Touch (Dark Gods: Selfish Myths #1)

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Scarcely finishing, Andrew pitches his mouth forward. On a whimper, Love drives her fingers into the mist of his hair and meets his lips with her own, their flesh merging, bleeding together like steam. The instant they cross that boundary, a small cry abandons Love’s tongue, her open mouth tingling from the impact. Their parted lips drag hectically over one another, skimming, seeking.

With a hiss, Andrew brackets his arms around Love, his palms attempting to clasp her ass. The rush of his movement pushes through her like something on the brink of manifesting, like a true means of contact. It pulls a needy moan from her throat, the exhalation brushing Andrew’s lips. His mouth would be firm but smooth, unyielding and skilled while tugging on her until she’s crying into his kiss. Her lips would break against Andrew’s, and his tongue would capture her own, rocking them together in a steady tempo.

Love’s eyelids fall shut. Her mind conjures the sensation of his mouth gripping hers, sketching the contours, the flat of his tongue rowing sinuously against her own. They would fit together well, the kiss agonizing, enduring long after it ended.

Somehow, fantasy becomes reality. Only more potent, the dream solidifying, the shade of a touch somehow becoming accessible.

Andrew is not actually clasping Love to him. Yet she feels him in spirit and soul.

He tracks his intoxicating mouth over hers, teasing and wracking her with shivers. Their heads blend like specters, the air’s thickness an intimation of touch, an inkling of what might be, which is a relief and a torment.

It is also a battle cry for more. Love wants to shout against his mouth, to claim him with her teeth, to lick his flesh, to taste his groan.

She traces his lips, the phantom kiss striking her like an arrow. Deep. Painful. Andrew’s palms roam over her, doing their best to cup the back of her skull, to fix her mouth in place, to reach her, to claim her. Just as she endeavors to claim him.

It is not enough. Yet it’s everything.

Only the crack and pop of the fire manages to pry them apart. Love teeters forward, the severed kiss disrupting her balance as Andrew hums, dragging his lips away and hovering his forehead against the outline of hers. Somehow, this motion has its own force, preventing her from toppling through him.

Those euphoric irises hood while he speaks against the apparition of her mouth. “That was beautiful.”

She shudders. “That wasn’t all.”

They can pursue more, touch by alternative means, and draw one another to climatic heights. Images swirl in her consciousness, each one involving methods to make one another tremble. One technique in particular unravels through her mind, a long-practiced art from an invisible goddess who’s accustomed to being a spectator when humans fuck.

Viewing. Watching.

Andrew’s orbs glitter, her invitation darkening his irises. While no other deity has ever read her thoughts, this flesh-and-blood creature does so effortlessly. The implicit understanding, the manner in which he understands her, and how he savors Love’s offer as if it’s the key to all his desires.

She cannot decide which is more exhilarating. That another being in this universe knows her intrinsically, that their connection is growing stronger, or that hunger is straining across his gorgeous face.

Andrew brushes his lips through hers. “Move back.”

Love’s mouth quirks. Obeying is not in her nature. Yet from him, it sounds less like a command and more like an acceptance of her invitation, followed by a counter proposal. His masculine timbre, the intention in his tone, and the thrill of the unexpected incites a wildness in her, for she has never wanted to submit to a request more in her life.

Her knees skid across the mattress as she retreats, her movements rustling the textiles. With a fixed expression, Andrew prowls after Love. He matches her posture across the bed, slow and steady, abducting the sheet along the way.

Anticipation stirs her blood. When and where to stop, he leaves up to Love. The moment she pauses halfway across the mattress, he halts before her, his mortal scent an inebriating substance in the air.

Outside, snow coats the trees. Inside, flames dance in the pit, tossing orange hues across the transparent walls.

How to proceed? Of all living things, the Goddess of Love should know. However, indecision stays her motions. She has witnessed millions of kisses, embraces, and sexual exploits. Yet it’s different to take an active part in the seduction.

Angling her gaze up to his, Love implores without speaking. Like a new form of magic, this man grasps her silent inquiry.

Locking his eyes with her, Andrew lifts the sheet, and she shuffles forward. Once the remaining distance closes, he wraps the material around Love’s body. The instant she presses herself into his chest, the mortal emits a low, rugged noise as the weight of her breasts thrusts against his pectorals.

Love sighs, the sound tumbling from her lips. Despite the thin barrier between them, the sensation of carved muscle against her bodice and hard limbs encasing her frame makes her head swim. She yearns to slip inside him, or to have him slip inside her, the longing corporeal.

Her nipples toughen, pitting through layers of fabric and scraping over his torso. Andrew’s famished expression sends a thrill up her limbs, an ache building in the nexus of her thighs.

The clothes are a nuisance yet necessary if they wish to maintain contact. Nonetheless, Andrew maneuvers the sheet. Sliding it over her silk camisole, he caresses her breasts, the points of her nipples cinching under his palms.

“Christ,” Andrew mutters, his voice gravelly. “Please make that noise again for me.”

When he grazes his thumbs around her peaks through the material, Love seizes the edges of the sheet for balance. “Oh,” she whimpers.

With a satisfied hum, the mortal nods and coasts his lips along hers. “Again.”

Then he glides the sheet down her waist, across her navel, over her hips, and down the outer rims of her thighs. Love quivers like fletching. More astonished sounds fall from her mouth, as light as snow, as bright as embers.

The sensory responses overwhelm her, magnetic and extraordinary. Her flesh sparks as his hands sweep the fabric over each inch of her flesh, until she’s melting and delirious. But when he runs the soft textile down, Andrew stalls, his heady gaze fastening to hers.

Permission. That is what he’s asking for.

Once more, pressure rises to her cheeks. She must be blushing. Any goddess would be mortified to exhibit this response, yet nothing Andrew does makes her feel shame. Rather, it imbues Love with a new type of power.

Leveling her gaze with his, she bobs her head. “You have my blessing.”

The naughty corner of Andrew’s mouth lifts. “Spread for me, goddess.”

Condemnation. How she enjoys when he formulates these requests, all the while surrendering the choice to her. The paradox is downright alluring, the seam of her pussy reacting, the crease growing slick.

While studying his face, Love parts her knees. Widening her stance exposes the arousal pooling in the tiny shorts, the notion wetting her further.

Andrew’s nostrils flare. With excruciating slowness, he draws the sheet to her inner thighs, massaging them until they’re pliant and unsteady. Panting into one another, their eyes fuse while he veers the sheet higher, ascending to the intimate slit.

Love’s mouth drops open on a stuttered whine. Andrew uses the fabric to sneak past the waistband of her silk shorts, descending to the gusset of her panties. Locating the material shrouding her cunt, he slips lower and sketches the folds until they swell. Astonished, she grabs a portion of the sheet, tacking it to Andrew’s waist for leverage while another disjointed noise shakes from her lips.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his pupils dilating. “Feel that? Feel your immortal pussy in my human hand?”

Love’s hips buck into the sheet. “Yes,” she encourages.

With riveted features, Andrew skates the textile along her slot, the tips of his fingers rowing back and forth. Patiently. Lazily. He explores her cunt through the silk, feathering over her walls, coaxing open the rift.

Moans splinter from her lungs, and her hips circle against his fingers, seeking additional friction. Oh Fates, she’s being touched. Or as much as she can be touched by this mortal.

It’s nothing like the solitary moments when she rubs herself to orgasm. No, this stimulation exceeds anything that has come prior. For this experience is shared.

On a rasp, Andrew thumbs the flanks of her pussy. Then he grazes high to the outline of her clit, lightly flicking the inflated crest of skin.

The cry that jumps from Love’s throat echoes through the cottage. Andrew groans and orbits his index finger around the kernel, teasing and patting the peak. Love is leaking. The crux of her thighs pours onto the sheet, seeping through the fabric to dampen Andrew’s fingers.

The mortal hisses. “Dammit, Love. You’re soaked.”

With every circuit of his fingers, her clitoris pulsates, and her cunt drips. She drenches the material, her arousal smearing his fingers.

He fondles the apex, alternating between skimming her clit and massaging her folds. Unable to withstand the leisurely drape of his hand, Love splays her thighs and grinds herself on his upright fingers. With a disorderly moan, she lowers herself, clasping not one but several fingers between her walls, drawing the tips into the tight, slippery space.

Andrew growls and fulfills her wish. Curling his digits, he sinks farther inside, her pussy sealing him to the knuckles.

On a combined groan, they stare. A touch that is not a touch. Victory and torment kindle between them, because this is all they have, and it must be enough.

Determined, Love fists the sheet at his sides and bobs on his hand. Equally obstinate, Andrew juts his arm, meeting her pussy with his cloth-encased fingers, pumping gradually.

Bracing on her knees, Love rolls her waist and rides his digits. Blood races to the center of her body. Perspiration beads down her spine. Perhaps this is what heat feels like.

She chases the feeling. His covered fingers piston, plying her flesh to the brim, her pussy contracting around her panties, the sheet, and the shapes of his digits.

“Ah,” she keens, bouncing quicker. “Oh, Fates.”

“Beautiful,” he groans, his free arm heaving Love nearer, the sheet enabling them to close this gap.

Yes, this is beautiful. And remarkable. And excruciating. She needs him to take pity and ease the tension coiling inside her.

“Yes, my Selfish Myth,” Andrew encourages. “Fuck yourself. Use my hand to make your body come.”

On the verge of ecstasy, Love drenches the sheet, which pitches in and out of her folds. The fabric creates its own magnificent friction, magnifying the pleasure. Her moans amplify, the noises vehement.

She springs up and down on the fabric, on his fingers, on the edge of euphoria. “Oh, Stars. Fuck, I cannot—”

“Then don’t,” he urges. “Come on my touch. Come.”

Love spreads even wider, arches her spine, and bounds on his hand like it’s his cock. While flinging her waist, flickers of light blast before her vision like shooting stars. Blood rushes to her pussy, the tension snaps, and she reels farther backward.

With a low shriek, she comes on the sheet, on Andrew’s lunging fingers. Her bones jolt, and her intimate muscles squeeze his digits, the inner flesh contorting and wetness flooding from her cunt. Convulsions throw spots before Love’s eyes, the swivel of her hips ebbs, and Andrew’s fingers stroke her through the final shocks of pleasure.

Spent, Love slumps forward. Andrew catches her with the sheet, his clothbound palm cupping her scalp.

The crown of her head tingles. Andrew’s mouth finds a different way to penetrate her, skimming his lips over Love’s, his skin passing through hers like a breeze. Their erratic breaths smash together, his broad chest crushing her breasts through the material.

With Love’s face bowed into his throat, her flesh misting with his own, her closed eyes sting. Thankfully, she composes herself before lifting her gaze to Andrew.

Pewter irises have vanished behind his pupils. His fingers, her sodden panties, and the sheet are still encased in her pussy. Tenderly, he withdraws from the clamp of her walls, rearranging her garments and leaving a hollowness behind. Having seeped through two layers, her climax glistens on his digits, which he glides between his lips, sucking on her release like a confection.

The gloss of his eyes deepens. He hums around his fingers and then licks his lips. It’s the most erotic sight she’s ever beheld, other than the vision of his features shortly before that phantom kiss.

He stares, mesmerized. “You’re bringing out the selfish in me.”

“In what manner?” she gusts out, scarcely able to articulate a coherent thought.

Impishness alights his features. Instead of answering, Andrew fists the sheet around Love, hauls her into his embrace, and drops her onto the bed. A stunned noise bursts from her lips, the mattress springs breaking the fall. She has barely recovered from the orgasm when Andrew is upon her once again.

Swooping down after Love and using the bedding to make contact, he peels the shorts from her legs and hurls them over his shoulder, then snatches her knees and hoists them apart. Her limbs splay on either side of his head, the tented fabric blocking her panties and cunt from his view. He has not seen her fully uncovered, yet that mortal stare blazes as if peering through each barrier.

Ravenous, Andrew licks his lips. “Grab hold of something.”

Excitement wets her anew. Love’s naughty grin matches his own as she twines her fingers around the bed posts, the position extending her farther, stretching her pussy open like a banquet. Despite the camisole and panties, his gaze strips her bare.

Because it requires a double layer of material to access the unclothed areas of Love’s flesh, he folds the blanket where necessary and plies her inner limbs with kisses through the sheet. The shape and firmness of his lips makes her toes curl, her legs steepling higher. His mouth leaves no inch of skin untended, his lips paying homage as they glide from Love’s ankles, to her shins, to her thighs. Masculine sounds radiate against her, the mussed tips of his hair brush the textile, and her spread folds pulse once more.

By the time Andrew’s head approaches her core, Love is twisting left and right, her digits battling to maintain their dutiful grip on the posts. Tightening his fingers on her knees, Andrew fastens her in place. Though, for what comes next, he should have tied her up. She realizes this the instant Andrew’s tongue flattens against her seam and rides up the cleft. A disjointed cry cracks from Love’s throat, her spine bowing off the mattress.

Fates save her. She has seen the mayhem oral pleasure causes in females. Yet she never knew… never imagined…

“Oh,” she mewls when Andrew repeats this action with a languid skim of his tongue. “Oh, fuck!”

The mortal groans against her pussy, the vibration stoking her flesh. With prolonged licks, he traces her walls, rolling up and down her center. Inconsolable and perhaps a bit miffed that he’s drawing this out, effortlessly draining her stamina, Love grunts and whips her hips toward his face.

Starved, Andrew strikes his tongue into the sheet, rustling her panties, probing her open through both layers. Deft flicks of that tongue sharpen her senses until Love is helpless and grinding her pussy with his mouth.

Then—Stars help them—he traps her clitoris between his lips and sucks. With exquisite motions, the mortal siphons on her flesh like a candied pellet. Love’s eyes scroll backward, her thighs fly apart, and she shouts to the hemisphere. “Andrew!”

His hands clench her knees. Driven by Love’s rapture, he growls and thrusts his mouth, jabbing the point of his tongue inside her, then tapping her clit from within the seal of his lips. Veering her head sideways, Love bites a portion of the sheet, muffling her groans for no earthly reason that she can rationalize.

Helpless, Love unleashes a string of moans, each one louder than the next. Her waist goes wild, vaulting off the bed with abandon. Adrenaline, blood, and exhilaration pump through her veins.

Slickness drenches the panties and sheet, drizzling into Andrew’s mouth, the sopping textiles adding friction. She thrashes, shrieks, and comes for a second bout while Andrew flutters his tongue around her clit. The folds of her pussy ripple over his mouth, pleasure detonating across the edges of her being. Love’s body ignites like fireworks—resplendent and scattering to pieces.

As the volcanic orgasm subsides, her spine hits the bed with a thud. Sweat coats her flesh, and she goes limp, wheezing from exertion.

Andrew’s husky sigh drifts to her ears. She glances down, blinking through the haze to witness him crawling over her. Hovering there, with his knees scissoring her thighs apart, Andrew brackets his frame above.

Feasting on Love has compromised his respirations, the exhales choppy. They take advantage of the sheet, the material adhering their bodies together, the connection precious. Had they removed their clothes, the loophole would have been severed, and they would have floated through one another. Even so, these impediments are inconsequential, for she’s never been this exposed, this desired, this consumed.

Draping his tongue across his mouth, Andrew shakes his head and gazes at Love in awe. “That was the most honest fucking thing I’ve ever felt.”

A god would have praised her flawless curves and gloated over how hard they’d made her come. But as Andrew had said, all he wants is her honesty. Not perfection or flattery. In this moment, Love had been as real as she’d ever been.

Moreover, this man breached a divide to please her, yet he expects nothing for himself. How very mortal. How utterly heartrending. She should feel undeserving of his words; instead, they make her feel renewed, exultant, cared for.

It’s unacceptable to deny him equal satisfaction. Love runs her hand gently over the outline of his features, his neck as he groans, and the jut of his chin, heedful not to let her touch slip past him. She imagines what his skin truly feels like. And when his eyelids drop closed, it’s easy to believe the contact is real.

She wants to discover what he tastes like in kind, how droplets of his cum feel on her tongue. She yearns to find out how Andrew sounds when he climaxes, how his face twists, how his hips move, and what he enjoys. Based on this sensual episode, all of it will be divine.

She manipulates the sheet, using it to descend the cobbled ridges of his torso, down to the waistband of his jeans, where his thick cock wedges against the garment. A hiss slices through Andrew’s teeth. It’s a tedious chore to remove the belt, and she grunts in frustration before his sheet-covered fingers land on her arms.

His tender but firm grip stops Love. Baffled, her gaze leaps to his, those piercing eyes arresting her in place. She sees the rejection, and for a moment, her heart cracks.

“Why?” she whispers. “You haven’t had your turn.”

“This wasn’t about me.” With a handsome grin, he leans into her mouth, their lips blending. “This was only for you.”