Touch (Dark Gods: Selfish Myths #1)

27

Andrew returns the next day. When he knocks on the glass door, Love opens it and nervously thrusts a winter posy of needle branches and coiling twigs toward him.

The force of her motion startles Andrew. He stares at the tiny bouquet choked in her fist, his lips kicking up into a smirk, his own fingers holding something aloft. Love glances toward the item, a sheepish grin dancing across her face. The mortal is extending a similar bouquet in her direction.

They stand there, postures and tokens of affection identical. Except Andrew has added roses to his arrangement, no doubt purchased from a florist with access to a greenhouse.

“Perceptive mortal.” Love’s bashful smile evaporates into one of amusement. “How did you know?”

“That roses are your vibe?” Andrew quirks an eyebrow. “They’re embroidered on your panties. Also, you strike me as someone who prefers her flowers to make people bleed.”

“Thorns for protection?”

He flashes his teeth. “For trickery.”

The accuracy of this statement brings a chuckle to her lips, which falters the instant Andrew’s pupils flare, her mirth triggering him like an aphrodisiac. It has been over twenty-four hours since he made her come twice in succession. Much too long.

With a hiss, Love releases the bouquet.

With a growl, Andrew drops his own assortment.

Petals release into the air. The posies land as both parties launch at each other. Seizing a throw blanket from a cushioned chair, Andrew shoots toward Love. However, she beats him to it, stealing the textile and ramming it into his torso.

With momentum on her side, Love shoves the mortal into the nearest wall. The violent slam of his shoulder blades against the facade echoes through the cottage.

Panting, she attacks. Shoving her stiffened nipples into Andrew’s pecs, Love flanks his outer thigh with one limb. Planting one hand beside his head, she dips her face into his, their mouths blending. Thickness in the air creates another illusion of touch. Her free palm sneaks down to the bulge in his pants, cupping the rigid length of his cock through the blanket.

Andrew releases a jagged noise. Fates, he’s wide and solid, the pome broad under the pants, the layer too constrictive to tolerate. If she could peel back the garment, he would be long and thick, the head of his cock wide, just as she had imagined.

Unfortunately, shredding the pants concealing his attributes will only prevent Love from gripping him. Instead, she pictures the opaque bead of cum rising from the slit of his crown and thumbs the spot.

“Fuck,” Andrew seethes, his scalp hitting the wall. “Love.”

Her name on his tongue is more potent than a drug and sexier than any voice she’s ever heard. Buoyed by the noise and feeling him through the fabric, Love circles her digit around the head, spreading his arousal.

As Andrew groans his pleasure, Love experiences a utopian thrill. She has been craving nothing but this since yesterday, when he’d brought her to otherworldly heights.

This was only for you.

Not to be outdone, Love caresses the length of his cock. Strapping her fingers around the girth, she shifts up and down, from his sac to the line in his tip. The column expands, toughening under her grip, her fingers unable to encase his circumference fully.

Oh. How this flesh would fill and fuck her good.

Now that Love has finally undergone a rite of passage with him, she does not wish to stop. Something intrinsic has broken open inside her, like a busted latch or broken shell. New magic imbues her essence, fueling Love’s need. For all that skilled gods and goddesses have tried seducing her over the ages, it has taken the abstract touch of a mortal to awaken this part of her.

For eons, Love has spent her days pleasuring herself, discovering the mechanics of her body. Now, she knows what consummation feels like. At least, to an extent.

Encapsulated between her fingers, Andrew hardens further. She explores the shape of his cock, the splayed head and heavy testicles. With relish, Love envisions the flush of his skin, the inflated veins, and the glistening liquid.

Fabric rustles as she works the mortal, her wrist jutting, tugging on his upright cock. Cursing, Andrew pins his eyes to hers, the metallic irises glittering. Reaching for Love’s other hand on the wall, he dives his fingers into her own. And with his unfettered digits, he endeavors to caress her profile.

Synching with her motions, Andrew flings his hips toward her fist, the blanket jerking. He bucks his cock into her waiting grasp, his groans escalating. The noise tramples Love’s restraint, her hand leaving his on the wall and shoving into the waistband of her panties beneath her dress.

Her damp folds part as she lunges two fingers inside, pumping in tandem to the opposite hand, which siphons Andrew’s cock. The moment he registers Love’s actions, Andrew’s pupils gleam. His waist snaps, mirroring her fingers, attempting to crash through the blanket and bury himself there.

Love’s pussy tightens, constricting around her digits as they vault in and out. Her mouth falls open with his, their moans blasting together. The wet sounds of her cunt fill the space, along with his cock launching into the material.

It’s fulfillment and denial. It’s a union and a separation.

She cannot decipher whether to weep from frustration or scream for joy. Instead, she sobs with pleasure, her fingers driving high and soaked to the knuckles, her opposite hand commanding Andrew’s cock. That she’s responsible for every harsh and ardent twist of his features is momentous.

Primal. Jubilant.

Watching this mortal on the verge of collapse is just too much. Her wrist shakes, the cleft of her body needing more. Although Love dreads releasing him ever again, although she longs to hold his cock in her hand for eternity, she is indeed selfish. For she cannot bear to ignore the way her flesh begs for added pressure.

Andrew notices. “Let go,” he growls. “I’ve got this.”

Without waiting for Love to comply, the mortal relieves her. Pulling his hand from the wall but keeping a makeshift hold on her cheek, Andrew unzips his pants and jams his fingers into the gap.

Love only manages to view hints. One, she’s too small in stature compared to Andrew. Two, the blanket does not allow for more. However, flashes of skin suggest he’s bigger than she had anticipated.

Grabbing his cock, Andrew’s hisses through his incisors. Watching Love fuck herself, he matches the motions, his arm cranking.

Like this, their gazes cling.

He tugs on his cock to the cadence of her fingers, which pump in and out of her pussy. The mortal’s eyelids weigh down, lowering to half-mast. His torso hitches, the muscles heaving like a landmass that Love wants to live on forever. It creates an effervescence in her mouth, which builds with each quaking noise he emits.

Sensory perception amplifies along with her cries. The tastes of fear, sadness, and elation. The scents of lust and longing. Love parts her legs wider, her soaked fingers gliding between her walls.

Colors flash, spinning faster and faster. Blue sky. Purple wounds. Silver flurries. The black of her wings and his coat. All the while, her digits move as erratically as his hips.

His fist is her fist. Her fingers are his fingers.

Love emulates the pace of his wrist, and they scale that pinnacle together. Andrew growls and seizes his cock. At the same time, Love goes still, her digits lodging deeply.

At the epicenter, they find a way to collide. Staring hard, Love’s moan shatters into a prolonged cry. Staring back, Andrew’s features clenching, a groan of release ripping from his lungs. They come in unison, watching one another through the shocks that wrack their joints.

Thick fluid seeps into the blanket, his cock releasing onto the material, which rubs against her clit. Love trembles, relishing the sensation. Then Andrew crashes against the wall while Love slouches into him, the blanket enabling parts of her body to rest against his frame. Other areas, however, simply drift through one another like water.

They gasp for breath, their gazes never wavering, triumph and bereavement flooding the cottage. So close yet so far. But at least Love feels him in this privileged way. And from his vehement expression, this mortal shares that sentiment.

Their pants turn into quiet chuckles. Andrew watches her through mesmerized pupils, his thumb slipping through her ear as he endeavors to brush its edge.

“So,” he draws out, then tips his chin toward the discarded bouquet. “Were those for me?”

Love nods. “For you.”

That’s all she manages to get out, annoyed by her coyness and the tremor of uncertainty in her voice, particularly after what just happened. Whereas Andrew torments Love with his silence for all of three seconds before whispering, “I love it.”

Delight floods her chest. She ducks her head, a smile tilting the corner of her mouth. “I favor your bouquet as well. And I thank you for it.”

An insatiable noise tears from his lips. “How can a goddess manage to sound sweet and so fucking sexy at the same time?”

Her eyebrows pinch together. “I am not sweet.”

“I don’t know about that. The way your pink little cunt quivered against my tongue felt pretty sweet.”

“That compliment, I shall accept,” she flirts with dignity. “Seeing as it refers to taste and not demeanor.”

“Agreed. Though, if we need extra confirmation, I’ll willingly sink to my knees again for you.” He rubs his nose against hers. “Making you come on a frequent basis is my life ambition.”

“Even if our skin will never touch?”

She hadn’t meant to ruin this moment, nor for the ache in her voice to ring through. Yet Andrew uses the blanket to frame her cheeks. “Even then,” he avows. “I feel you in every drop of blood, every damn breath, and every inch beneath my skin. Whenever you speak, smile, or look at me. You could stand on the opposite side of the world, and I would feel it all. And even if I didn’t, I would take whatever contact I could get from you.”

If he keeps professing such things, Love shall burst at the seams. She nestles her face into his blanket-covered fingers. “Sentimental human.”

“Bewitched human,” he corrects. “To the point where I’d even beg for your weapon to penetrate me.”

“Hmm. In which case, we could experiment. For instance, the iron fletchings of my arrows are actually quite soft.”

Andrew groans. “As much as I’d love to flatten, bend, and spread you across every surface in this cottage, then find every way to fuck you with a surplus of objects, we’ll run out of options too fast. And I have every intention of drawing this out for all its worth.” Amused by Love’s disappointed scowl, he suggests, “I have another plan until then. It involves coming up for air.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“Works in slow-burn fiction. Besides, it involves competition.”

As if he’s dangling a morsel in front of her, Love perks up. “Very well. So how do we keep this romantic interlude going?”

His delectable mouth crooks. “By killing each other.”