When Aphrodite had last checked the gaiascope, Cupid was a gnarled ball of hurt, hardly someone to be envied. Aphrodite rushed to the window, slapping a hand over her gasp as blurry mounds of naked flesh sharpened into focus—along with the horrible realization her son had just climaxed inside the strictly forbidden girl. Small consolation to the mother that the girl moaned out an emphatic orgasm of her own only seconds later, though Ares—and Hephaestus, who’d peeked over his wife’s shoulder—seemed to enjoy that part immensely.
The three continued to watch, transfixed by the scene they couldn’t quite believe was unfolding: Cupid rolled onto his side, a sated grin stretched ear to ear. “You have no idea how great that felt,” he mumbled into her neck.
Ares pivoted abruptly, his deep, commanding voice rattling Aphrodite’s bones. “Why should that feel great?” His arms worked into a wall over his chest as he interrogated Aphrodite. “The girl is not his, and Cupid knows this. Am I correct?”
Aphrodite lifted her chin with a bravado she did not possess. “Yes, he knows. He left her house last night once he realized there was no echo beat.”
“Yet he finds his pleasure between the girl’s legs not twenty-four hours later? And how many others has he taken in between?”
“None,” Aphrodite answered swiftly. Of this, at least, she was certain. “His gift has been temporarily transferred to Pan.”
“Oh?” Ares lifted his eyebrows in amusement. Had Aphrodite finally impressed him with her handling of the situation? She had to admit, this co-parenting stint had its advantages. Maybe next time, she and Ares could sit down and discuss their son’s predicament without a chaperone.
“Until Cupid connects the Worthy with her Right Love, there isn’t a being on Earth who can relieve our son of his”—a blush heated her cheeks—“his need,” she asserted with an irritated harrumph. “Even himself.”
“Huh.” Returning his gaze to the gaia wall, Ares asked, “If that is so, why does the boy appear well and satisfied? What am I missing?”
Aphrodite swallowed the lump in her throat. Standing here between former lover and cuckolded husband, Aphrodite wouldn’t have chosen the rise and fall of her son’s phallus as the topic of conversation. How could she avoid it, though, with the brilliant dagger eyes of the God of War bearing down on her? Damn if his cruelty didn’t still stir her passion.
“I decided—”
“We decided,” Hephaestus cut in, overriding Aphrodite with uncharacteristic macho posturing clearly meant to impress Ares, “the boy deserved a chance to prove himself.”
Aphrodite sighed. “Clearly, we gave him more credit than he deserved.” A single tear rolled from her eye, and Hephaestus scooped her chin into the palm of his chubby hand and swept away the moisture with the pad of his thumb.
“Sweetheart,” he began tenderly, “Cupid is but a foal. Give the boy a chance to get his legs under him without his mother to catch him when he stumbles.”
Ares exploded into a low, rolling laugh. “Oh, this is rich. You two fixed it so the one girl he can’t have is the only one who can relieve him?”
“Yes,” they answered together.
“Devious. I like it.” Ares turned his wicked sneer toward Hephaestus. “I have to say, brother, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Hephaestus slid an arm around his wife. “It wouldn’t have been much of a test if the girl didn’t welcome his advances—or offer the boy release.”
“Indeed,” Ares agreed. “She certainly is a hot, needy creature, one who would be a challenge to resist”—oh, to be wanted by Ares, thought Aphrodite—“especially since the boy’s heart is tethered to hers until he conquers the task set before him.”
Aphrodite snuck a peek through the glass as the postcoital couple succumbed to the pull of Hypnos. Grateful for her son’s physical reprieve, she still couldn’t help feeling disappointed by his selfish choice. “Perhaps he believes he’s doing right by her. She does look happy.” Even as the words left her mouth, Aphrodite recognized she’d crossed the fine line between mothering and enabling.
Ares was quick to jump. “Oh please, Aph. Let’s not turn consorting into some act of heroism, shall we? Next, you’ll suggest a parade through the streets of Tarra for the boy’s cock.” Ares’s sarcasm had always been the weapon Aphrodite dreaded most, and it seemed his zeal for inflicting pain had only multiplied with time.
Hephaestus stroked his thumb along the nape of Aphrodite’s neck. “I suppose we could make Mia reject him as well. He’d be forced to act with haste.”
“That feels like cheating somehow,” Aphrodite said. “Shouldn’t he choose the right path despite more attractive options?” If a boy’s mother didn’t hold the bar high, who would?
“Yes,” Hephaestus agreed, “and if Pan were doing his job properly, Cupid would understand that.”
Ares snorted. “Did you not just tell me that your nephew is the beneficiary of all that redirected carnal energy? What force would motivate him to encourage Cupid to resolve the situation?”
Hephaestus stiffened beside Aphrodite. “Integrity. And Pan is your nephew too.”
Ares dismissed the relationship with a flick of his hand, then stared hard through the glass. Aphrodite clutched her heart. She knew that look, the brilliant military strategist calculating his victory at any cost. There was no telling what evil the God of War might loose.
His lips curled into a sneer as the idea took hold. “Perhaps it’s time to provide the satyr with some performance incentive.”
Hephaestus gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
Ares gestured toward the window. “Care to have a look?”
28
House Call
Morning wood was a certainty. Helios drove the sun across the sky, and Pan rose with the flaming orb. But now, as daylight burst through the pinholes of the vertical blinds, Pan’s flaccid flesh ignored the pull, even with Cheri’s enticing bottom for inspiration. No stranger to the whims of the divine, Pan understood better than anyone: the gods hath taken away.
Cheri grunted into her pillow and wiggled her ass. She was a trouper; he’d give her that.
“Sorry, I have an early meeting today,” Pan said, swatting her playfully and stealing one last lick of the soft skin behind her ear.
Cheri rocked back, eyeing him over her right shoulder. “You’re seriously leaving me all hot and bothered? Hmph!”
He gave his disappointing dick one last glance. Nada.
The paradigms were shifting so rapidly, Pan strained to make sense of it. Sadly, he couldn’t get it up, but clearly, Cheri still wanted him. Interesting. Was that the Cupid Effect or just a Cheri thing?
The girl deserved a decent send-off, but Pan knew better than to ignore the divine whistle blow. He shuddered to think what functions an angered panel of gods might remove from his mouth or fingers, should any substitute body parts be so bold as to accommodate Cheri’s needs.
“Sorry, babe, I have to close up shop here. Text me?”
With a dissatisfied grunt, she forced out, “Fine.”
Pan chuckled. “You’re not gonna forget me now, are you?”
“Fat chance. I won’t be walking straight for a week, thank you very much.”
He bent over and cupped her pouty chin in the palm of his hand. “No, Cheri, thank you.” Sucking the breath out of her lungs and into a vigorous kiss, Pan left her barely breathing between his sheets.
Cheri was gone by the time Pan emerged from his shower, all evidence of their sexual gymnastics tactfully folded inside the neatly made bed. Pan’s droopy member settled into his boxers while his loud sigh filled the empty bedroom. He held no illusions about his predicament; any hope of straightening his cock again depended on sorting out Cupid.
Pan unplugged his phone from the charger and speed-dialed Cupid, each unanswered ring sending Pan another note higher on the oh shit scale. P
hone glued to his ear, Pan stomped to the garage, yanked open the truck door, and heaved his body into the driver’s seat. He muttered and huffed while he waited for the voicemail beep.
Hello, this is Quentin. I’m not available to take your call right now . . .
“Goddammit, Q! I gave you one rule. ONE RULE: Answer your fucking phone. Call me back. NOW!”
At the bottom of the driveway, Pan kicked the truck into drive and hurled his phone against the passenger door.
What does he think he’s playing at? Ungrateful bastard.
Crap. What if he’s lying in a ditch somewhere—or worse?
How many times have I told him to answer his fucking phone?
“I am gonna rip that prick a new one.”
Pan’s tirade was cut short by the memory of Cupid’s admission at the grocery store yesterday. “I couldn’t.” Pan could relate only too well, unable to get a rise of his own useless cock this morning, even with his favorite menthol body wash.
His emotions lurched back and forth the whole ride to Mia’s, unable to settle on which of their dicks deserved more pity—the one that couldn’t rise or the one that wouldn’t fall—but he was wise enough to understand their genitals weren’t the problem. Cupid was in a heap of trouble, and Pan was doing a shit job so far. Poor Q’s balls had to be bluer than his eyes by now, and his chest must feel like a bomb went off.
By the time he parked his truck behind Cupid’s Prius, Pan had mustered enough sympathy to trust himself to ring Mia’s doorbell. A baby’s wail penetrated the walls of the house, and a stampede of footsteps grew louder until the door swung open. Pan gawped at the half-dressed, wild-haired man before him. With one boy wrapped around his neck and another hiding behind his ankles, Cupid was barely recognizable.
“Pan? What are you doing here?”
“Who’s that, Q?” asked the kid on Cupid’s back.
Cupid wrapped both arms under the boy’s bottom and hitched the little body toward his shoulders. “This is my friend Pan. Pan, say hi to Jonah.”
“Pan, like pancakes?” the boy asked, his eyes opening wide.
Pan nodded at the little boy. “Something like that. Nice to meet you, Jonah.”
Cupid gave Pan a wary frown. “Coming in?”
Nodding again, Pan stepped inside. Cupid spun to lead him, nearly tripping over the toddler tugging on his jeans.
“Ee-wyy.” Pan’s gaze dropped to the rug rat clinging to Cupid’s leg. “Eeee-wy,” the boy repeated.
Cupid shook his head, chuckling. “And this is Eli.”
Pan crouched down and held out his palm. “Hello there, Eli. I’m Pan.” Eli slapped him five with a throaty giggle.
“Eli likes you,” Jonah said.
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Cupid muttered.
“Twuck!” Eli grasped Pan’s fingers and tugged him toward the construction vehicles littering the floor near the TV.
“Okay, sure, buddy,” Pan answered, adding a stern, “We need to talk,” as Eli pulled him past Cupid.
Cupid squatted down to slide Jonah off his back. “Hey, Joe, can you do me a favor? Can you tell your mommy my friend Pan is here?” Jonah took off toward the kitchen, and Cupid plopped down next to Pan on the floor. “What’s going on?”
The little ball of energy running a backhoe up Pan’s leg nearly made him forget why he was so angry. “How should I know? Maybe if you’d answer your phone, I wouldn’t have to hunt you down to find out.”
Cupid reached around and patted his back pocket. “Oh, fudge. I’m sorry. It must’ve fallen out last night when I got undressed.” The apology on his face quickly turned to swagger. “We were in a bit of a hurry.”
“Jzhhhh, jzhhhhh.” Eli pushed the backhoe over Pan’s knee. “Puh-ch!”
“Did you say ‘fudge’?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s what Mia says. The kids . . .”
“Never mind. You two . . .?” Pan cut himself off, dropping his gaze to Cupid’s crotch to check for himself. Sure enough, the telltale lump had shrunk. “You’re cured?” Pan didn’t know whether to be angry or just continue being confused. He couldn’t keep track of the ups and downs.
Cupid leaned in, speaking softly into Pan’s ear. “Mia has the magic touch.”
Pan jerked his body so violently, Eli fell over. “Sorry, kiddo,” Pan murmured, righting the little guy before whisper-yelling at Cupid. “What were you thinking? That’s a terrible idea.”
Cupid shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”
If Cupid had been wearing a shirt, Pan would’ve grabbed a fistful and yanked Cupid to his chest. He settled for clenching his jaw as hard as he could while spitting out the answer between his teeth. “The big deal is, that’s a no-no, and the gods are displeased.”
The smile fell away from Cupid’s face. “How do you know?”
“Jzhhhhh zoooom zoooom!” The plastic tires rolled up Pan’s inner thigh, and he threw his palm up just before the front wheels reached the critical juncture. Scooping up Eli and the truck in one hand, Pan flipped the boy around and sent him in the opposite direction with a pat on his bottom.
“Trust me; I know.” Pan glanced over at Cupid, debating how much to share. “It’s my job to know.”
“I don’t get it. I thought I was supposed to make Mia happy. She sure seems happy. I know I’m happy. How is this wrong?”
“You told me yourself,” Pan said, reining in his growing frustration, “you’re not her Right Love. Has that changed?”
Cupid’s chest deflated. He sank back onto his palms. “There’s no echo beat, but I don’t get why it only . . . works with Mia now. That has to mean something.”
Pan chose his words carefully, ever mindful of the audience they couldn’t see. “It’s a test, Q. They like to throw in curveballs, make the wrong answer seem like the only right answer. It’s up to you to do what you were sent here to do, and that does not include what you’ve obviously been doing all night.”
“And twice this morning,” Cupid added miserably.
“Ugh.” Pan had gorged on erotic delights last night as well, but now there was no telling when or if he’d have another chance.
A giant question mark drew itself across Cupid’s forehead. “What’s your deal, Pan? Every girl in town was sniffing between your legs yesterday. Why are you giving me the face?”
“What face?”
“That face I used to see all the time, back when you had hooves and horns. Did you not get your fill?”
“Dammit, Q, this is not about me.”
Eli froze, took in Pan’s angry expression, burst into tears, and hopped off Pan’s legs. The truck clattered to the floor as Eli toddled into the kitchen to the comfort of Mia’s arms. “Mommeeeee!”
“Shit, sorry,” Pan said, pushing himself off the floor and offering Cupid a hand up. “Look, Q, you gotta fix this now. You hear me? This little game of house you’re playing here is not meant to be, and I don’t care how you do it, but you need to tell Mia.”
Cupid gazed over Pan’s shoulders, blinked a few times, and swallowed hard before answering. “I think you just did.”
29
Telling Mia
“Hello, Pan.” There was not a trace of Namaste in Mia’s greeting. A shiver ran down Cupid’s spine.
Pan whipped around to face her. He cleared his throat, but when he answered, his voice sounded more sheep than goat. “Morning.”
The unmistakable ire Mia directed at Cupid twisted his gut. “Well, Pan, it seems you’ve dropped into our little ‘game of house’ just in time to play ‘let’s eat breakfast.’ Can I interest you in some whole wheat pancakes while your friend explains why we’re not meant to be?”
“Oh, I, uh . . .”
Cupid slapped Pan on the back and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Stay.”
Pan’s head swiveled enough to take i
n Cupid’s Don’t leave me alone to deal with this mess expression.
“Hey, Jonah,” Cupid said, “how about setting another place for Pan?” Before Pan had a chance to retreat, Jonah skidded into the kitchen, clattering plates and rattling silverware to make room at the table. “Pan, meet my friend Lucas.”
Mia glared hard at both men before turning the baby in her arms to face Pan, who offered his finger to Lucas and a wary glance toward his mother.
“Don’t worry,” she said with a smirk. “He won’t bite it off.”
Pan shot her a winning grin. “It wasn’t the baby I was worried about.”
Lucas latched onto Pan’s finger and let out a squeaky whimper into Mia’s bosom.
“Right. Someone needs a diaper change. Think you two can hold down the fort?”
Cupid had a pretty solid feeling his blissful little arrangement was about to be irrevocably shattered. He gave Mia a brave, “Sure,” and a hopeful peck on the cheek. Mia sighed as she set off toward the boys’ room.
“Sorry, man,” Pan mumbled.
“Not your fault. It just stinks, you know?” Misery seeped out of Cupid’s every pore, but there were mouths to feed. “C’mon, guys. Pancake time!”
“I’ll pour the milk.” Jonah ran over to the counter, and Pan dove in and grabbed the carton just before the whole thing splattered all over the floor.
“Whoa there, big guy, let me help you with that.”
Cupid had never really thought of his gruff, wild friend as father material before, but it shouldn’t have surprised him that Pan was good with the boys. After all, had Pan not exhibited that same paternal instinct while carrying out his protective duties with Cupid?
“Up-py!”
“Oh, you want me now, do you?” Cupid chuckled and bent to pick up Eli. Strapping the toddler into his booster seat, Cupid said, “I’m the lesser of two evils, I guess.”
Pan guffawed. “Depends who you ask.”
“I think the people who live in this house would choose me—hey, speaking of which, have you noticed a certain lack of melon choosing going on here this morning?”
First Quiver Page 15