Destiny for Dionysos (Olympians Ascending, #3)

by Lazu, Sotia

  Dionysos is still watching me, eyes filled with worry I want to assuage.

  “I didn’t think you would... You know. It’s that”—I gesture down my front, indicating his hoodie—“I’ve imposed enough. You don’t need to provide sustenance, on top of clothing and a job.”

  His smile makes the room brighter. “It’s no trouble.” He’s already heading for the kitchen. “Pour yourself a drink, go sit at the table again, and I’ll be back in a few.”

  I could use some more time by the fire, but I feel warmer when I’m near him, so I sit at the bar, where I can see through the window into the kitchen. “I wanna watch,” I say. “Maybe learn something more sophisticated than the grilled-cheese sandwiches I usually make for company.”

  His laugh has my nipples straining against the lace of my bra. I lean against the bar, to hide how they push at the cotton of the hoodie.

  Yes, I’m aware I was trying to get away two minutes ago, but that was my logic and past experience behind the wheel. My body, my gut, tells me Dionysos is safe. Meaning he won’t rape and dismember me. When he bats his eyelashes and gives me this lopsided grin that makes a dimple appear on his left cheek, I’m not sure he won’t rip out my heart and stomp on it. If I let him. Which I won’t. Because I’m only here to stay dry, and I’m only coming back in the morning because I need the job.

  But for the next few minutes, while he prepares dinner for me, I can enjoy the sight of his back rippling beneath his T-shirt, and his ass and his long, muscular legs stretching the denim fighting to encase them. The fryer is on, and he does not skimp on the frozen fries he pours into the basket from a bag when the oil heats up. He doesn’t talk while he forms two patties, adds a generous pinch of salt and pepper, and lays them on the scorching hot grill plate. The smell of beef and the sound of bacon sizzling make my mouth drool.

  Dionysos gives the patties a couple minutes, then flips them.

  “I like mine well done,” I say.

  He doesn’t turn away from the cooker. “I said I’ll make you the best damn burger you’ve ever had. Won’t go above medium.”

  I huff a sigh. “Okay. But you’d better rock my world.”

  This time he does glance at me, and his eyes smolder.

  The fryer dings, breaking the spell. Dionysos raises the fries out of the oil and turns off the switch. He has the ease of someone who’s been doing this for years, his moves perfectly synchronized. He takes the burgers off the grill, slaps a slice of Gruyere atop each one, and turns off the fire. Then he slices open two buns, butters them, and presses them to the hot surface. While the divine scent of butter mixes with the rest of the scintillating aromas, he chops lettuce and whips up a mayo-based sauce I couldn’t replicate if you paid me.

  I force myself to stop staring, and my gaze falls on the frame beside the serving hatch. It’s the bar license. Dionysos’ last name is Olympios. Why does that sound familiar?

  Fuck me.

  “Are you related to Poseidon Olympios? The hotel magnate?” I try to keep the shock from my voice. Poseidon Olympios is among the ten richest people in the world.

  Dionysos doesn’t raise his head from his work. “Yeah. He’s my brother. You met him.”

  “I did not— Wait. Sei? Sei is Poseidon?” Wow. I’ve met a freaking multi-billionaire up close. “How can I get him to offer me a job?”

  Was that a growl? Can’t tell over the noise the range hood makes.

  “The company I worked for did a TV-spot for him a couple years before I joined, and they still talk about how generous he was. The day the spot aired, he sent everyone who worked on the project flowers and champagne.”

  Dionysos grunts. “I’m generous too.”

  “Are you also filthy rich?” I slap my hand over my mouth, but it’s too late. The idiotic, gold-diggery question is out there.

  To my infinite relief, he chuckles. “I am. Not as filthy. We were adopted into old money. Sei did what was expected of him with his share, while I—”

  “Bought a bar.”

  “Two. Soon to be three.”

  I love the pride in his tone. Well, love is too strong a word. I sure do enjoy it, though. It gives his voice a deeper rumble that makes me squeeze my thighs together. He is every bit as sexy as the girls said he was. And I’ll attribute the snarl that curls my lips at the thought of other women knowing that fact to hunger pangs.

  He ducks into a cupboard and comes back up holding two chop blocks, then proceeds to set up the burgers. Finally, he adds generous side portions of crispy, golden, liberally salted fries, and coleslaw he pulls out of the humongous stainless-steel refrigerator in the far corner.

  By the time he places my plate in front of me, I’m cross-eyed with hunger.

  “This smells amazing.” I reach for a fry, but he swats away my fingers.

  “Not ready yet.” He goes back to the fridge and brings out a small bottle with a spray nozzle. And a piece of cheese. Pausing by the workbench to grab a cheese grater, he motions for me to move to the table and joins me there. He sprays first my fries and then his with what turns out to be truffle oil, and then tops them with finely grated Parmesan cheese.

  “Can I please try them now?” I give him puppy eyes.

  He sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. He does that a lot. He must realize the posture showcases his pecs and biceps. I’d stare more, but I need to shove a fistful of fries in my mouth. I do just that. And they taste as incredible as they look.

  “Try the burger.” He nibbles on a fry and chews slowly. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, and then my gaze is glued to his fingers, which he licks clean, one by one.

  Burger. Eat. No fantasizing of what that tongue or those fingers can do.

  I pick up my burger with both hands and sink my teeth in it in a very unladylike bite. Oh my God. I try to say the words, but all that comes out of my full mouth is a moan. I take my time, chewing and swallowing the exquisite combo of meat, bread, cheese, and salad. “This is the best burger I’ve ever had,” I say.

  He nods, obviously satisfied, and finally digs into his meal.

  Chapter Four - Dionysos

  Moira rolls her eyes and smacks her lips. “Can you make other things too, or is this where your culinary skills end?”

  I don’t even try to suppress my cocky grin. “I am a fucking god, when it comes to cooking. It’s a talent, really. I know what tastes good.” Holding her gaze while I say that is a little too much, but she takes another bite and hums, and nothing is too much—nothing is enough—when compared to the pure delight in that sound.

  “Oh my God. Like seriously, how do you not weigh two-hundred kilos, if you cook like this?” she asks. “I gained ten kilos when I first learned how to make filo pastry; I baked pitas on a daily basis.”

  I chuckle. “I try not to indulge too often.”

  She shakes her head, not looking at me. “He cooks like this and has self-restraint. With my luck, must be an ax murderer. At least I’ll die happy.”

  This time I give a full belly laugh. She’s fun. Damn it.

  No, not damn it. Fun is good in an associate. It will make time fly when we work together. The two of us. And Phaedra and Nancy, on most nights, but they’ll be serving, while Moira tends the bar.

  And after eleven, when the kitchen closes, I’ll be helping her. Working beside her.

  Where I can smell her hair and bump into her accidentally and be reminded of how off limits she fucking is.

  My amazeballs burger tastes like ash. Moira’s doesn’t seem to have the same issue, because she bites off one chunk after the other, humming and moaning and groaning and closing her eyes and licking sauce off her lips and driving me nuts. My jeans are digging into my cock that throbs with need, as she sucks and licks her fingers clean—I’ll need to start wearing boxer shorts, if I’m to spend more time in her presence.

  Her bare knee touches my leg, and I feel her heat through my jeans. She doesn’t move away, and before I can stop myself, I slide lower
in my seat so the length of her thigh presses into me. She smells like the earth after the rain, and I want to inhale her.

  I hop upright, almost toppling my chair over. “Beer?” I need to get some distance between us, even if it’s for a few seconds. I take advantage of the opportunity, to adjust my dick. That’s better.

  “Only if you have an alcohol-free one,” she says.

  I do, and I bring us a bottle each, no glasses. I pop the caps, and she clinks our bottles together and takes a swig. A dollop of foam almost escapes her mouth, but she catches it with her tongue. That’s an agile tongue. Fast, too. And those lips...

  I force the rest of that thought out of my mind and wedge a fry past my teeth. Chew slowly. Fight to swallow it. I don’t care about the food; I need to know more about Moira. If Hermes and Sei felt this intensely attracted to their mates when they first saw them, I understand why they have these stupid grins on their faces all of the time, now that they went ahead with the bonding. Would I be this happy, if I gave into fate and tied my eternity to Moira?

  I feel like someone landed a punch on my solar plexus. Or I assume this would be what a punch on the solar plexus would feel like, for a mortal. I may be pre-ascension, but like my brothers, I’ve had a supernatural threshold for pain all my life. This hurts, though. It’s as if a giant hand tightens around my chest, hard enough to crack my unbreakable ribs.

  Sei and Hermes had the option to give in. I can’t sleep with someone more than once—a couple times, tops—without essentially stealing their free will and making them subject to their basest desires. Nobody can be with me. Nobody can love me. My prolonged touch tears through all kinds of mental and psychological constraints.

  It drove Ariadne to madness.

  I see her in my dreams, half-crazed, trying to end her life when my powers tore through the spell Theseus cast on her. I shouldn’t be remembering. My brothers don’t recall their original lives. Hephaestus claimed earlier that he remembered not having a relationship with Aphrodite, but that might have been to piss Ares off.

  Or maybe they each remember something but don’t wanna talk about it. I sure as fuck plan on keeping my memories a secret.

  While I’m busy, self-flagellating, Moira polishes off her plate. She looks forlornly at the licked-clean slab of wood, and her puppy eyes pull my mood back from the gutter, though they leave my mind there.

  “Want another?” I ask.

  She pats her stomach. “Can’t fit anything else in here.”

  Pity. I wouldn’t mind listening to her moan in pleasure a little longer, and since feeding her is the only way I can safely achieve that... I arch an eyebrow. “You sure? Because my chocolate soufflé may possibly be better than my burger.”

  Moira groans and tosses her head back. Her hair is dry now, curls escaping the bun to tumble loosely around her face. “I’m so very tempted—chocolate is my weakness—but I can’t. I’m sorry.” She looks heartbroken. How adorable is that?

  And since when do I consider women adorable instead of fuckable? “Maybe tomorrow, then.” I shrug. This isn’t a good idea. I do feed my staff occasionally, I like to have a good relationship with them, but I don’t do so on a daily basis. Plus, I don’t want to sleep with anyone else who works for me.

  Not sleep. Sleep implies a deeper connection. What I’m feeling is attraction. I want to have sex with Moira and get it out of my system. But I won’t do that, either. She’s my employee. I won’t be like the creep she ran away from.

  Moira watches me as if she can see through my skull and into my brain. For a drawn-out second, I’m convinced she can. My brothers and I have always been able to hold mental conversations. Joy and Hermes can read each other’s thoughts. Same with Sei and Irine. But Moira isn’t an Olympian or bonded to one. She can’t know what I’m thinking. She probably can read facial expressions, though, so I try not to look like a miserable jackass.

  “Do you treat all your new employees this way?” she asks. “Making them burgers and fries and soufflés?” She gasps. “You mentioned girls. Do you only hire women, so you can surround yourself with a harem?”

  I compose my face into a somber expression. “You caught me.”

  She goes quiet. Does she think I meant it? I said I don’t get involved with people who work for me.

  I’m about to explain, when she shrugs. “You know what? I don’t even mind, as long as I have access to food like this.”

  She’s joking, but my cock doesn’t know that. It strains against denim. I shift in my seat. I should say goodnight. We ate, we chatted, and the rain must have stopped by now. No reason to stick around. I can clean the grill in the morning.

  “So I’d better get going,” Moira says. Her face falls. “Need to arrange some stuff.”

  “With your old job?” The reminder of what brought her here tonight has my pulse racing again. Her old office must be within walking distance. I can find the guy tomorrow and put the fear of an Olympian in him.

  She pushes back her chair and gets up. Smooths my sweater down her curves and looks down at her ballet pumps that have lost their shape after their watery encounter. “Yeah, you can say that. My shoes are dry. Hope my clothes are too. I’ll change and be out of your hair.”

  I want her to leave. She has to leave. So why does the fist around my lungs squeeze again? I rise too, and with my longer strides make it to the door first. I open it a crack. It’s drizzling outside, but the road is practically a river from earlier, clogged sewers adding their fill to the debris floating down the street. I can’t send her out there in these paper-like shoes. Besides, no taxi will drive here in this. Rain in Athens causes major traffic jams.

  I close the door and lean against it. Moira is outside the staff bathroom, watching me expectantly.

  I shake my head. “You’re not going anywhere. Crash in the back for the night. I have a spare set of keys behind the bar.”

  Her eyes widen, and she licks her lips, but is motionless other than that. Does she think I mean to trap her here and do things to her against her will? I take a slow step toward her. “Come, lock up behind me, and you can have my keys too.”

  “Why?” She straightens her shoulders, but the stance doesn’t seem defensive, and there’s no fear in her eyes.

  Good. I’d never want her to be afraid of me. “To make sure I won’t come back to perv on you,” I say.

  Her laughs sounds genuine. “You wouldn’t do anything stupid. I know where you live.”

  Why does the reminder make me feel warm inside? All my employees know where I live, because they’re the only women I’ll never mess around with. I’m a fucking joy to work for, if I say so myself, and treat them like family. Like they’re my sisters.

  Except I can’t see Moira as a sister. Not when I catch a glimpse of her legs under my hoodie. Not when she lets her hair down and it frames her face. Not when she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth.

  I have something much bigger for her to suck on.

  Okay, need to put a lid on these thoughts. She’s off limits.

  “Do you need me to get you anything before I turn in for the night?” At fucking ten in the evening?

  Her gaze lights me on fire, the way it lingers on my mouth. “Nah, I’m okay. More than okay. I’m in your debt. Seriously, can’t thank you enough. If there’s anything I can do...”

  I have a couple things in mind, but I keep my mouth shut. “You can come upstairs with a sweet cappuccino before you leave in the morning.”

  “I’ll bring croissants too.”

  “Awesome.” I wave her over. When she doesn’t move, I go to her and hand her my keys. “Lock up and make yourself comfortable. If you’re cold, there’s an electric heater. Turn it on a few minutes before you get into bed, and you’ll be nice and toasty.” Nice and toasty? Am I a grandma now?

  She crosses her arms, and it takes effort not to stare at the swell of her breasts. Thank Chaos the hoodie doesn’t have a deeper neckline. “Why are you going out in the rain, if I’m not all
owed to?” she asks.

  Because I need to cool down. Though the water will probably evaporate when it touches my skin, the way she’s lit me on fire. “I will be under it for literally thirty seconds,” I say instead. I clasp her wrist over the fabric and lead her to the exit. Linger there. This feels like a first date. If it were one, I’d be kissing her right about now.

  Not a date. I should go home. Now. I smile and bring her hand to my mouth, to ghost the briefest of kisses across the knuckles. “Goodnight, Moira. Welcome aboard.”

  It’s gonna be a hell of a ride.

  I step outside and wait till I hear the telltale snick of the lock. Good girl.

  I look up at the sky, where the clouds are making room for the stars to reluctantly appear. Scattered droplets of water do nothing to wash away the memory of her smooth skin against my lips. I desire her. More than that—I hunger for her.

  It’s only because I can’t have her. Knowing I wasn’t allowed to touch the wall socket made me shove my finger in it more than once, while I was in middle school. C yelled and punished me by taking away my TV time, but the satisfaction of breaking the rules more than made up for that loss.

  I’m not in middle school anymore, though. Besides, I’ve always respected other people’s boundaries, and Moira doesn’t want me; she only sees me as her friendly boss.

  She did seem to flirt at times.

  Nah. Wishful thinking. This is good. If I stop thinking of her as the forbidden fruit and start thinking of her as the disinterested fruit, I won’t be tempted to make a move.

  But I still want her. Still think of her alone in that room, in that cot. Will she be wearing my hoodie all night, her scent rubbing off on it?

  Chaos, I’m hard.

  Hiring Moira may be the worst decision I ever made. If I sent her on her way, I might never see her again. Never be tempted again. I could ask C to start keeping track of her once more, after I had him stop when I decided I wouldn’t ascend. This way, I could avoid her at every turn. It would be the logical, responsible thing to do. Because I honestly don’t want to be with her.