Love's Immortal Passion

by Cat Johnson

  Erato thrust into her one last time, and then regretfully withdrew, taking solace in the fact that the girl beneath him looked saddened he must leave. Unfortunately, the feeling was short lived. As Erato arranged his toga, letting the fabric drape over his arm, the two males from the pool fell, grinning, upon the abandoned female’s body. He watched with overwhelming regret as one lay on his back and lowered her onto his cock and the other, after oiling himself, entered her from behind while shooting Erato a look of triumph.

  Already under their spell, the body of the mortal female bowed in pleasure as the two demigods doubly penetrated her. Both had a superiority complex to rival Zeus in spite of their half human parentage.

  With the departure of Erato, a mere lowly muse, no longer an issue for anyone in the room except himself, he left the bathing chamber, its inhabitants and its pleasures behind and made his way down the long corridor to face Aphrodite. The gods only knew what that meeting would bring.

  Chapter Two

  Aphrodite’s chamber was, of course, the best in the palace next to that of Zeus. She had her own pool for bathing and didn’t need to share the common rooms like the lowlier beings, such as Erato, did. Though as evidenced by his recent activities, sharing did have its benefits.

  At that thought, Erato smothered the feeling of regret at having lost his mortal tidbit to the cocky half gods in the bathing chamber. More than likely the two bastards (and they were that, both literally and figuratively) would bespell her so she’d never want another except for them.

  It wasn’t fair. Erato had discovered her down below when he’d traveled to Thessaly in search of new mortal literature for his library. He’d brought her up the mountain specifically for his own enjoyment and now they had her.

  It made him angry enough to spit fire, but Erato had more important things to worry about at the moment, such as Aphrodite, seated regally before him on her pearl and shell encrusted throne, and attended by the usual entourage.

  A shiver of both desire and fear ran through Erato’s body from simply being in this room and surrounded by Aphrodite’s familiar instruments of pleasure and pain. The oversized bed sat in the corner with its leather restraints permanently attached to metal rings drilled into both the abalone-inlaid head and footboards. An assortment of whips hung on the wall, and nearby stood the leather-clad, masked whip bearer whose massive arm muscles rivaled even those of Aphrodite’s blacksmith husband, Hephaestus.

  Aphrodite’s taste ran to the dark side. It aroused her to watch the red welts the whip-man caused to rise on her lovers before she stepped in and soothed their pain with the nearly unbearable pleasure that only she could provide.

  Erato's gaze landed on a particular whip, the one with the phallus-shaped, mother-of-pearl inlaid handle. That was the one Aphrodite loved best. She liked to personally dip the handle into her private stock of herbal oil and use it on her lovers as they knelt, facedown, with hands bound. Just the scent of oil and rosemary could arouse him now, no matter where he was or what he was doing.

  If her lover followed her orders, he would be treated to many more of Aphrodite’s pleasures. However, if Aphrodite was not pleased, there were consequences. She didn’t require that the whip bearer use only whips on her lovers. When she demanded punishment, the masked man was allowed to enjoy free reign with the subject, all while Aphrodite watched.

  Erato had only displeased Aphrodite once. He never let it happen again. Remembering every moment in vivid detail, his gaze went uncontrollably to the whip bearer. Erato shivered even as he grew harder.

  The room reeked of the herbal oil today and Erato wondered absently who had been the most recent recipient of Aphrodite’s attentions. Who was it that now, more than likely, lay limp and unconscious in his own chamber, awaiting a visit from the healer? Aphrodite was not a gentle lover, nor did she let up until she had loved the subject of her affections to exhaustion, and at times, near death for the mortals, both men and women.

  Torn between his fear of her and his body’s automatic desire for the Goddess of Love, most beautiful of all the gods on Mt. Olympus, and the pleasures she could provide, Erato clasped his hands in front of his rising erection and waited for her to address him.

  “Erato. Good, you’re here. You may approach.” Aphrodite stretched her long, lovely, alabaster arms out to him and he stepped forward, letting her clasp each of his hands.

  “Thank you, my goddess.” He lowered himself to sit on the stairs at her feet, relieved her mood seemed exceptionally good today. Whoever she’d just bedded must have pleased her well.

  She sighed and gazed down at him, her face displaying a mix of emotions. “Erato, Erato, Erato… My faithful muse. My loyal lover.”

  Uh, oh. This was beginning to sound not so good.

  Aphrodite continued, “I’ve been told that you, above any other, have the most experience with the mortals living below us. And because of this, though you have served me well, now I must part with you.”

  “Why, my goddess?” He tried to control the panic in his voice.

  Was he to be banished from Mt. Olympus, or worse, turned into a tree or a flower for all eternity just because he enjoyed the literature, and customs, and physical favors of mortals too much? It had happened before to others, better than he, who had crossed the gods. But he hadn’t meant to do anything wrong. Nowadays, Erato only traveled to the mortal realm about once every fifty years. He would never purposely anger the gods. At least not the big ones, anyway.

  Eros entered the chamber through the private doorway behind the throne and Erato had a glimmer of hope. Eros, Erato’s closest friend and Aphrodite’s most faithful attendant, would never let anything happen to him. Eros, of all those on Mt. Olympus, could surely persuade the goddess to change her mind.

  Aphrodite, of course, noticed immediately that Erato’s attention was no longer solely trained upon her, and turned her head to seek the source of his distraction. “Ah, Eros, darling. Come. I was just telling Erato my plan.”

  Eros was privy to her plan? What could that mean? Erato tried—and failed—to keep his breathing steady as he waited to hear his fate.

  The handsome Eros, his quiver full of arrows as golden as his perfect locks of hair, settled himself beside Aphrodite’s right knee, letting her take hold of his hand. He aimed a brilliantly dazzling smile at Erato, causing the muse to once again flip flop in his opinion as to whether his fate would be favorable or not.

  “So as I was saying, my lovely Erato, your familiarity with the mortals is what makes you perfect for this assignment, and though I am loathe to part with you for even a short time, I must, for you are the best suited for the task at hand.”

  Erato cleared the frog from his throat and steeled his nerves. “If I may, my perfect goddess, what is this task of which you speak?”

  Aphrodite ran one nail down Eros's sculpted arm. “Tell him, my golden one.”

  Eros shot Erato another grin full of mischief. “It’s simple, my friend. You go down below, locate one particular female, and let her fall in love with you.”

  Erato frowned. It sounded simple enough. Deceptively so. Mortals were extremely susceptible to those who resided on Mt. Olympus, which was one reason why once a mortal entered the palace of the gods, they never willingly left.

  One look into his eyes and the female would be his. One night in his bed and she would never want to part with him. But still, why him? “And why have I been chosen…specifically?”

  She looked proud of herself as she explained, “It may be required that you live among the mortals for some time. Mortal time, of course, is nothing for one of us, but still, any of the others would stand out among the commoners. You, however, with your strange preoccupation with those living below, will know how to blend in.”

  Aphrodite thought he and he alone could blend in with the commoners? Erato wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. So he collected mortal literature? He was the Muse of Poetry, for Zeus’s sake. It was his job to be
familiar with mortal writers.

  Compliment or not, Erato said, “Thank you, goddess. And will Eros assist with one of his arrows and his ever true aim to make the female fall in love with me?”

  Now Eros's involvement in the plan made more sense, since love was the goal. All that needed to be done was for Eros to shoot the female with one of his golden tipped arrows and she would be irretrievably in love with whomever she saw next.

  “My arrow will not be necessary, my friend. She will fall in love with you as certainly as the sun rises and sets. What female could ever resist you? But I will be nearby. Do not fear.” Eros treated Erato to his cherubic smirk once more.

  Erato nodded, not sure he was relieved by Eros's assurance. “All right. When am I to leave?”

  Aphrodite smiled. “Immediately, but treat me to one last kiss, Erato, before I lose you to the mortals.”

  Erato rose at Aphrodite’s command, in more ways than one, and touched his lips to hers. Her mouth tasted of the sea and the familiar tang caused a tide of memories of all they’d shared to flood his mind. A moan of pure desire rose from Erato’s chest and he had to stop himself from pressing his body against hers, a presumption that would surely earn him more pain than pleasure.

  The chamber around him began to swirl into an indecipherable tangle of sensations. Erato still smelled the scent of rosemary oil lingering in the room, his body still ached with wanting what pleasures it knew the goddess could provide, he still tasted the salty sea in her mouth, but things were no longer clear…

  Dizzy and barely able to think, Erato heard Eros giggle and then everything went blank.

  Chapter Three

  Acantha chopped the fresh rosemary with a deftness that came with countless hours of on the job practice. She should be good at her occupation. What else did she have to do besides work? It wasn’t as if she had a boyfriend or anything.

  That thought had her throwing the herb into the pan of heated oil with an audible humph and far more force than was necessary, causing both her sous chef and one of the prep guys to shoot her an interested look.

  “Problem?” Greg asked while popping a tray of tenderloin under the broiler to brown for that night’s Beef Wellington dinner special.

  Yeah. Acantha was horny and Greg was gay, so he'd be no help in that department. “No.” Nothing new, anyhow.

  Scrubbing a large pot with gusto, Pablo grinned. “Jefe needs some pene, I think.”

  Acantha knew enough Spanish to raise a brow at Pablo’s unfortunately true assessment of his boss’s situation. She did need some penis, but she didn’t need her prep guy to know that. Meanwhile, Pablo’s wife was pregnant with their—what was it—fifth child? It was more than obvious Mrs. Pablo was getting plenty of pene.

  Acantha cocked a brow. “Jefe is just fine on her own and does not need a man to make her happy, but thank you, Pablo.”

  Pablo mumbled a word that translated roughly to “rabbit” and Greg nearly choked before recovering his composure.

  Jeez! Did everyone know about that mail delivery from the online sex shop? What the hell good was shipping a person’s very embarrassing vibrator order in a plain brown box if everyone in the world guessed that’s what was in there? Anyway, she didn’t end up ordering The Jack Rabbit. She’d opted for another model. That reminded her, she needed to pick up more batteries. Maybe she should switch to rechargeable. It did seem better for the environment.

  Environmentally friendly masturbation. The thought had Acantha rolling her eyes at herself.

  Before she had time to feel worse about her whole situation and sink further into self-wallowing, the back door flung open. Her busboy, Julio, flew in spewing a string of rapid Spanish that far outstretched Acantha’s ability to translate, but judging by Pablo’s expression as he followed Julio back out through the door, it was something urgent.

  Acantha flipped off the burner beneath her pan of oil and rosemary and ran into the alley after them, only to stop dead at what appeared to be—oh my God—a dead body leaned up against the restaurant’s dumpster.

  Greg flew out the door and skidded to a stop. “Oh my God. Is he…dead?”

  Good question. Glancing at the three men one by one, it was more than obvious that none of them were going to find out.

  Chickens. She let out a sigh. “I’ll check.”

  Gathering her courage, Acantha took one tentative step forward, and then another, until she was directly in front of the man. He looked good for being dead. In fact, he was downright gorgeous with his dark brown curls and muscular chest that showed through his white cotton, button-down shirt.

  “Check for a pulse,” Greg suggested from a very safe distance away.

  Easy for him to say.

  “All right.” Swallowing hard, Acantha kept her feet as far away from the man as possible, while leaning over and placing one finger against the side of his neck—which is when his eyes flew open wide.

  He screamed. She screamed. Julio, Pablo and Greg all screamed, and Acantha lost her balance, landing head first in the man’s lap.

  Two large hands took a firm grip on her arms and raised her face from his crotch until she was staring directly into a pair of eyes as green as the ocean.

  “Are you all right?” the nameless hunk asked.

  “Um.” Words escaped her for a moment, and then sanity returned somewhat. “I’m fine. Are you all right? You were unconscious against my dumpster.”

  Still holding her, not that she was complaining about that, the man frowned and swiveled his head, taking in his surroundings as if for the first time. “I feel all right. Where am I?”

  “You’re behind The Acanthus Tree.”

  His frown deepened as he glanced at the brick wall near him. “I don’t see any tree.”

  Acantha shook her head and pointed to the name embroidered on her chef’s jacket. “It’s the name of my restaurant. You’re behind my restaurant. My name’s Acantha.”

  He shook his head. “I…I don’t know my name.”

  “Maybe you have some identification in your pants?” Among other things.

  “Um, why don’t we take this conversation inside instead of holding it out here amid the garbage?” Greg suggested.

  Acantha remembered for the first time since gazing into the pool of the stranger’s eyes that they were not alone. “Of course. Let’s all get inside.”

  Flustered, Acantha straightened, and she and the man helped each other up, all the while never breaking eye contact with each other.

  “Dios mio. Here we go again.” The comment had been muttered under Pablo’s breath but she heard it and shot him a look. Hadn’t he just said she needed a man? Or at least a penis? This gorgeous surprise in the alley could easily fill the need for both things.

  While maintaining a strong hold on one hard bicep, Acantha was about to lead the stranger through the kitchen door when Greg said, “Pablo, Julio, you two take this gentleman inside and get him a chair and a glass of water, or hell, a scotch might be better.”

  The two nodded and Acantha was pushed out of the way. As she rushed to follow, Greg’s hand on her arm stopped her.

  She turned to him. “What?”

  Greg shook his head. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t fall head over heels for a stranger you found in an alley. Please, Acantha.”

  She had kind of landed head over heels, but still. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not falling—”

  “Yeah, you are. I’ve seen it too many times before. Tomorrow morning you’ll come down the stairs from your apartment glowing and all happy while he sleeps the morning away in your bed. In a week you’ll be totally in love with him and planning your future. That part will last maybe a month before he starts pulling away and finally dumps you and breaks your heart, hopefully before he lets you run up a fortune in expensive gifts for him on your credit card.”

  She lowered her eyes. “That only happened once.”

  “Jeez, Acantha. It’s like you�
�ve got your name on some sucker list that all the bad men in the world have access to. And you fall for them each and every time.”

  “I do not.”

  “You do. Look, I’m your friend. I care about you. I won’t stand around and watch as you do it again, with a man you found in the alley no less.”

  “He’s just a man who needs a little help.”

  “He’s a stranger you know nothing about but who you were practically drooling over. Tell me you aren’t attracted to him.”

  “Tell me you don’t think he’s gorgeous too,” she challenged.

  Greg tore at his hair. “Acantha, he was unconscious in the alley.”

  “He could easily have been a customer coming in to make a reservation and on the way he was mugged. And now I am going inside to make sure he's all right. I suggest you finish those Wellingtons for tonight.”

  Greg’s eyes opened wide in response to her uncharacteristically harsh order. He set his jaw. “Yes, boss.”

  Acantha watched his stiffened back disappear through the door. It was bad enough when the other guys called her boss in Spanish, but to have Greg, her friend, say it like that in anger made her feel absolutely horrible. She’d worry more about it later, but for now, she did have a nameless, possible mugging victim to deal with.

  She found him seated with his hands clasped in his lap in the corner of the kitchen, a glass of water and a glass of scotch untouched on the prep counter near him. Acantha squatted down to be eye level and found his face flushed. “Are you okay? Are you feeling worse? Should I call an ambulance?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m…it’s just… What is that smell?”

  Acantha sniffed the air and found the typical kitchen smells. Nothing foul or particularly odorous. She shook her head, not knowing what he meant.

  “It’s like some sort of herb,” he suggested, looking agitated.

  “Oh. You must mean the rosemary. I was cooking with it right before we found you. Does it bother you? Would you like to move into the dining room?”