In Pursuit of Prey: Of Gods and Consorts, Book 1 (6 page)

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 sexual 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.

His fingers stroke my cheek, run over the ridge of my eyelashes. I turn in his arms, curling into his embrace, then open my eyes.

His flinch is unmistakable.
 

“What is it?”

Mace untangles himself and inches away from me. An ugly distance develops between us
 

“What is wrong?”

“Your eyes,” he whispers, head shaking. “They’re cat’s eyes.”

My purr ceases, content fades and smile dies.

“It’s just that…” His hand fumbles under the curtains, most certainly seeking his clothing, another barrier to put between us. “If you knew what was going on in my life…”
 

Realization settles on me in a sick wave of nausea. Our passion, the power of my orgasm, unsettled my grip on my human form. Mace hasn’t seen my anamorphic shape or eyes. He has his own magick, and he recognizes beings of power. How can something like this cause him to react so negatively?

Confliction rises in a stink from him, complicated by an edgy fear.
 

“These are the eyes of a goddess, Mace. These eyes have seen Heaven—seen Hell.” I stand slowly, my back no longer to the wall. Holding out my hands, I pull back my spell, revealing my true mix of feminine and feline. Water flies from his shaking head when fur forms on my paws and claws grow. “These hands have slung arrows of flame in the name of Egyptian Kings. And this mouth…” My voice alters, dual note of human and divine from my leonine muzzle. “This mouth has kissed deities and killed decadents.

“I am the Egyptian goddess Sekhmet, cousin to Anubis, once consort to the god Ptah.” I raise my arms, calling garments befitting a goddess to cloak my body. A wrap of burgundy linen materializes, snaking around me. Jewels and formal headdress appear upon my flesh, nestle behind my cat ears and over my cascading mane.
 

Mace sits, silent and stunned. His mouth gapes, and he rubs his eyes. I narrow my eyes, my muzzle crinkles as I struggle to choke back the growl itching my throat.
 

“Pity you cannot accept the truth of what you have tasted.”

“Please,” he begs, hand still searching for his clothes. “Give me a chance to explain. God.” A heat-like anger builds in his eyes. “We’ve never really talked. Just sex. Listen to me…”

Just sex?

Listen to him?
 

I’m a goddess. I’m divine.

My heart stings with each beat. I yearn to collapse at his feet and make him understand me, rather than his life, his needs. I will not beg for anything. Perhaps I held my human form too long…

Instead of sinking to that level, dissolving to the very human behaviors of petulance or begging, I turn from him.
 

For his comfort, I snap back into the form he fell for, the diminished version of me. Spine straight, shoulders level, I walk away. The curtains part and retreat from my passage with a wave of my hand. One clap and servants appear, ripped from Nun and thrust into now. They bow, hands laden with Mace’s clothing and boots.
 

“Dress yourself, and I will return you. Take your power and your fear and be gone.” I sigh, willing my heart not to break.
 

The silence between us is perfectly pained—at least for me.
 

Hope for a perfect mate dies within me. My immortal heart seizes, and I know it will ache forever. I cannot taste kismet and lose it without suffering pain. I lift a hand, jewels sparking on my fingers till tears mute their fires. But I suffer in silence. I refuse to let him see a human’s rejection can cut into the heart of a goddess.

His zipper’s closure is so modern and wrong in my Temple. He’s too modern and wrong in my heart. The bitter irony coats my tongue. I turn on him, cheeks sodden, eyes wet with tears.
 

With no preamble, and no apologies, I lunge.
 

Mace recoils, opening his mouth to protest. I refuse to hear his voice. Its siren call will only crack what’s left of my heart. And no one rejects a goddess.
 

I catch him up, my hurt radiating from me, burning in red flame in the palms of my hands. He’s muttering, begging, but I’m beyond hearing him. Rose hazes my visions, fire roars in my ears. My fingernails pierce the skin on the sides of Mace’s head. With no small amount of vengeance, I drive my magick into him. The prey hangs suspended from my hands as his body goes lax and then melts.