Five minutes before my session was scheduled to begin, it appeared that my wish had come true. Only two seats were taken, one by a bored student who never lifted his head from his phone, the other by a confused, elderly woman who shuffled up to the front to ask me questions about ancient Greece.

I was relieved when Nina hurried through the door. She smiled as she approached. “Dr. Stewart’s session just ended.”

“How did it go?”

“He was brilliant, of course. He responded to all the questions very calmly, even when they became personal attacks.”

“You mean from Dr. Crusher?”

“Dr. Crusher didn’t say a word.”

A dour young woman wearing a conference volunteer’s badge and strangling a tablet with her manicured fingers hurried up to us. “I don’t know if anyone else is coming, but we need to get started. Ritualistic Tools in Aztec Religion is scheduled for this room in an hour.”

“I’m ready,” I told her, and stepped to the podium. Nina took a seat up front. I woke up my laptop for my PowerPoint presentation.

My talk was divided into three parts. I spent the first 15 minutes providing a history of Brother Ferreira, his journal, and his missionary work in Japan. My goal, Ashland and Nina had advised me, was to make it clear that there was no question as to Brother Ferreira or his journal’s authenticity.

As I spoke, archeologists began to trickle in, first in ones and twos, then in large groups. I recognized many of their faces from Ashland’s presentation. More and more people crowded into the room, until they were overflowing into the hallway. Members of our own team arrived. They wormed their way in and stood in back so I could see them. I steadied myself on the lectern, noticing when I removed my hands that they had made twin, sweaty prints. I paused a moment to calm myself, willing my lungs to take in air.

The second part of my talk took my listeners through the monk’s shipwreck and his journey into the unexplored depths of the Korean peninsula. I had originally made this part of my presentation more dramatic. I wanted my listeners to share the journey I had taken in my little corner of the library. I wanted them to feel the excitement I had experienced when Brother Ferreira stepped into a clearing and discovered Magoa.

Nina had tempered my impulses. “Don’t go overboard,” she had advised me. “It’s better to put them to sleep than make them doubt your veracity.”

But my audience didn’t appear to be nodding off. Many of them were taking notes on tablets or laptops. Others continued to page through Ashland’s article.

I felt a sense of relief when I saw the crowd part and Ashland enter the room. A graduate student immediately stood to offer him a seat, but Ashland shook his head. His eyes, bright and self-assured, briefly met mine. He had told me he wouldn’t say anything during my session. To win the scientific community over, I had to stand on my own.

My happiness was almost immediately deflated when a bent figure thrust its way in. Dr. Crusher’s eyes immediately locked on me like a predator who had spotted an injured gazelle. If anything, he looked even more pleased than he had during Ashland’s talk. I had no credentials and no reputation. He was here to rip me apart.

He didn’t sit this time. Instead, he stood in back, in the opposite corner from Ashland. I realized I had lost my train of thought. I glanced at my notes, took another deep breath, and continued.

I had just begun the third part of my presentation, where I summarized the evidence that Brother Ferreira had stumbled across the remnants of Magoa, when Dr. Crusher’s vitriolic voice interrupted me. “Excuse me, miss,” he intoned wearily, as if he were addressing a wayward toddler. “Exactly what are your qualifications for interpreting this journal?”

I was ready for that question. “I’m only the translator. The interpretation is Dr. Stewart’s.”

“It seems peculiar,” Dr. Crusher went on, “that such an important piece of evidence would be entrusted to a translator who hasn’t worked in almost 15 years.”

Dr. Crusher had taken the trouble to read my resume. That worried me even more. “You’re welcome to review my work if you like. I understand the journal will be available to scholars when it’s returned to Barcelona.”

“I’m sure your work is exemplary. Otherwise, why would Dr. Stewart hire you?” Dr. Crusher said, his voice heavy with implication.

I felt my stomach tighten and a bead of sweat appear on my forehead. Did Dr. Crusher somehow know about our affair? Was he going to reveal it to the archeological world?

I swallowed the bile that threatened to choke me. I glanced at Ashland. He showed no trace of emotion. I felt a momentary flash of anger. Why wasn’t he my knight in shining armor rushing to defend me? Or was that Dr. Crusher’s plan, to flush Ashland out of hiding and allow him to ruin his own reputation?

“Exactly what are you implying, Dr. Crusher?” I asked, my voice calm and measured.

“I’m not implying anything, Mrs. Nelson. I’m merely wondering why Dr. Stewart didn’t hire someone with the expertise to determine if this journal was a fabrication.”

A murmur rose like a flock of startled birds. Eyes turned to Ashland, but he continued to maintain his serenity, as if this whole matter was beyond his concern.

I, on the other hand, felt anger rising to a boil inside me. I didn’t care about personal attacks, but I did feel an overwhelming desire to protect Magoa. “I’m not an archeologist or an expert on 16
th
Century manuscripts, but I feel very confident that Dr. Stewart’s theory about Magoa will be proven correct.”

“Well, of course you do. Lay people love these kind of fantastic, romantic theories. I’m sure if I declared that the Great Wall of China was built by hobbits it would sell a lot of magazines.”

I glanced sideways at Ashland again. Could I detect the hint of a smile on his face? Was he expecting this? Why hadn’t he warned me?

It didn’t matter now. I charged ahead, oblivious to the effect my words might have on the scientists gathered before me. “I’m not going to argue the evidence with you, Dr. Crusher, but I do know that the world is full of mystery and possibility. Just because most of our society is burdened by patriarchal traditions doesn’t mean women aren’t fully capable of leading a city or a civilization. We women have more power than most of us either realize or acknowledge. If Magoa is real, then all of us, men and women, owe it to our current civilization to learn its secrets and embrace its energy.”

The scattering of applause, mostly from the women in the room, surprised me.

“New Age bullshit,“ Dr. Crusher muttered.

I turned to the rest of the room. “Are there any other questions?”

~*~

When my presentation concluded, archeologists pressed in around me, peppering me with arguments and questions. Several of the women congratulated me for standing up to a prime example of arrogant patriarchy. Nina managed to push her way through the crowd to reach me. “I went way off script,” I admitted.

“You’ve either made or ruined your reputation as an archeologist before you even become one,” she said. Then she gave me a hug.

I craned to see over the crush of people surrounding us. “Where is he?”

“Waiting out in the hallway with the rest of our team.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Together we pushed through the crowd, ignoring the arguments and encouraging words that continued to be fired in our direction. We’d almost made it to the door when an imposing figure stepped in front of us.