Goddess of Light gs-3

by P. C. Cast

  "Oh, look," Pamela said, pointing down at the stage and trying to get her breathing to return to normal. She must be hornier than she thought because this show was driving her completely crazy. Just minutes before if Phoebus had so much as smiled at her, she would have straddled him right there. V had obviously been right; going without sex for too long made a girl lose her mind. "That couple just said that they're here for their fiftieth wedding anniversary."

  "Fifty years!" the lovely Artemis repeated, and the crowd clapped politely. One of the actors rushed over to the goddess and whispered in her ear. Artemis smiled, nodded and addressed the old couple again. "Would you come up on stage and close our little performance with a special dance for just the two of you?"

  Apollo leaned forward to get a better view as an elderly couple rose slowly to their feet, and with a smattering of encouraging applause, they walked up the stairs to the stage. The lights dimmed, and a soft waltz began to play. At first the couple moved awkwardly together, before eventually falling into a rhythm that was fluid and familiar. The silver-haired man turned his wife, catching the end of her long, cloaklike dress, and the audience let out their breath in surprise as she twirled, and her dress unwound until she was standing onstage in only a dancer's body leotard and a flowing, wraparound skirt. She curtsied to the theater like a lovely ballerina, and then she and her husband resumed their waltz. This time they moved with the grace of professional dancers. Effortlessly, the old man lifted her still-vibrant body to his shoulder, then turned, dipped, and with a flourish she spun down into his arms once more. The dance ended as they kissed in the middle of the stage.

  "And thus we celebrate love. At any age—in any way—it is truly magical and carries with it a touch of immortality. Go with my blessing tonight, lovers, and take pleasure where you will. Love, laugh and be merry!" the goddess proclaimed, and in a blaze of shooting sparks, the entire company disappeared through a trapdoor in the floor of the stage.

  The applause continued for a long time, but when none of the actors returned for an encore, the theater began to empty. The audience was almost exclusively made up of couples, and as they left there were many linked hands, intimate conversations and lingering touches.

  When the other couples sitting around them in the balcony began to file out, Pamela hesitated. She and Phoebus were standing beside their love seat, and for a moment the two of them were completely alone, as if they had discovered a pocket of intimacy within the darkening theater. Pamela thought it was a little like the night before when they'd kissed in the rain. She looked up at him, overwhelmed by the mixture of lust and longing that was coursing through her body in time with the beating of her heart. And in that moment she knew she would make love to him. She was tired of settling for contentment rather than joy. Pamela spoke in a sudden burst, as if the words had to break through a wall of inhibitions and caution.

  "You make me feel like we're in a world alone, all to ourselves. Sometimes when I look at you I think second chances are possible."

  "Believe that," he said fiercely. "And believe that I would never do anything to hurt you. Think of me as you do your talisman, Apollo. I, too, want you to heal and be whole so that you can love and trust again."

  He touched the coin she wore around her neck, and she imagined that she could feel the healing warmth of that touch all the way through the metal and into her heart. Tired of hesitation and second thoughts, she slid her hands up his chest and pressed herself close to him.

  "Would you do something for me, Phoebus?"

  "Anything within my power," he said solemnly.

  "Would you take me back to my room and make love to me?" she asked breathlessly.

  "It would be my great honor, sweet Pamela," he said, and bent to kiss her upturned lips.

  Chapter 15

  In a warm mist of anticipation, they walked back to Pamela's suite. They spoke little but touched each other constantly. Apollo was already becoming familiar with the curves and lines of her body, and he stopped often to pull her into a shadow and kiss her with a tenderness that did nothing to mask his growing desire. He wanted her with an intensity that was a white fire building within him, and to his eternal delight, Pamela was responding with matching passion. She felt so right pressed against him, as if she had always been there. As they walked, he thought about the old couple who had closed the theatrical production. Obviously, they, too, had been actors, planted amidst the crowd, but that didn't mean that they hadn't truly been lovers. Apollo remembered the way the old man's eyes had radiated love and pride as he led his lifelong bride in their special waltz. Apollo knew he would never experience growing old by Pamela's side, but he wanted her with him—and he wanted it with an intensity that filled him with purpose. They would be together, he promised himself.

  Pamela slid the key card into the door, and with a green light and a click, she entered the suite ahead of him. Her hesitation was gone. She knew what she wanted. She wanted Phoebus. Forget past mistakes. Never mind about what may or may not happen in the future. Something had happened to her tonight while she was watching Zumanity's magical sexuality. She realized that she had been wrong. Duane hadn't killed romance or fun or even sex for her. He had just caused that part of her to hibernate. And now it that it had awakened, she was ravenous.

  When Apollo closed the door, she turned and stepped into his arms. He kissed her, wanting to take his time to taste her thoroughly now that they were finally alone, but when she moaned into his mouth he bent and cupped her well-rounded buttocks and lifted her, so that the hot core of her pressed firmly against his arousal. She moved restlessly against him and with a gasp he broke the kiss, struggling for control.

  "I'm losing my mind with desire for you," he moaned as her tongue and lips made a hot trail down the side of his neck.

  "Put me down, and I'll take off these clothes." Her warm breath whispered against his skin.

  He almost dropped her, and her laughter was deep and throaty. Pamela stepped teasingly away from him, and then began to walk backwards towards the bed, while she used one hand to reach behind her and unzip her little red dress. She shrugged her shoulder. It slid free, and she stepped delicately out of the scarlet heap it made around her heels. Apollo's eyes drank in her body. She was wearing something black and lacy that did next to nothing to cover her breasts, but it lifted them and pointed them enticingly at him, and a matching swatch of lace that barely hid the dark triangle between her legs. The golden dagger-heeled sandals did something incredibly sexy to her long, bare legs. As she reached behind her again to unlatch the lingerie, he closed the distance between them.

  He kissed her again and against his mouth she said, "I want to feel you naked against me."

  Breathing hard, he broke the kiss long enough to roughly yank the shirt over his head. While he fumbled with the unfamiliar fastening of his pants, Pamela slid back on the bed, watching him with sparkling eyes. And she still had on those incredibly sexy shoes.

  Finally, he managed to make himself naked, but before he could join her on the bed, she half sat up and halted him with her raised hand.

  "Wait. Just stand there, and let me look at you." Her gaze traveled down from his eyes that had darkened to sapphire over the rest of his body. Her tongue flicked over her lips before she spoke again. "Phoebus, you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen. God! Look at your skin. It covers your muscles like liquid gold." She shook her head and gave a small, breathless laugh. "Artists should paint you. Sculptors should sculpt you. How can you be real?"

  He sat on the bed beside her. "I am real, and what is happening between us is real. How I look is nothing unusual or extraordinary to me." He paused, considering. He had made love to countless women, goddess and mortal alike. Always before he had used the magic of his immortal power to heighten his own pleasure during the act of lovemaking. This time was different. Pamela was different. He hadn't wanted to use his powers to seduce or entrap her, but he wanted very much for her to feel the depth of his passion. He wa
nted her to know him in a way no other woman had. He touched her as he continued speaking. "What is new and wonderful to me is what is happening within, and the only way I know of sharing that feeling with you is to love you." Gently, he caressed her long neck and let his fingers move up and through the short locks of hair. As he touched her, he allowed some of his immortal power to escape from his hand and to lick through her body. She shivered under his touch. "Let me love you, sweet Pamela. Let me make this real for you."

  "Yes." She breathed the word into his mouth.

  His hands moved over her body as their lips met again. Her skin hummed under his touch. Pamela had never before felt so sensitized. It was like she had become a living conduit for all of the hot, intense, mind-blowingly erotic sensations she had been missing for years.

  His hands moved down her leg, until they came to her foot. His eyes flashed up at her, and then kissed the ankle she had injured the night before.

  "I wanted to do that then, you know," his voice was rough with desire.

  "You should have," she panted. "I wanted you to."

  Phoebus undid the little gold buckle that held the small strap of leather around her ankle, and slid the shoe off. Then he kissed the delicate arch of her foot. Electricity danced up her leg to settle deep in her moist center.

  "I'm glad you like it," he said, moving to her other foot. "Tonight I want you to believe that you are a goddess being loved by a god."

  She moaned and bit her lip as his mouth moved from the arch of her foot to her calf. He had to be a musician, she thought, when he stroked the inside of her thigh and his lips found the hollow behind her knee. Only a musician could have hands that talented. His touch felt hot, and she melted under his caresses. As his lips followed the path his hands traced up the inside of her thigh, she arched to meet him, gasping in pleasure when his hot tongue delved into her. Her orgasm was so quick and explosive that her entire body jerked in response. Somewhere in the violet haze of passion she acknowledged that it had never happened like that before—never so fast or so intense. Feeling dizzy, she reached out for him, and Phoebus gathered her to him.

  "Yes, yes, I'm here, my sweet Pamela," he murmured.

  She could feel his heart pounding against her breast. The erratic pace of his pulse matched her own. She opened her mouth and his tongue met hers. She tasted her sex on him—salty and sweet at the same time. Pamela deepened the kiss, lifting herself so that her wet heat was pressed against the hard length of his erection. She reached between them to guide him to her. But she didn't sheath him within her—not yet. Instead she held him there, rubbing his engorged tip against her velvet folds while she stroked him with her hand.

  Until she began stroking him, Apollo had been in complete control. He had reveled in the uninhibited way Pamela responded to him, and he had carefully used his immortal power to heighten her sensitivity. He made love to her with his body and his magic. When she found release, he drank in the honey of her ecstasy. But she had a magic of her own, that of a woman's allure intensified by the desire of a god's heart and soul.

  "I can not wait any longer." His voice was raw with lust.

  "Phoebus…" She breathed his name as she finally guided him inside her and then rose to meet his thrusts so that he buried his entire length within her over and over and over.

  Apollo lifted himself so that he could look into her eyes. Heal, the God of Light's soul spoke to hers. Believe that you can love again.

  His eyes captured her. She couldn't look away from him. She was consumed by his touch and his scent and the hard heat of him. She responded to him on a level that was deeper than physical. He was touching her, not just with his body, but with his mind, his heart and maybe even his soul. When his orgasm began, he took her with him. She closed her eyes against the intensity of her pleasure, and it seemed that a flash of pure yellow light burst against her closed lids as she heard Phoebus cry her name aloud.

  Artemis froze, midsip of the delightful martini she was sharing with the satyr who had served her so well earlier that evening. Like the vanquished Gordian knot, she felt the ties that bound her suddenly slice away. Apollo had done it. The ritual was completed. The goddess smiled and drew a deep breath, pleased that she was unhampered by the clinging emotions of a…

  "No." Artemis ground the word through clenched teeth. "This can not be."

  "Is anything amiss, my Lady?" The satyr's eyes were wide with concern.

  "Be still!" Artemis commanded.

  The woodland creature looked wounded but instantly obeyed his goddess. Artemis narrowed her eyes and concentrated. There! She hadn't imagined it. The overwhelming pressure that bound her to the mortal woman had lifted, but in its place was a single thread, thin and almost insubstantial. What was this? What had happened? Apollo must have made love to the mortal. That should have fulfilled the invocation. The mortal had asked to have romance in her life. How could being made love to by the God of Light not satisfy the woman's ideal of romance? Especially after she had been primed for him by the magic Artemis had used during the wonderfully erotic theater presentation. Her immortal eavesdropping on Pamela's conversation with the concierge had been fruitful; joining the erotic show herself was an inspired idea. The Huntress's full lips tilted up. She was discovering that there were things about the modern world that she enjoyed. She'd had no idea how much fun it would be to take a little sojourn as an adored star of the theater. She'd have to do so again very soon…

  Artemis cringed as the thread that still bound her to the mortal woman tugged at her. It was just a slight pressure, like a very small burr that had worked its way into her slipper. At first it was only a minor annoyance, but left alone it could cause much irritation.

  The goddess blew out a frustrated breath. There was nothing she could do about it right now. She couldn't very well chase down her brother and burst in on his lovemaking, demanding to know why his performance hadn't been romantic enough. That certainly wouldn't help. She twirled the thin, cold stem of her martini glass between her fingers. It was still early. Perhaps by morning Apollo would have managed to do whatever it was that the ridiculous mortal woman required to satisfy her romantic desires. Until then it was pointless to brood about it. She needed a diversion.

  She glanced slyly at the young satyr who still sat quietly beside her. He really was a handsome beast.

  "Darling," she purred, and his ears literally perked in her direction. "Remember how exciting it was when you pursued me through the air earlier tonight?"

  "Of course, Goddess," his voice was eager. "An eternity can pass, and I will still remember."

  "I'm not ready as yet to return to Olympus. Pay for our drinks, and then let us go back to that lovely theater. You shall practice your aerial pursuit, and this time perhaps you will be more fully rewarded when you finally capture me."

  She ran one finger down his muscular arm and his fawn-like eyes dilated in response.

  "I live to serve your needs, Goddess," he said.

  "That is exactly what I am counting on," Artemis murmured to herself as the satyr rushed off to pay the servant.

  Chapter 16

  Oh, bloody buggering hell. She'd forgotten to use a condom. And not just for the first time. For the second, as well as the third. She rolled her eyes. What. A. Moron. How could she have forgotten? Especially after she'd swallowed down the knot of embarrassment that had threatened to choke her and bought a brand new box of Trojans from the hotel gift shop after her pedicure. And thank God she'd gotten that pedicure. Phoebus had kissed and caressed and even sucked her toes. Just thinking about it made her feel all flushed and weak-kneed, again.

  Focus! Her internal monitor chastised her. Not using condoms had nothing to do with toe-sucking. Or did it?

  A movement to her right drew her eyes. Pamela turned her head and looked at Phoebus. He was so beautiful. When she wasn't looking at him, she could think of him as just an ordinarily nice-looking man. And then she'd see him and realize that there was nothing ordinary about him
. Nothing at all.

  Her body still glowed from his touch. She should be sore and tired and probably battling a raging urinary tract infection from too much sex. Instead she felt marvelous. Lazy and lethargic and very, very well-satisfied.

  But she'd still forgotten to use a condom.

  "I can feel you frowning," he said without opening his eyes.

  "That's impossible," she said, forcing a smile on her face. "And anyway, I'm not frowning."

  Still without opening his eyes Phoebus said, "Not anymore you aren't." He opened his eyes then and turned his golden head so that he could look directly at her. His smile was tender. "Good morning, my sweet Pamela."

  "I forgot to use a condom last night." She blushed. "And this morning."

  His brow wrinkled. "Condom?" He tried out the unfamiliar word.

  "Yeah," she said, her face getting hotter by the second. She grabbed the sheet, which had come completely untucked, thanks to their aerobics last night, wound it around her naked body, and retreated to the bathroom. Over her shoulder she said, "You know—condom, prophylactic, rubber. I'm not on the pill or anything. You're the doctor. I shouldn't have to tell you how easy it would be for me to get pregnant."

  A condom was something that kept a mortal woman from getting pregnant? How very interesting. Although he didn't think it would stop a god from impregnating a mortal, should he desire her to become with child. Apollo had not impregnated Pamela. He stretched and smiled. He would like to, though, but not until she knew she was his, and she had agreed to spend her life with him.