“With those swarthy, dark good looks of yours, Zebulon, I tend to think of you more as Prince Charming myself,” Cinnamus said with a wink.
Opening his mouth to accept a small slice of crusty, cheese-topped bread, Zeb gazed at Cinnamus as he chewed and swallowed. There was no doubt in his mind that Cinnamus wanted him as much as Zeb wanted Cinnamus. No doubt that, before the evening was over, they’d come to know each other much better.
“I can be Prince Charming if that’s what makes you happy,” he said softly, smiling at Cinnamus’ sharp intake of breath.
A moan inched from Zeb’s throat. The current of passion arcing between them was riveting, undeniable. He knew their coming together would be natural, intoxicating. That when his mouth descended on Cinnamus’ cock, taking its length to the root, Zeb would suck every precious pearl of his lover’s cum with elation.
“What would make me happiest,” Cinnamus said in a husky rumble, leaning closer and cupping Zeb’s chin with his hand, “is knowing that I’ve succeeded in making our time together as memorable and meaningful for you as possible.” His lips found Zeb’s, brushing across them as light as a feather before licking them and, finally, capturing Zeb’s mouth in a long, slow, deep and deliberate kiss.
Increasing the intensity, Cinnamus’ tongue danced and teased, purposely fucking Zeb’s mouth and promising of the erotic plunder yet to come. Before Cinnamus was finished, his tongue skated down to the hollow of Zeb’s throat, swirling at his pulse point. At the same time, his fingers closed over the stalk of Zeb’s denim-covered erect cock and squeezed.
Once Zeb caught his breath, he said, “You’ve already succeeded, Cinnamus. Anything more is just the icing on the cake.” He swallowed, rubbing provocatively against Cinnamus’ hand while savoring the taste of honeyed wine mixed with the sweet essence of Cinnamus.
“In that case, let’s finish dining on our repast so we can get to the cake,” Cinnamus suggested with a charming smile as he offered his wineglass, entwining his arm with Zeb’s as they sipped continental style.
Need and desire tore through Zeb, causing his balls to heat and tighten, zinging a rush of pure lust down his spine in delicious anticipation of their first encounter.
Twenty minutes later, after good food and wine and even better conversation, Cinnamus stood up, coming around to Zeb’s side of the table and ushering him from his seat.
“This area is completely private, Zebulon,” he said, removing his sandals. Stripping off his toga and the matching silk shorts beneath it, he tossed them aside. “You don’t have to worry about prying eyes or surprise guests.”
Zeb drank in his beauty as Cinnamus stood confident before him in his full masculine glory. He was a glorious picture of symmetry and strength united in masculine perfection. Even the blond ringlets of his pubic hair were beautiful. If there’d been any doubt whatsoever that Cinnamus desired him, the size of his commanding erection rendered the uncertainty false.
Every breath Cinnamus took, each expansion of his chest, made an impact on Zeb’s senses. With skin the color of a man who loved the outdoors, a fine-muscled physique that would make a Greek god weep with envy and a face more beautiful than he’d ever seen on a man, Cinnamus was, indeed, the epitome of an Olympian god.
“I thought perhaps you might enjoy a brisk swim,” Cinnamus said, unfastening the clasp of Zeb’s jeans, “after which we can retreat to the small spa where the warm churning water and essential lavender oil will render our muscles and tendons relaxed.”
Zeb started in on his shirt buttons as Cinnamus unzipped the fly of Zeb’s jeans. “You’re the most delicious, sublime, scrumptious nearly thousand-year-old hunk of manhood I’ve ever set eyes on,” Zeb whispered, giving Cinnamus a slow appraisal.
“I value your words. Thank you, Zebulon. Now hurry. I find myself growing impatient to gaze upon your nakedness.”
Zeb shed his clothing with a swiftness he didn’t realize he was capable of. Cinnamus’ audible intake of breath told him he needn’t have worried about disappointing the Roman god.
“Look at you,” Cinnamus said, strolling in a slow circle around Zeb. “Zebulon, you’re so stunning it robs me of breath just to gaze at you. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were an Olympian god yourself.”
“I owe it all to Dakin.” Zeb smiled. “He forces me to work out with him.”
Cinnamus stroked his fingers from Zeb’s collarbone down to his navel, making Zeb shiver with delight. The feel of his touch soon had Zeb’s cock jerking in anticipation.
“We contrast beautifully,” Cinnamus noted. “My chest is hairless, while yours is sprinkled with crisp dark curls that extend,” he trailed his fingers from Zeb’s navel on down, “to your bold, handsome cock.” He wrapped his hand around Zeb’s girth and squeezed, giving a devilish chuckle.
“You may owe the honing of your muscled physique to your brother, Zebulon, but he had nothing to do with this considerable, bulging attribute.” He indulged in a long, lusty look at his hand slowly pumping Zeb’s erection. “Gods, how I long to take your magnificent cock into my mouth, relishing in the salt of your skin and the tang of your seed.” His words came out no more than a gravelly whisper.
As Cinnamus toyed with his cock, Zeb played with one of Cinnamus’ flat nipples, flicking it into a hardened nub. “And I, my dear Cinnamus, long to slide my cock past your tight muscles and into your slick heat. To feel your anus tightening around me like a fist.”
Wrapping his hand around Cinnamus’ big cock, Zeb locked gazes with him. In that precise instant, he felt a jolt so powerful, so grand, it reached his very soul. He suddenly felt more bold and alive than he ever had before. Struck and almost dazed by the extraordinary sensation, he felt his eyes widen as he continued looking into the depths of Cinnamus’ blue eyes.
Cinnamus nodded. “I felt it too,” he said, never taking his gaze from Zeb’s. “We are destined for each other, Zebulon. True soul mates. In all my days, I’ve never experienced what I have with you—the soul connection, the elation, the all-consuming desire—and we haven’t even fucked each other yet.”
“When two people share feelings of this magnitude,” Zeb offered, “before they’ve even joined physically, it can only mean one thing.” His hand still on Cinnamus’ cock, Zeb drew him closer until their chests grazed each other’s. He used his other hand to embrace Cinnamus’ neck, cradling it in the crook of his elbow as he kissed him soundly.
Once their kiss ended, Zeb whispered, “Love, Cinnamus. Don’t ask me how or why, because until I met you, I never really believed in love at first sight, but…there’s just no other explanation. I love you, Cinnamus.”
“And I you, Zebulon. After decades of teaching the Perfect Love Matches 101 class, including the fact that love at first sight is, indeed, a genuine actuality, I know without a doubt that this is what’s happening. What I find most astonishing is that it took me nearly a thousand years to finally experience the phenomenon for myself, firsthand.”
“So what are we going to do?” Zeb asked, already aching at the prospect of losing Cinnamus, of never seeing him again or, worse yet, having all memory of him erased from his thoughts once he was returned to Earth.
They stood nose to nose, cock to cock, another moment until Cinnamus breathed a sigh. “Come on, my love, into the pool. We have much to think about and discuss after we take a dip in the cool waters.”
They plunged into the water, swimming a few laps across the long stretch of the pool before getting out and shivering in the cool night air as they moved to the warm, bubbling spa.
“Champagne,” Cinnamus said, making a small flourish with his hand. Two stemmed crystal glasses and a golden bucket appeared, filled with ice and a bottle of champagne.
Zeb had to keep reminding himself that Cinnamus was a bona fide god with magical powers. He couldn’t help but think at that moment that sex with a god could possibly have distinct advantages.
“I think you’ll really like this, Zebulon,” Cinnamus said, po
uring them each a glass of the pale gold liquid. “See how tiny the bubbles are? Smooth as velvet. It’s truly nectar of the gods and far more exquisite than any champagne you’ll find on Earth. To you,” he said, holding his glass aloft as Zeb did the same. “My soul mate. My dear, darling, mortal love—and soon to be lover.”
“And to you, my blond, bronzed god—the living embodiment of my dreams.” They clinked glasses and drank. Cinnamus was right, this was the finest liquid Zeb had ever ingested. After the second glass, combined with the wine they’d had earlier, he felt it going to his head. Aware that he was fast becoming inebriated, Zeb let out a chuckle.
“What makes you laugh?” Cinnamus asked, nudging close to Zeb.
“I was just thinking how quickly my decorous mores fly right out the window when I’m under the influence of nectar of the gods.”
“How so?” Cinnamus urged, weaving his fingers through Zeb’s hair.
“Because I’m simply dying to scream out fuck me, and that’s not like me at all.” He chuckled again. “Whatever would your godly neighbors think?”
“That old Cinnamus is finally getting it on,” he answered, using Earth slang. With another wave of Cinnamus’ hand, Zeb sensed some sort of force field around them.
“Soundproof barrier,” Cinnamus said in response to Zeb’s inquisitive look. “Go ahead and scream it. At the top of your lungs. Let me hear how much you want me to fuck you, Zebulon. How much you long for me to make you mine in body as well as soul.”
“Fuck me,” Zeb said, clasping his cock and presenting it to Cinnamus. “Fuck me!” He shouted it, half pleading, half demanding, over and over again until Cinnamus shut him up with a kiss so scorching Zeb felt it soul deep.
“Stand up,” Cinnamus ordered as he got to his own feet. “I want your cock. Now.”
“Your wish is my command, darling,” Zeb said, wasting no time in complying. He watched Cinnamus trace his finger along Zeb’s cock in one long swoop until a clear substance closely gloved the entire length and girth of his cock. Like a see-through condom except it hugged Zeb’s cock tighter, like a second skin. “What is that?”
“It’s what we use in place of the antiquated condoms you use on Earth,” he explained. “The tear-proof, no-fail shield allows full sensation while providing the ultimate in protection. Doesn’t need any lubrication either.” He fondled Zeb’s cock. “See what I mean?”
“Amazing,” Zeb said, stroking himself now as Cinnamus watched. “My hand just glides as if nothing’s there. Hmm…no hand cream needed either.” He smiled.
Cinnamus repeated the shielding procedure on his own cock as well as on one finger before looking back up at Zeb and indulging in a wicked smile. “Are you ready to be ravaged, my delicious little mortal?”
“My darling Cinnamus, I’ve never been more ready for anything in my entire life. Come on. Fuck me so I know I’ve been fucked by a god,” Zeb boldly challenged. Positioning himself for easy entry, Zeb felt Cinnamus’ cloaked finger searching for the tightly puckered hole and pressing against it. Zeb’s own cock twitched with the glorious throb of anticipation.
“Trust me, my love,” Cinnamus replied, cupping the cheek of Zeb’s ass and squeezing, “there won’t be any doubt about it.”
Pushing into his touch, Zeb let out a cry as Cinnamus sank his finger knuckle deep into him. His hole spasmed while, with agonizing slowness, Cinnamus twisted and turned his finger, carefully stretching Zeb’s passage, opening him wide enough to accept his cock.
He added a second finger and when Cinnamus stroked Zeb’s prostate, gliding back and forth over the gland, the sensation was electric.
“I’m lining the head of my cock up to that tight little rosebud hole of yours,” Cinnamus announced and Zeb felt the insistent nudging at his anus. “When I fuck you,” Cinnamus went on, his voice hoarse with desire, “I want to hear you howl out your pleasure.”
“Do it,” Zeb urged, staggered at the intensity of the feral desires coursing through his usually cultivated demeanor. “Come on, Cinnamus, give it to me,” he heard himself growl in a voice he almost didn’t recognize.
“I want to feel you writhe and grip and clutch as I bring you to a screaming orgasm.”
Before Zeb had a chance to respond, he gasped, gripping the support bars in the spa as Cinnamus drove into him, pushing past the tight ring of muscle.
“Yes…yes, that’s it,” Zeb breathed, feeling the heated thickness of Cinnamus’ cock stretching him, so pleasurably tormenting him. “Give me all you’ve got, you great big glorious Olympian hunk.” As Cinnamus sank deeper, Zeb grabbed for his own cock, slicking his hand back and forth as his heart raced.
“Allow me,” Cinnamus offered, reaching around and grasping Zeb’s cock, applying just the right amount of pressure as he pumped his hand up and down in rhythm with the movement of his cock inside Zeb’s ass.
Faster and faster still, Cinnamus moved, until a blissful cry caught in Zeb’s throat. Slowly, tattered breaths calmed into a ragged rhythm as Zeb controlled his breathing.
As fierce trembles shook his body, Zeb felt the burn, the molten fire exploding deep inside his ass at the same time it gripped his balls and cock. Clutching Cinnamus’ arm with one hand, Zeb did his best to grab one of Cinnamus’ ass cheeks with the other.
“Tell me you’re mine, Zebulon. Let me hear the words spill from your lips as I take you over the edge.” He drove harder into Zeb’s depths, wrenching a soulful wail from Zeb’s throat as Cinnamus lavished attention on both his ass and his cock.
“I’m yours, Cinnamus,” he panted, a soulful moan wrenching from his gut. “Body…mind…and spirit, I’m yours forever,” he screamed out as the gushing force of his climax nearly knocked him off his feet. As he roared out his satisfaction, he felt Cinnamus’ cock pulsing hard inside him and dimly heard him howl out his own release.
“Oh good gracious, yes,” Zeb managed to murmur just as his scattered senses returned. “No doubt about it. Zebulon Dronyer, lowly, mangy mortal, has most definitely been fucked by a god.”
Chapter Sixteen
After Cinnamus had taken him with such fabulous fury in the spa, Zeb’s muscles quivered from so much pleasure that he all but wobbled back to the house. Trembling or not, he boasted the lazy, sated smile of a man who had been thoroughly and most magnificently fucked.
“Now I know I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Zeb said, his voice vibrating as the masseur applied more oil and pummeled his back. “This is the ultimate. What kind of oil is this? The fragrance is familiar, but I can’t place it.”
“Pistacia vera,” Cinnamus said with a pleasured groan as his masseur dug an elbow into the soft tissue next to his shoulder blade. “The tree from which pistachios are harvested. The oil is from the seed itself and is known for its soothing, sedative qualities.”
“Mmm, I love pistachios,” Zeb noted, thinking that, as yet, there wasn’t anything he didn’t love about Cinnamus and Olympus. Even under the blissful torment of his masseur’s hands, Zeb felt his cock stir as he anticipated taking Cinnamus later. Sweet expectancy manifested in a tightening in his balls and lower belly.
“Then I’m sure you’ll be fond of the sweet repast I’ve arranged for us to enjoy in my bed chamber after our massage. Pistachio baklava with a dollop of ice cream flavored with rose water and sugared rose petals from my garden. We’ll offset the sweet with a pungent, earthy cup of thick Turkish coffee. And as we sup, we’ll listen to the lovely, mysterious grace of Pachelbel’s Canon in D, interpreted by harp and dine lyre.”
Zeb lifted his head and turned to look at Cinnamus on the table next to him, his oiled body glistening and inviting. Blissful memories of Cinnamus’ thick rod reaming his hole, driving him to the edge of sanity just a short while before, filled his thoughts. At that moment, Cinnamus gifted Zeb with a private smile so full of charm and lusty promise, Zeb sucked in a sharp breath.
“It sounds sublime, Cinnamus,” he said, all but itching with the expectation of their next joining. “T
he food, the drink, the music selection…and the delicious sense of anticipation.” Zeb breathed out a melodious sigh as sensuous images flitted across his mind. “The mention of ice cream reminds me of Lula’s newest passion, hot fudge sundaes.”
“The term’s not familiar to me.”
“It’s basically vanilla ice cream enveloped in warm chocolate fudge sauce and topped with whipped cream, a maraschino cherry and chopped, salted nuts.”
Cinnamus chuckled. “Lula’s a true chocolate devotee. I can see why this sundae, as you call it, captured her attention.”
“If Lula has her way, all of Olympus will be waxing poetic over the sinfully good merits of the dessert.” Zeb laughed. “She fell in love with them and brought back a recipe book so she could make hot fudge sundaes here. Oogh!”
His head fell back to the padded headrest and he pounded the side of the table as the masseur tortured his calves.
A knock came at the open doorway to Cinnamus’ massage retreat room. “Enter,” Cinnamus called out. Both he and Zeb turned to look as a young toga-clad man walked toward them.
“I beg your pardon for the interruption, Cinnamus, but I have been charged with delivering this communiqué directly into your hands.” Placing the scroll into Cinnamus’ hand, the messenger nodded in reverence and departed.
“It’s from the Council of Deities,” Cinnamus stated solemnly a moment later. “They’ve agreed to sit in judgment as Lula and Dakin present their plea.” Cinnamus stilled the hand of his masseur. “That will be enough, thank you, Dymitr.” With a compliant nod, Dymitr and Zeb’s masseur swiftly left the room.
Zeb managed to gather his liquid bones into a sitting position as Cinnamus did the same. “When will it take place?”
“Tomorrow at sunset.”
“Oh dear, somehow that makes it sound like an old western. At least you didn’t say high noon,” Zeb noted with a chuckle.
Finding Cupid Page 21