Chapter 21 #2
Her moans are as sheer as mist. Her flushed pussy tastes sublime, like a sour-sweet fusion of red wine and figs.
Envy puts his whole body into sampling that dark budding place nestled within her, skimming and sucking on the shape of her clit and the flanks lining her slick opening.
Matter of fact, he won’t stop until he’s heard every type of tumultuous sound this goddess is capable of making.
Sorrow writhes and wrecks his hair, and Envy vocalizes his approval. Their movements threaten to capsize the boat, water thrashes against its curvature, the prow’s pole tossing white flames across the lagoon.
By the time Sorrow spasms once more around his wet tongue, her arousal dripping down his palate, Envy learns a new kind of pain. To be succinct, his balls are as heavy as cement, and his distended cock is on the brink of detonating without the aid of friction.
To cope, he plants kisses on the exposed skin peeking from the robe, exploring the sacred corners of Sorrow’s anatomy while introducing her to sensuality. She falls limp and trembling, her legs hooking over his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his back.
Lucky him. At this moment, she’s all his.
However, this goddess must notice his erectile discomfort, because she skates her palm down his navel, paving a dangerous path to his dick.
Hissing, Envy drags himself away. Ah, ah, ah.
While he’d like nothing more than to let this vixen strap her fingers around his flesh, the pressure and pump of her dewy mouth encasing the turgid head, he wants to savor this decadence, not clutter it with hasty bonus rounds.
Seduction should happen in stages, progressing at a rate that builds anticipation.
So instead, Sorrow reclines inside the boat, tucked in his arms. They exhale while staring at the sky. Somewhere beyond this inlet, the great stargazer at Fortune’s Crest cranes its metallic neck, marking the future site of an impending battle.
Over the past few months, the crew attempted several conferences to debate fate versus free will with The Court.
They met in the human realm, with Anger and Wonder’s Guide, Harmony, in attendance.
In advance, their crew prepared examples of humanity ungoverned.
Anger and Harmony had cited people their crew hadn’t targeted over the millennia, illustrating that mortals can handle more than they’ve been given credit for.
Their campaign made a case, advocating how the mortal world won’t collapse without the intervention of destiny.
The meetings had proceeded to no avail. They went in circles, unable to reach a dignified compromise with The Court. The rulers hadn’t budged, reiterating a major principle of their kin: The power of choice is an illusion.
Serendipity can never be outrun. Even if deities can’t target every mortal, the ones who do get struck incite a domino effect, rigorous enough to influence many others.
As for the ones not triggered by arrows, The Stars must have alternative plans for them, agendas that don’t require immortal intervention.
The Court had deemed this subject non-negotiable. And what had their crew really expected? It takes years, decades, or sometimes centuries for mortal nations to figure themselves out and draft resolutions. Why shouldn’t it take Dark Gods infinitely longer merely to broach the subject?
Nonetheless, events have progressed this swiftly, beyond anything the crew could have fathomed. Thus, their campaign has evolved into a military affair.
Yet war seems far away, for one more day.
This approaching dawn. The last one they’ll have.
The morning celestials will emerge. By nightfall, they’ll make haste. Until then, Envy bolsters himself on his elbow and sketches Sorrow’s pointed nipple through the robe, drawing it with the tip of his finger. “There’s one more place I want to take you.”
Sorrow seizes his digit, chiefly to hold it close. “Okay.”
He returns them to the cavern, then hauls the vessel with him, anchoring it atop one shoulder, and ignores Sorrow’s lecture about his ribs. At this point, the injury has mostly rectified itself.
Returning to the waterfall enclave, they float through pools and past waterfalls, which throw steam into the air.
Prisms of color arch through illuminated motes, and the occasional lunar heron ventures from its sacred cove.
Envy and Sorrow travel beyond the compact peninsulas, where he directs them through a cascading curtain, the onslaught drenching them.
Not having expected that, Sorrow laughs and slaps his calf in retaliation. But she doesn’t stop gazing at the atmosphere, beaming at their surroundings.
Floating behind the waterfall, Envy points out a secret tunnel.
Upon first discovering it, his Guide, Siren, had verified it to be a shortcut to the Astral Sea.
To this day, Envy hasn’t tried getting through, due to the shifty stalagmites and noise-sensitive stalactites, in addition to the explosive corners and sharp-as-fuck rocks.
Because it’s a perilous trek, he hadn’t led Sorrow that way during their escape.
Not even The Court is aware of this passage. All this time, only Envy and Siren have known of its existence.
Sorrow nestles her spine into the wall of his chest. Envy encircles her midriff and coos into her nape, “We’d better go back before I get X-rated ideas.”
“Ugh,” she grunts. “Not yet.”
“Ughhh,” Envy imitates. “Hiss. Mumble. Snarl.”
“I don’t sound like that, you asshole.”
Minutes later, they dock the boat. Stepping onto the bank, Envy stalls at the shrouded footpath and offers his hand.
Sorrow takes it. When she disembarks onto the soil, he twirls her under his arm and sways her into a slow dance, balling their hands against his chest.
“Well?” he teases. “Am I wooing you? Compliment me. Say I’m irreplaceable.”
Even while she rolls her eyes, Sorrow’s complexion flushes a beguiling tint of red.
That’s plenty for Envy. While she’s the only goddess skilled at driving him crazy, apparently he’s the only god who can make her smile.
It reminds him of his manifesto on sensuality, how it needs to be savored in doses.
The same rule applies to being with this female.
For millennia, he couldn’t stand her. Recently, he’d just wanted to fuck her.
Now he’s discovering Sorrow in bits and pieces. Indeed, he likes each of those pieces, most especially the jagged ones that hide nothing.
While dancing with him, Sorrow gazes at his mouth. Desire brims in those incandescent orbs, that look plus the scent of black tea, smoke, and afternotes of violet imbuing his senses. Never mind that no one has ever stared at him with genuine fondness. But has anyone ever done that for her?
After a moment’s thought, Sorrow’s grin falters, and her voice turns fretful. “I don’t know how to feel like this.”
The confession brings Envy up short, because he understands. Like tenacious little vines, apprehension slips through the cracks of his facade. He’s not doing any better than she at identifying what they’ve become to each other.
Emotion is one thing. Action is another.
All he can do is clasp the goddess against him and growl softly across her mouth, “But you know how to feel this.”