Chapter 22
Sorrow
She has witnessed millions of embraces between millions of mortals. Yet Sorrow can’t remember being on the receiving end of one. At least, not one of this nature.
To her surprise, Envy is right. Despite her lack of personal experience, she does know how to feel a hug. And she knows how to reciprocate.
Nuzzling into his hair, she closes her eyes and draws his dark-rum-and-amber scent into her lungs. Her chest siphons with his, their respirations matching. His massive arms envelope Sorrow as if she’s a hidden gem. Something rare, evasive, and priceless.
What an infinite moment. She can’t put it any other way.
Envy’s face burrows into her hair. Like a fleece blanket or a swig of currant nectar, his hold loosens the knots in her shoulders.
Water ripples through the lagoon. When their arms unwind, it’s all Sorrow can do to face Envy. Her uncertain gaze clings to his own, and their fingers absently clamp together. It could be a pact, an unspoken agreement to put animosities to rest, once and for all.
Without a word, they enter the cavern and travel to her chamber, lamps pouring golden light across the walls.
Envy slides into the bed and takes Sorrow with him, then continues introducing her to the most vivid forms of pleasure.
He massages every inch of her anatomy until she melts into the mattress.
He feeds her currants, then licks the juice from her lips.
He enchants an eye mask, so she can’t anticipate which route his mouth takes across her flesh.
By the end of that arousing journey, his head sinks into the nexus of her cunt for a fourth time, sifting on her wet flesh to the point of unconsciousness, her moans cataclysmic.
At last, Envy folds Sorrow into him. Days, months, years, centuries, and millennia merge into a single moment.
The embrace must have magic, sapping her of energy.
Fleece blankets whisper across her skin, preceded by another embrace from behind as the vainest god in the universe aligns his torso with her back, their sodden clothes forgotten.
Her lips curve upward. Blackness floods her mind before her smile can lift fully.
Yet it seems like seconds when Sorrow’s eyes drag open. The motion takes effort, with her eyelids glued and caked together. When she blinks awake, the deepening blue of afternoon fills the hollow. They’ve been asleep for nearly the whole day.
Sorrow rolls over, intending to nag Envy.
But she stops. He rests with half of his visage mashed into the pillow and puffs through a partially open mouth.
He’s wrinkled and unkempt, and dammit, it would be fantastic to get this evidence on camera.
If only those contraptions worked on deities, she would produce one.
The cloth around his injury rises and falls with his outtakes. By tonight, he’ll be able to remove the dressing.
Her mouth compresses, a frightening sensation pouring through her like syrup. That, along with pride. The God of Envy has risked her seeing him like this, when he wouldn’t be caught dead letting anyone else have the uncensored honors.
Carefully, she tests whether he’s a light sleeper, brushing a swatch of hair from his chin. Nothing. He barely stirs, the blanket slumping low across the V of his hips.
For a while, she watches Envy until her fingers grow restless.
Either she leaves now, or she’ll fondle something hard, long, and thick.
She could draw down those trousers, admire his dick lifting from the hem, the slender crease over the dark head.
She could bow her mouth and pucker her lips around his girth, licking the veins until the head flares, a salty drop of cum beading from the top.
She could suck him awake, pull on his cock until it annihilates Envy.
She could do all this and more. When really, Sorrow wouldn’t dare without his knowledge.
Deities usually don’t object to this invasive behavior. But she does.
Nonetheless, Sorrow groans, her pussy clenching at the fantasy. With reluctance, she slogs from the bed and straightens her robe. Padding from the chamber, she coaches herself not to look back, lest she should give into temptation and rouse him from slumber.
At the cavern’s threshold, a breeze sails through the foliage, and the cliffs rise to the sky.
Settling at the lagoon’s rim, Sorrow dips her feet into the water and takes a moment to replay last night.
The things he’d done to her. The things she’d allowed him to do.
The words they’d spoken. The places they drifted to afterward.
The secret tunnel leading from the enclave, which he hadn’t shared with anyone else.
The dance. His strong arms banding around her.
Gripping the lagoon’s ledge, she twists her mouth into her shoulder, muffling another tilt of her lips.
You’re smiling.
That’s what he recently said. And yes, she is. Raising her head, Sorrow turns to the welkin and lets the grin expand from one end of her face to the other. Impulsively, she goes wild and flashes her teeth.
After that, Sorrow strips out of the robe and wades into the lagoon. Her entry produces a lazy splash, the glossy surface quivering. The firmament rotates as she unravels and floats on her back, arms and legs scissoring outward.
Has she ever felt this courageous? This happy?
A heavier splash alerts her to his presence. The wave that accompanies his arrival causes Sorrow to bob over the pool. She directs her gaze to the canopy, no longer grinning, but not frowning either. To the contrary, her features are relaxed and rested.
A pair of smooth palms materialize under her.
One hand braces the valley between her shoulder blades, the other her lower back.
Silent and getting his eyeful of her damp tits and glistening pussy, Envy balances Sorrow and sways her around the enclosure.
Overhead, a cathedral of stars glints as he spins her slowly, the afternoon celestials swirling in her vision.
The motion alters Sorrow’s view, distorting it, changing it, making it new.
Her smile breaks through again. She chuckles and senses him grinning in kind, amused by her reaction as they turn and turn and turn.
Then they stop, gasping as though they’ve been wheeling much faster. Sorrow’s chest pumps oxygen, every respiration shallow and unsteady.
She can’t take it anymore.
Envy swings her upright just as she straightens to her feet. Her arms find his shoulders, and his arms snatch her waist. Her gaze makes it as far as his mouth while the angle of his shadow indicates he’s doing the same thing, staring at her lips. They’re dripping, heaving in damp air.
He’s as naked as she is, though the surface conceals everything below the ramps of his hipbones. Above that, he has removed the dressing, the bruised flesh healed and his ribs contracting normally.
Sorrow trembles. As the hard peeks of her breasts slide into his chest, Envy hisses. If she meets those dark eyes, she’ll lose her nerve.
They pause, their faces angling inches apart. Shallow pants rush from their mouths, so fucking close. Her eyelids flutter, and a bead of perspiration quivers down her nape. Under the depths, his cock thickens against the contracting flesh of her cunt.
Sorrow’s heart beats like a drum. Or is it his heart thudding?
They’ve never done this. They’ve never done this one thing.
To hell with it. To hell with all of it.
She lifts her head and brushes her mouth with his.
Envy’s torso hitches, his throat unleashing a feral noise.
He stalls, his fingernails biting into her naked ass, his reaction dangling off a precipice while she waits, then he returns the gesture with a caress of his own mouth, the contact suffocating her.
And then they’re teasing each other, their hectic mouths grazing languidly.
Envy’s lips are firm and full, as she’d imagined countless times. Though, her visions pale in comparison to reality.
As they withhold from one another, a thrill rushes through her, their heads slanting in the opposite direction. This time, Envy’s tongue flicks against her teeth, and a mewl curls from her lips. Pleasure coils up her thighs, drenching her cunt.
This is the longest calm-before-the-storm she’s ever known. This must also qualify as the most frustrating, drawn-out incident in history.
Envy’s tongue makes another pass, this one along the crease of her mouth.
Curse him, the contact opens her walls. On a sigh, she licks him back, swiping the bow of his upper lip.
He seethes, one hand scaling from Sorrow’s ass to the back of her skull, his digits snarling through her roots and fisting her hair.
He’s got her ready. And as she grips his nape, she’s got him primed.
They wait. Then they stop waiting.
With a single lunge, they fling themselves into the kiss. Envy growls, his mouth swooping down and seizing hers. Sorrow cries into him, their lips spitting and clutching.
Their bodies go wild, arms clinging, fingers scraping. His tongue pries her apart and flexes into her mouth. Sorrow grapples the muscles of his back, urging him closer, beseeching for more. A pliable moan slips out of her, their tongues sweeping together.
It teases. It torments.
Repeatedly, they switch direction, devouring each other from different angles. His mouth spreads her. Her mouth clutches his, their tongues fusing, swatting against one another.
Sorrow’s nostrils flare. Envy fumes, kissing the fuck out of her.
Her hands fall, clinging to his waist. Crooning, he grasps her face in one hand and attacks, his tongue plunging in and out, matching another rhythm they’ve achieved. Though, it was never as real as this.
It was never this deep.
Breaking away, Envy plants harsh kisses across her jawline. Finally, she catches a glimpse of his swollen, ruined mouth. The sight is too much, just too much, so she grabs him once more. He smirks into the kiss, hungry and wanting.
Where’s that fucking tongue?
Sorrow catches it, lapping up each scalding noise that burns from his lips. Her fingers climb his abs and ascend to his profile, securing him in place. With his tongue writhing against hers, Envy clamps her bare ass harder, smashing her against him, ramming their kiss together.
It’s mayhem, a beautiful wreckage of lips and tongues and moans. He plows in again, and she yields again, and they start again.
And now she knows what passion feels like.