Dion's Desire

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  His anger dissipated as his dick stirred within his pants. “What about now?”

  She flashed him a beautiful, full smile. “I might want to try another kiss to see if the first one was a fluke, but not now. What’s for lunch?”

  He’d delivered delight but all she craved was food. Dion sighed. Women could be so trying yet so very tempting, and he knew he wanted more.

  “I have no idea,” he told her. “But, it will be excellent. I have a good kitchen crew.”

  “Let’s go find out,” she told him. “I’m hungry.”

  “So am I,” he said.

  His staff did not disappoint. The buffet spread across the back of the large dining room abounded with delightful delicacies and tasty tidbits. Ripe and green olives, feta and other cheeses, prosciutto and thin-sliced chicken breast were arrayed on large trays. Baskets with peasant bread, croissants, and rich black bread sat alongside. Crimson cherry tomatoes, ripe grapes, and other delights filled bowls. Platters of petit fours, miniature cinnamon rolls, and rich butter cookies provided dessert. Coffee was supplied, along with pitchers of both tea and lemonade.

  Dion walked through the dining room, offering greetings and comments to the troupe, his attention riveted on Chablis and her graceful movements. She carried herself well, her posture perfect and with the lovely charm of a dancer. He enjoyed ogling her and from the pink in her cheeks, she noticed. Good. He wanted her aware.

  Ignoring her, he spread compliments and comments as he passed. To Chablis, he said nothing. Dion never cracked a smile or sent a sideways glance her direction. The more he pretended to ignore her, he noticed the harder she tried to get his attention. He savored her efforts with wicked glee but held back. After the troupe finished, he clapped his hands together.

  “I thought you might enjoy a tour of the vineyard, ending at the theater,” he told them. “And perhaps, if time permits, we might run through The Frogs. Chablis hasn’t had the opportunity to tell you, but the play will be performed and I myself will play the god Dionysus.”

  A ripple of whispers rushed through the room but he sensed no opposition, only eagerness and maybe awe. Or not. Hubris had always been one of his flaws. Chablis smiled and offered him a slight nod of approval. He rewarded her with a big grin and watched her expression expand.

  At his suggestion, most of the troupe loaded into the vans they had arrived in, but he took Chablis with him in the golf cart and led the way. Earlier, he drove her to the theater but this time he rambled through the vineyards. Dion used the powerful PA system in the cart to narrate as he led the vans over his property. He pointed out the areas where different grapes were grown, the distant horizon where the San Bernadinos were visible, and the tiny lemon grove he had planted, then nurtured. Chablis sat beside him, hands folded in her lap. A docile pose, but she wasn’t. At the same time, she maneuvered her long legs across the seat in a way that made his cock harden with interest. Each time the wind tousled her long hair, Dion shivered with want. Inside, he churned with desire and a growing need but maintained an outward calm.

  As they approached the theater, he increased speed so that they careened into the parking area behind the stage before the vans arrived. Dion turned to Chablis. “You’ve tempted me since we left the Chateau,” he said. “I think I’ve earned another kiss.”

  Her green eyes glittered. “Do you?”

  The words were a challenge and he wasn’t a man to refuse one. Without another word, Dion pulled her into his arms and kissed her. His tongue dived between her lips and into her mouth. Instant heat rippled between them, full and potent, as powerful as summer lightning. When she didn’t resist, Dion increased his efforts and kissed her until her cheeks reddened. Her fingers clawed against his shirt, desperate with need. When he let her surface for air, she gasped, and then grinned. “I might need another.”

  “I can deliver,” he told her and did.

  In his arms, Chablis’ body molded against his as he kissed her again, long, hard, and deep. His cock danced within his pants and turned to stone. Dion stroked her body as his lips caressed her mouth. His hands rubbed her breasts and he delighted when her nipples hardened at his touch, buds ready and ripe to blossom. He savored her curves and let one hand stray below the waistband of her shorts to squeeze her tight ass. Nice, he thought, very nice. Since she didn’t protest, he shifted his hand to the front and massaged her mound. Chablis moaned and arched her back. “Did that feel good?” he whispered.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said.

  His nimble fingers undid the button on her shorts and unzipped them. She wore no panties, which thrilled Dion. The denim dropped to her ankles and Dion stroked her pubic hair, and then inserted two fingers. He found her wet and hot, a perfect combination, and he would’ve taken her without restraint if he hadn’t heard the vans approach, the whine of their engines harsh in the quiet vineyard.

  “Damn it to the netherworld,” he said. Chablis flushed and pulled up her shorts. She turned away from him long enough to compose her expression. Before the first van rolled to a stop, she had managed to regain control although her eyes sparkled. When Dion met her gaze, he could swear sparks kindled within Chablis and traveled to him with speed.

  Her troupe surrounded them and visited the stage, the stands, and the dressing areas. They chattered with excitement and appreciation for the theater structure. Chablis stood against one of the stone columns beside Dion and watched, a smile flirting with her lips. After several minutes, she turned to him and he noticed her lips were plum-colored from their kisses. His cock tightened in his pants, hard enough to be uncomfortable.

  “My troupe likes the venue,” she told him.

  “Good.” He inhaled her scent. “I liked kissing you even more.”

  Her lips curved upward in a wide smile. “I think we moved beyond kissing, Dion.”

  He bowed his head in acknowledgement. “I agree. If your troupe hadn’t arrived––”

  “But they did.”

  “Yes.” Damned if he could tell whether that made her glad or disappointed. “So what now?”

  Chablis stroked his cheek with her fingers, light as a breeze, softer than silk. “I thought we’d run through a few scenes from The Frogs,” she told him. “Then maybe we’ll finish what you started, before or after dinner.”

  A slow ripple of want rolled down Dion’s body, from his chest to his crotch, then lower until his legs wobbled. If his cock got any harder, he would probably explode and die from withheld passion. “I can’t wait until after dinner,” he told her. She smiled and he lost any restraint he might have possessed.

  Dion grasped her hand and pulled her toward the green room, tucked into a discreet corner behind the pillars. He used his foot to push the door shut and backed Chablis against the wall. With urgent need and extreme finesse, he worked her shorts loose and dropped them down. Then he fumbled his fly open and released his stiff dick, hard and ready for action. Lust surged through him and he maneuvered her into position.

  Dion rammed his cock into her pussy and drove it deep. Her wet channel welcomed him, moist and hot. When she tightened her ass so that her walls caressed his dick, he moaned with pleasure and almost came. Instead, he held back and savored the growing tension. Pleasure spiraled through him, dizzy and intense. Sex hadn’t been this great in a very long time, so he worked his cock within her, to maximum effect. If she’d been passive he would have rushed the finish, but she made breathless noises and hung onto him so tightly he wouldn’t have been able to breathe if he’d been paying attention.

  Chablis wiggled and managed to take him further into her pussy. Every time he thrust, she cried out with delight. He pounded her hard and she seemed to glory in it. When the pressure increased until he had more pain than pleasure, Dion yielded to orgasm.

  When it hit, it took him with the force of a tsunami wave and rocked him to his foundation. His body convulsed with sensation after sensation until his head whirled and Dion thought he might lose consciousness from the power of it all.
From the crimson color in her cheeks and her ragged breathing, he thought Chablis experienced the same wild rush. With his dick still deep within her, Dion kissed her with a tenderness he hadn’t expected, a slow, sweet caress of his mouth on hers.

  She’s magnificent, he thought, skin tingling and blood pumping hard through his veins. He didn’t want to pull out, the first time he had ever experienced such a feeling. Until now, when he finished, he was done but Dion wanted to linger. He held Chablis in his arms, aware she still shuddered with tiny aftershocks from their lovemaking and when he did ease out, he missed the physical connection.

  “You’re amazing,” he whispered into her ear.

  She murmured something he couldn’t quite make out, then said, “So are you, Dion. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t, then. Just kiss me.” He claimed her mouth with his and delivered a long kiss. If someone hadn’t pounded on the door, he would’ve taken her again.

  “Chablis? Are you in there?” The soft voice belonged to one of the actors from her troupe, a petite brunette. Dion couldn’t recall her name. Chablis opened her mouth to reply, her face flushed with a vivid blush but he put his lips over it to stop her. He shook his head and although she shot him a curious glance, she didn’t answer, too busy kissing him back.

  He inserted several fingers into her pussy and stroked. She arched her back and shifted until they drove deeper, until he fondled her bud. Chablis moaned and clung to him, her fingers sharp as claws. Dion stroked her until she came, one hand over her mouth to prevent her cries from being heard. Then he mounted her again, took his pleasure with deep delight, and released her. His legs trembled and his breath came short but he couldn’t help but grin.

  I need to keep this one around a while.

  He never did and hadn’t but he wanted Chablis for the present.

  After they straightened their garments and she smoothed her tangled hair, they emerged, he with a leopard skin across his shoulders and a club for his role in the play. Members of her troupe swarmed them, asking questions. Dion held up one hand and they stopped.

  “We were looking for my costume,” he said. He referenced the items, which were traditionally associated with Dionysus as he pretended to be Hercules. “And we found it.”

  One of the guys laughed. “I’d say you found something else too. Is that a whiff of come I smell?”

  Chablis colored. “Seth!”

  Dion took one step toward him. “You’re out of line,” he said. His tone carried menace and a low sound close to a growl. “I won’t tolerate it, not on my property.”

  Ugly red suffused Seth’s face, and he glowered. “Oh, yeah?”

  The challenge riled Dion’s hot blood. Without another word or any warning, he balled up a fist and hit Seth hard enough to knock him onto his ass. The actor groaned and clutched his nose. “I think you broke it,” he muttered. “It really hurts.”

  “Khalash, koprophage,” Dion cried, angered into speaking ancient Greek. Then he struck him across the face one more time. He regained his modern tongue to add, “Get out. You’re not welcome here.”

  One of the other actors offered Seth a hand and he found his feet. He cupped his injured nose with one hand. “I’ll file assault charges,” he said. His voice sounded thick and odd. A stream of blood flowed from one nostril. “And we won’t play here. C’mon, Chablis, let’s get out of here.”

  How dare Seth treat her as if he owned her, thought Dion. He bristled but before he could speak or spar again, she spoke. “The Masques are my troupe, Seth, not yours. We’ll stay and honor our contract, but you may go. You spoke out of line and I don’t appreciate it, not at all. If you don’t have someone who can drive out to the vineyard to pick you up, I’ll pay for a driver if necessary. I’ll settle with you about any money owed to you after this engagement and I won’t need you as part of the company any longer.”

  She spoke with cold disdain, her voice sharper than a winter north wind and Dion gloried in it. Whatever this man, this puny thing had been to her in the past, he wasn’t now and Dion liked that, very much.

  Seth shot her a cutting look but he walked toward one of the vans. Another man trailed him. “Wait, I’ll drive you back to the city,” he said.

  The others gaped, eyes wide and turned to Chablis. Dion watched with awe as she schooled her expression and with a calm smile, she clapped her hands. “Okay, we came out here to see the theater and you’ve seen it. Let’s run through the first act of The Frogs. Ned, you take over the role Seth had planned to play, okay?”

  After a few tense minutes and a couple of bobbled lines, they did. Dion played his role with skill but as she spoke his words, his mind wasn’t on them. He could think of nothing but Chablis, his beautiful, golden, amazing Chablis.

  Chapter Three

  By the time they returned to Château Bacchus, both vans were parked in front and no trace of Seth remained. Chablis sat beside him in the golf cart on the way back, pressed close beside Dion but said little. He didn’t think she was angry, not with him, but he wasn’t sure until they pulled up near the back door. “So you told him to leave off and eat shit?” she said, with a wicked smile.

  “You know ancient Greek?”

  “A little,” she said. “I studied the classics to understand theater more.”

  “That’s basically what I said, yes.”

  Her smile broadened. “I thought so.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Because he’s gone? No. He was an asshole, anyway.”

  Dion hadn’t survived for thousands of years without good instincts. There was more here and he knew it. “Why’d he think he could boss you?”

  Chablis’ eyes darkened. “A long time ago, I made a mistake and slept with him, once. He never quite got past it.”

  Such open honesty pleased him. Mortal women weren’t usually so forthcoming and immortal ones were even worse. “And what we did, was it a mistake too?” He kept his tone light but her answer mattered more than he cared to admit.

  “I don’t know yet,” she replied. “I don’t think so. I hope not.”

  By Mount Olympus, so did he.

  Constance walked into the large vestibule, her heels clicking across the marble floor. “You’re back,” she said. “Dinner is ready to be served when you wish.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you need me to stay?”

  “I don’t, unless you’d like to dine with us,” he told his office manager.

  “I’d rather go home, Dion. I’ll see you tomorrow. Stay out of trouble.”

  He offered her a formal bow and rakish grin. “You know me too well, Constance.”

  The older woman laughed and walked through the double front doors. Dion offered Chablis his arm. “May I escort you to the dining room, hriso mou?”

  “Ne, Dionysus,” she replied and slid her arm into his. “You may.”

  Her use of his true name surprised and pleased him. With her on his arm, he sailed into the cavernous dining room. At the back, a full-scale feast awaited, roast lamb, Greek style, with salads and other dishes. There was also traditional roast beef to satisfy the American palates. Near the entrance, a bartender poured wine from the vineyard along with other beverages. Trays with gyros sandwiches and other savories were available and most of the troupe nibbled. They gossiped, too, because when Dion entered, silence descended.

  Ever the genial host, always the actor, in need of being adored, Dion took a moment to say a few words in welcome. He didn’t mention Seth or what happened at the theater and by the time he finished, the whispers had become soft applause. Dion savored a moment of arrogant satisfaction––he hadn’t lost his divine gift or sheer magnetism. If he wanted, he could probably do well in politics, he mused, but it had never appealed.

  Despite the unpleasantness and Seth’s departure, everything seemed to be in place for the dramatic festival. Dion dined with Chablis at his side, the food delicious, the wine exquisite and the company the best he had enjoyed in m
any years. Wine flowed, freely and in abundance, along with more potent liquor. Dion rose and opened a hidden control panel. He pressed a button and the sounds of Greek folk music filled the room, traditional and delightful. At the signal, his staff cleared the tables and moved them back to clear a wide space.

  “We’ve eaten,” he cried. “We’ve drunk. Now let’s dance!”

  Dion leapt to his feet and grabbed Chablis by the hand. He led her onto the impromptu dance floor and began a Syrtos dance, the folk dance from the Greek lowlands often called “the dragging dance” to differentiate it from the Pidiktos, the leaping dances from the mountains. As he began the slow, quaint steps, Chablis protested.

  “I don’t know if I can dance.”

  “Hush.” He put one finger across her lips. “Let’s just dance.”

  They led the dancing, their steps hearkening back to ancient Greece, their figures casting shadows that reminded him of etchings on vases and murals from centuries ago. He gloried in the festivities, totally in his element the way he seldom had been in this modern age.

  He’d drunk far too much good wine but he carried it well. Happy, exhausted, sweat-soaked, and brimming with good cheer, he slung his arm across her shoulders and squeezed. They were among the last that remained in the almost empty room and it was almost midnight.

  “Did you have fun?”

  Dion nodded. “Yes, very much,” he said. “I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed an evening more.”

  She leaned back against him and titled her gaze upward. “Me neither,” she told him. “I’m glad you did. You seem like you work very hard and probably don’t play enough.”

  “That’s very true, but I’ll confess – I like playing best of all.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I believe you. It’s late, though, and the festival begins tomorrow so we both have a big day ahead. I’d retire for the night if I knew which room was mine.”

  “Surely you were assigned one.”

  Chablis shook her head and tossed back her long golden hair. “I’m afraid not. I’ll have to knock on doors until I find the right room, I guess.”