Peace for Poseidon (Olympians Ascending Book 1)

by Sotia Lazu

  Fuck this. Predetermined or not, I choose to make this flight as enjoyable as possible.

  The man in front of Irine looks at the seat number over my head, and I know he’s going to sit next to me. I scan his mind quickly. He’s going to Greece for a business deal. Something to do with drilling for oil in the Aegean. Not gonna happen.

  I let my power of compulsion seep into my voice. “You changed your mind about this flight and the deal with the Turks,” I whisper. “Disembark now.”

  He nods, turns on his heel, and manages to squeeze his considerable bulk past Irine on his way out, ignoring her and the flight attendant’s protests.

  “Are all men extra assholey today?” Irine mutters in Greek, as she passes by my seat.

  I pretend not to hear, or notice her glare. When she’s behind the curtains separating Business from Coach, I press the call button overhead and wait for the attendant to approach.

  He cuts through the oncoming line of people, to smile at me. “How may I help you?” His mind projects a couple of ways he can come up with.

  Can’t say I’m not flattered, but— “When we take off, I want Ms. Irine Anastasaki seated beside me. Don’t tell her I’m the one who asked for it. It’s a bonus from the airline.”

  He’ll do it, and he’ll do it the way I said. I may not have absolute command over the seas yet, but I can sway human will to a degree, and you can’t imagine how much fun that can be.

  The hard part now is acting surprised when she sinks in the seat beside me.

  “Well, hello there,” I say, eyes all round and shit.

  “Figures.” She drops her head back hard enough for the seat to creak. “The one time I get bumped to Business Class, and I’m next to Mr. High-and-Mighty?”

  She knows who I am? How? I’ve studiously kept myself out of the public eye, in preparation for my ascension. If I’m anything less than a mystery, mortals may have a harder time respecting my authority.

  The oddest sensation ever tightens inside my chest. What is this thing? Olympians—even reborn, temporarily mortal ones—don’t get sick.

  “You have no idea who I am, do you?” She narrows her eyes. “You were an ass to me half an hour ago, and you don’t even remember.”

  Ah. That’s what she means. My chest feels fine now, as I feign a gasp. “I’m wounded. I thought I made a better impression, what with helping you get your flight sorted.”

  Her chuckle seems to surprise her, the way it spills out of her gorgeous, full lips. “That was you, helping?” she asks. “You obviously saw I was having a shitty day, but you had to be all caveman, make a derogatory remark, and then steamroll me.”

  Okay, I don’t remember saying anything derogatory, but I see why she’d be annoyed. Should I introduce myself? Stop her before she says something she will regret later? I don’t want her to be so embarrassed she walks out of the interview as soon as she sees I’m her prospective employer.

  She sneers. “Nothing to say, huh? Asshole.”

  C must expect me to play it straight. It’s my MO—state my intentions, ask for what I want, do what it takes to get my way. But if I tell Irine who I am at this point, she may not show up at all, and I’ll miss the chance to charm her pants off.

  Or I could skip the interview all together, and proceed with the charming now. I won’t use my compulsion to make a woman want me, but I’m not above using it to make her fess up to the desire that’s already there. “An asshole you’d like to fuck. Admit it,” I say.

  “Oh my God, you’re such an asshole.” She doesn’t seem very compelled to admit anything.

  Maybe I didn’t try it right. “Be honest. Don’t you want to climb on my lap, pull out my cock, and ride it till your eyes roll back in your head?” A blast of compulsion accompanies my words.

  Her laugh is hearty and bubbly and throaty, and I wanna fuck her like I’ve never wanted anything before.

  “Does that line usually work?” she asks.

  It does, because I know when to say it. Or I thought I did.

  “So you don’t want me?” I study her face. Inhale her scent. There’s a hint of arousal, but she doesn’t seem about to jump me. What the fuck?

  Her gaze darkens for a split second, and it’s more of an admission than I hoped for at this point. Then the plane rumbles beneath us, and as we taxi, she reaches for my hand and digs her nails in my wrist.

  If this is her version of a mating call, I need to adjust my approach. Not a problem. I don’t mind a little pain in the bedroom, though I’d rather be the one doling it out. I twist my hand, wrap it around her palm, and squeeze back, watching her for discomfort.

  “I hate flying,” she says, back pressed into the seat and gaze straight ahead. “Hate that I’m holding your hand only marginally less.” She really is adorable, acting pissy, when I can hear the blood rushing in her veins and taste the fear in her voice.

  The plane angles upward, and we’re off the ground. Her grip could snap a human male’s bones. I may not be immortal yet, but I’m nowhere near as fragile as a human. Though I’m losing sensation in my ring finger.

  “Bet I could take your mind off the flight,” I purr, sending a tendril of suggestion to caress her thoughts. Nope. It’s like slamming head-first into a brick wall. I guess. Brick walls give way when I slam into them.

  “Can you do it without making me have to bust your nose?” she asks through gritted teeth.

  Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with this one. I may even keep her after my ascension. “I can defend myself,” I reply.

  She squeezes her eyes shut. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, sweat beading on her forehead. I need to take her mind off until we reach cruising altitude.

  I tilt my head closer and lower my voice to a whisper. “Besides, if you break my nose, I’ll have a hard time breathing while I eat you out.”

  Her eyes fly open, and she snaps her hand away. She turns to face me. Opens and closes her mouth like a trout. “What...? Who...?” She shifts in her seat, so she can poke my chest. “Where do you get off, talking to me this way?”

  I shrug, capture her finger, and bypass the easy comeback. “I win.”

  Irine bats at my grip with her free hand. “Win what? A report to the airline?”

  She won’t report me. I know it, because despite her scowling and the daggers her eyes throw at me, she’s aroused. Her nipples push through the cotton of her top, and she squirms, rubbing her thighs together. I could try to project a mental image of what I wanna do to her, but there’s no rush. The flight is three and a half hours long.

  “Made you forget your fear of flying.” I kiss her fingertip and let go. While she sputters, I sit back, fold my arms behind my head, and close my eyes. Her move.

  Chapter Four – Irine

  What. The actual. Fuck?

  Is he going to sleep?

  He just... said those things, and now he’s making himself comfortable, eyes closed, like I’m supposed to believe what he said was to put my mind at ease. It wasn’t. It was presumptuous and insulting.

  And I’m so wet, I’m afraid it’ll seep through my jeans and stain the seat beneath it.

  “So you casually suggested cunnilingus for my own good?” I hiss.

  He tilts his head my way, cracks open one eyelid, and the lights in the cabin make the iris shine silver for the briefest of moments. “I didn’t suggest it. I foresaw it.”

  Was that an admission? It was an admission! “You think I’m going to let you touch me?”

  His smirk sends a shiver rolling down my spine, and I cross my arms so he doesn’t see my nipples that have decidedly perked up at his words. Traitorous things.

  “I know you are,” he says. “It only makes sense.”

  I should slap him and demand to be returned to my seat in Economy, but he’s piqued my interest. So few things make sense in life. “How?” I ask. “Give me one good reason.”

  “I’ll give you three.” He shifts in his seat to face me, one leg folded between us, a hairbreadth
from my thigh. His heat seeps into my skin through his slacks and my jeans, and I fist my hand so I don’t give in to temptation and rest my palm on his knee.

  He arches an eyebrow. “Firstly, you severely dislike me, but are insanely attracted to me. Hate-sex is the most relaxed kind; you’re allowed to care solely about your own pleasure.”

  His pause gives me the chance to at least dispute the insanely attracted part, but he’s not worth the effort a decent lie would take.

  When I don’t speak, he goes on. “Secondly, I offer cunnilingus, as you so elegantly put it, without asking for fellatio in return.”

  I hear a muffled chuckle from across the corridor, and turn, horrified, but the elderly couple there are watching something on a tablet, sharing a set of ear buds. It’s adorable, the way they look at the screen then each other and chuckle behind their palms, like teenagers. I was supposed to have this with Tassos one day, but he chose a quick fuck instead.

  Bet he didn’t know more about the blonde he pounded into the wall than I do about the gorgeous asshole sitting next to me. That didn’t stop him.

  I look at Gorgeous Asshole again. “You said three reasons.”

  His grin is as warm as a shark’s and just as reassuring. “I can make you come harder than any mortal male ever has or ever will.”

  So he considers himself a sex god? His self-assured manner says he knows what he’s talking about, but maybe his partners were too eager to please and didn’t want to hurt his ego.

  A smile plays on his lips. He studies me like he can read my mind. “Try me,” he whispers.

  He means it. He wants to eat me out. Here. My cheeks burn, but I’m no longer annoyed or insulted. Though I still severely dislike him—to use his words—I can’t stop thinking of his face between my legs, my fingers buried in his thick, pitch-black hair, as he fucks me with his mouth.

  I rub my thighs together, and he draws his gaze slowly down my body, to the apex of my thighs. His nostrils flare. Can he smell my arousal?

  Or he’s used to women reacting to him this way.

  “There’s no discreet way of doing that in a plane,” I whisper back. His face is so close, I could kiss him without moving more than half a centimeter. When did he come this close? Or did I lean into him?

  “You’re right.” He sits back. Shuts his eyes again.

  Why am I so disappointed? Not like he could pleasure me orally when there are people all around. I’m about to sit back too, but his fingers are on my thigh, holding it in place like an iron vise.

  “Ask for a blanket.” His lips barely move, if at all, but I hear his command.

  Should I pretend not to?

  If he’s not overselling himself, this could be what I need, to get over Tassos. To remind myself—my body—that I don’t need my ex. If I do what Gorgeous Asshole says, I’m risking nothing but public humiliation. And maybe another disappointment. Possibly jail-time? But it’s not like I’ll ever see him again, and on the off chance he is as good as he says...

  I don’t need to press the button, to get the attendant’s attention.

  His gaze is on us when I look up. I give him doe eyes and a silly little wave, and he comes to me with a smile. “How may I help you?”

  “May I have a blanket, please?” I could use my jacket, but I left it in the overhead cabinet above my original seat.

  “Of course.” The man flips open the overhead compartment of the seat in front of me and hands me a cellophane-wrapped blanket. “Enjoy.”

  Did he wink?

  I have no time to feel embarrassed, as Gorgeous Asshole takes the blanket from me, unwraps it, and spreads it over my lap.

  “Relax and close your eyes,” he says in a low, gravelly tone that makes me want to crawl into his lap. “Let me take care of you.” The softness in his voice startles me, but it’s gone by the time I meet his gaze. Better this way. If he was more likable, this would become more real, and then I’d have to say no to the only thing today that’s felt less than shitty.

  And how fucked up is that? The offer of a hand-job from a jerk whose name I don’t even know—on an airplane, no less—is the highlight of my Saturday.

  “Sigh,” he whispers.

  That’s the oddest request ever. “I don’t sigh on demand.”

  His chuckle wraps around my shoulders, rasping like raw silk. “I didn’t tell you to sigh. My name is Sei, so you know whom to thank.”

  “For what?”

  I don’t sense him move, before he pops open the buttons of my jeans and wedges his hand down their front. This isn’t going to work. The angle is awkward. He’ll sprain his wrist.

  I don’t care.

  He chuckles again. Did I say any of that aloud?

  His finger slicks along my labia—freshly waxed for Tassos.

  Shit. Don’t think about him now.

  Too late. A fist squeezes around my lungs, the sour taste of guilt at the back of my tongue. If I let this guy—Sei—finger me, am I any better than Tassos? I was in a committed, monogamous relationship only hours ago.

  The finger on my pussy stills, and lips brush my ear. “Whatever’s stopping you, let it go. Your pleasure is hurting nobody. You deserve a good release, and I’ll make it infinitely better than just good.”

  Sei’s stupid, sexy voice sends stupid, sexy tingles down my spine. He sucks my earlobe between his teeth, and I shiver.

  I want this. I want him.

  I roll my shoulders, lean my head back, and close my eyes. I tilt my hips, and he gets the message. His fingertip slides down my slit again, to dip briefly in my wetness, before it draws up, to find my clit. At least I think it’s his fingertip. It feels softer, more agile than a digit, as it flattens and taps my clit, then rasps across it. If it weren’t absolutely impossible for him to be kneeling between my legs, I’d think it was his tongue in my pussy, circling my clitoris and sending jolts of need to my womb.

  I could open my eyes and make sure.

  I don’t want to. Whatever he’s doing to me feels incredible. If I open my eyes, I’ll have to face reality and possible onlookers and what I know will be a smug grin on his lips. And then I won’t be able to come.

  I do deserve to come, damn it.

  Something that’s definitely not a finger wraps around my sensitive button. Somehow, his mouth is on me. There’s no way he can fit his impressive body in the space between rows, even with the extra legroom in Business Class, yet I feel his warm breath on my bare skin. He sucks, and my hips thrust up, as two fingers prod at my entrance.

  If he pushes them inside, I’ll come apart.

  “Not yet.” How is he speaking, when his tongue is laving me, his teeth grazing my inner thigh? Come to think of it, how the hell is he licking my pussy and nibbling on my thigh at the same time?

  “Do you really care?” he asks.

  I shake my head, and then drop it back when he pinches my clit and tugs. A hand cups my breast, under my top.

  “People will see,” I whisper.

  He chuckles, and the sound reverberates in my pussy as he finally pushes two fingers in. They’re long and thick and fill me up perfectly.

  What is his cock like?

  This time, his chuckle is by my ear. Startled, I turn toward the sound, and his lips are on mine. He kisses me like I belong to him. Like he owns me. He bites my lips. Shoves his tongue in my mouth, to duel with mine. His fingers slide in and out of me, rubbing a spot of concentrated pleasure. I pump my hips to meet his thrusts. I suck on his tongue. I bury my fingers in my thighs, to keep from digging them in his hair—or worse, sliding them up his thick arms to scratch his wide shoulders.

  How can this unlikeable man evoke a hunger I didn’t know I was capable of?

  He swallows my moans, finger-fucking me faster. But at the same time he’s devouring my lips, his mouth is on my clit again, sucking and licking and nibbling. His hands are in my hair and on my breasts, and squeezing my ass, dictating my rhythm as I hump his face.

  How?

  He
drives inside me harder. Faster. My chest hurts. I let out a breath. How long was I holding the air in my lungs?

  My body is on fire. He’s touching every square centimeter, of me. He’s on his knees, eating me out. He’s sitting beside me, kissing me. He’s pulling a nipple in his mouth. The second too—simultaneously.

  How?

  Who cares? Maybe I’m dreaming.

  My hips fly off the seat, and he laughs. He kisses me again, until I pant for air, and then he pinches my clit. Hard. Pain mingles with pleasure, and when he shoves a third finger inside me, stretching me almost uncomfortably, my body convulses. Pleasure erupts from every nerve ending. My pussy flutters, and I know I’ll leave a wet spot behind when we disembark, but I can’t bring myself to worry about it.

  I scream, but no sound reaches my ears. His mouth stifles it, while it’s still working on me, drawing out my orgasm until I don’t think I can open my eyes even if I want to.

  He breaks the kiss, and I force my eyelids to rise. I expect a smug smirk; he’s earned the right to it.

  Sei’s face is several centimeters away from mine, the pupils of his eyes blown to hide all but the thinnest sliver of color. In the cabin lights, they glimmer silver for a heartbeat. The wonder in his gaze is more shocking than the fact that I just came apart on an airplane by a stranger’s hand and mouth. He looks like I was the one who performed a magic trick complete with a happy ending.

  I want to kiss him again, but looking into his green-blue eyes makes me shy. Funny, after what we just shared, huh?

  I lick my lips. Maybe he’ll kiss me? Or maybe I should pay him back for the mind-blowing orgasm? Could I sneak beneath the blanket and take him in my mouth?

  I was never a fan of blowjobs, but I need to taste him.

  His gaze falls to my lips, and it feels like he’s trailing his thumb along the seam.

  “I could return the favor,” I whisper.

  His grin is wolfish, but he shakes his head. “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to.” It scares me, how much.

  He cups my cheek and brushes his thumb over my lips for real. “Now is not the time.”