God of Ecstasy (8 page)

“Be careful,” she warned him, “or I will punish you for
real, god of wine and theatre. I took a few classes in undergrad and I might
still have Electra’s speeches from the
Oresteia
memorized. And I am a terrible
actress.”

Dionysus widened his eyes in mock horror, shaking his head.

She leaned forward and touched him again, enjoying the feel
of his chest hair under her fingers. It reminded her of walking barefoot on
moss in the woods. She tickled it with her tongue, tasting his sweat. It held
echoes of the deep berry wine taste of his mouth, and something earthier that
she couldn’t place. The room was growing warmer, and she felt sultry with the
heat of the candles and their two bodies. He squirmed beneath her tongue. She
planted tiny kisses down his stomach, dipping her tongue into his navel,
nipping at the soft flesh around it. It was the only soft part of his torso—for
all that he wasn’t built like a wrestler, his muscles were tight and his skin
taut and firm.

She leaned back and rose from the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
Leaving him to moan with frustration, she filled a glass of water in the
bathroom. She took a quick peek in the mirror, smoothing out the purple lace
she wore, and noting her own flushed cheeks. She returned to the bedroom,
pulling out the watercolor set and a brush. Jaime hadn’t painted with
watercolors in years. It took her a moment to get the swirling motions correct
as she wet the brush and then the paints.

She started with a dark purple to match her lingerie, and
because it was her favorite. Dionysus was smiling now around his makeshift gag.
She leaned over him, dripping wet paint across his chest. She didn’t even try
for a proper picture, but flicked it in an imitation of Jackson Pollack. When
the droplets touched his skin, he shivered. She left small splatters of purple
across his chest and down his stomach.

Since Jaime knew she wouldn’t be able to paint over the
tattoos, she avoided them. Instead, she chose to complement them. The purple
captured the shadows in the ink. Next, she pulled out a light green. She ran
the brush lightly down his legs, painting quick sketches of leaves. She dipped
it under his cock and tickled his balls with the very tip of the brush. His
breathing grew heavy. She leaned up over him, skimming his torso with the
fabric covering her breasts, and pulled the gag out of his mouth.

“Better?” she asked, and to her surprise instead of replying
he rose and captured her mouth with his own. She sunk down on top of him, still
holding the paintbrush delicately in one hand, and let him explore her mouth
with his tongue. His cock pressed into her bare thighs and she clasped it
between them, flexing the muscles and feeling him twitch between her legs. They
were both moaning loudly now.

“Much better,” he said. “If this is my fantasy too, then I
want to fuck you now.”

“I can’t argue with that.” She let the paintbrush drop to
the bed beside them.
Oh well, there goes that plan.
As he sucked at her
bottom lip, Jaime shifted her hips, reaching underneath her for his cock. She
held it, hot and throbbing in her hand, and straddled him, slipping the head in
between the folds of her cunt. He thrust his hips, pressing it farther inside
her, and she gasped at the sensation of fullness, pulling her mouth back from
his.

She leaned back on her ass, shifting so the head of his cock
pressed right against her G-spot, and then she began to rock her hips. Her
balance was unsteady at first, it had been so long, but he seemed to know
exactly what to do, grasping at her waist to help. They moved together, finding
the rhythm that suited both of them, and when she had her balance she reached
up and untied her negligee, tearing it away from her body. He pulled her down
to him and clasped one of her nipples between his teeth, sucking it into his
mouth.

“Your mouth is so hot,” she said, gasping for oxygen.

“Your cunt is hotter,” he countered, and she laughed at him.
Sex with Keith had been a contest—one to see who could get it over with faster.
She had no idea how different it could be.

She rode him until her thighs were sore, the bed squeaking
frantically underneath him, the sweat pouring from her body. Her hair clung to
every bare patch of skin it could find, blonde straw everywhere, plastered to
her arms, across his face, down his chest. As she felt the warmth build to an
unbearable heat within her and her clit begin to vibrate, he clasped her in his
arms, flipping her around on her back and then thrusting deep into her, farther
than she knew it was possible to be penetrated. She came with a shout, and he
did as well, their sex juices mixing together, their gasps filling the room.

When they were finished, they didn’t have to say a word, and
simply fell asleep together in Jaime’s bed.

The next day they ate breakfast together again, this time in
the kitchen so Jaime could enjoy the sunlight from outside streaming across the
painted sun in her kitchen. As they cooked French toast together, the sunlight
reflected off the glossy darkness of Liv’s birds.

They didn’t make love in the morning. There was an unspoken
understanding between them, that the previous night had been their second
fantasy. The wine bottle that had once held the god now sat on Jaime’s kitchen
counter, a constant reminder of the temporary nature of their bond.

If they fucked again, or rather, if Jaime had an orgasm and
Dionysus came to completion, since that had counted as their first fantasy, it
would be the end of their short-lived relationship. Dionysus would return to
the bottle, and Jaime would lose him forever.

They knew it couldn’t last forever, but perhaps it could
last a little longer.

Today, Dionysus wouldn’t let her leave the house alone. They
were still arguing about it on the streetcar, leaning in close together and
keeping their voices down. It was Sunday morning so the car was half-empty, and
they sat at the back, far from any other passengers. Sun shone in through the
windows and Jaime held a hand up to her face to block the glare. The city sped
past.

“I’m fine,” she protested. “Look, we’ve been travelling for
twenty minutes now and no sign of him. There are mirrors on the streetcar,
mirrors in the shop windows, mirrors on the cars driving by, and nothing.”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t in hiding somewhere.”

“You said yourself that maybe he can’t leave the house.
Certainly yesterday he waited until I was back to attack me through Brian.
Surely I can get my hair cut in peace.” Jaime wanted a new look to match the
newly painted inside of her house—and, she admitted to herself, the new
confidence and love she felt growing within her mind.

“I’ll still feel better if I’m there.”

“But I want it to be a surprise!” Jaime had more than just a
cut planned. Still he refused to give in. He changed the subject, though, by
placing a hand on her knee, bare under her sundress. She shivered in pleasure,
and he raised the hand higher. “Dee,” she protested, “you know we can’t do
anything.”

“I thought you said a secret orgasm in public was one of
your fantasies?”

She blushed.
One of many, involving you
, she wanted
to say. It was true; he’d gotten a lot out of her this morning. “Sometimes a
fantasy should stay a fantasy. It’s daytime, people outside could see. And we
still don’t know what will trigger you going back in the bottle.”

His eyes flickered away and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. His
face turned sad. “I know. But it has to happen sometime. Maybe it’s better that
it happen now, before I grow to care for you too much.”

Her heart leapt at that. She thought she was the only one
who was beginning to develop feelings. “Surely if the djinn is afraid of me,
there’s a way I can break the curse.”

“Stop it,” he said. He pressed a finger against her mouth.
“I’m serious. More talk like that is only going to attract his attention.”

“You don’t know that. At all. You really don’t know much
about your mortal enemy in general. There has to be a way. Why don’t you look
for it?” Part of her was afraid that he didn’t want to break the curse. Not
because he wanted to stay, pleasing women, one after another, and taking nothing
for himself, for the rest of eternity—but because if she were the one to break
the curse, maybe he’d feel beholden to her. The god of ecstasy and lustful
madness likely wasn’t a monogamous guy, and Jaime knew enough about herself to
know that she was a one-man woman.

Except he’d just said he was beginning to care for her.

The god was saved from having to answer when the streetcar
stopped at their street. He smirked at her, then took her hand and they exited
the back door of the streetcar together, calling out a thank-you to the driver,
exiting hand in hand like an ordinary couple on a beautiful spring day.

If only.

She thought she saw an orange flicker out of the corner of
her eye, but it was probably just sunlight reflecting against the streetcar’s side
mirrors.

Be careful, James. Play with fire and you’re going to get
burned.

And this time, she didn’t mean the djinn.

* * * * *

At the salon, Dionysus waited for her, reading magazines,
catching up on pop culture. Jaime didn’t have the heart to tell them the
magazines were at least six months out of date.

She wondered what the stylist thought of them, the man
whipped and the woman demanding, maybe, or the man so jealous he wouldn’t let
Jaime be alone around even a man who was obviously gay and happily married
(from the photo of a handsome portly man at his station).

The salon was full of people. A few male stylists, but
otherwise entirely women, receiving highlights, cuts, washes, colors, updos,
filling all of the chairs to capacity. A few children played at the front of
the salon, and from time to time Jaime looked over to see Dionysus grinning at
them and interacting with their toys. The mothers weren’t alarmed, of course,
because one look at him relaxed them.

He would be a perfect hair-stylist, wouldn’t he?
Jaime thought as she leaned back in the salon chair. She’d already had a wash
and cut, and now was waiting for the color to set. The first hour of work she’d
spent nervous, despite her words of bravado in the streetcar. There were
mirrors everywhere and it had taken her a long time to relax.

Now, however, she figured the djinn would have made his move
already. So she simply waited and relaxed, listening to the din around her and
breathing deeply. She loved a good self-pampering. It had been ages since she’d
gone to the spa with Liv, Missy and Giselle. They should do it again sometime.
She’d texted them this morning, a quick “Thank U again” for the painting, and
had received Missy’s gushed reply back about “that hottie u better hang on 2.”

She was glad to see there were no ill effects from Brian’s
encounter the night before. With Dionysus’ influence, it seemed the other women
had brushed it off as a crazy dream. Brian himself had been totally disoriented
from the djinn’s touch.

She texted again as she sat waiting for the color to cook.
This time it was Giselle, wanting to know all the details of her sexcapades the
night before. Giselle was clearly excited—Jaime had never been one to share
details in the past.

“He’s a keeper, you’d better hang on to that one,” Jaime
read. Giselle refused to use text-speak. She considered herself far too
sophisticated. “And he’d better hang on to you. Not many women would fulfill a
guy’s fantasy in addition to their own at least if you’re using Cosmo as your
source.”

Jaime laughed out loud. The friends all held women’s
magazines in a sort of fake disdain, but yet still met up over wine to do the
quizzes. It was their last piece of immaturity from art school.

Not many women would fulfill a guy’s fantasy…

And then she had it.

“Dee!” she called across the floor of the salon. He didn’t
look up. He couldn’t hear her—it was too loud, the kids playing, the whirr of
half a dozen hair dryers. She impatiently pulled the cap off her hair. It
didn’t matter now if the color had fully set. She’d either be purple or some
strange yellow-mauve combination. What mattered was telling him what she’d
figured out. She tripped a little over the plastic cape she still wore.

Though, maybe she should look decent when she asked him the
question she had to ask?

She spared a glance in the mirror for her hair.

And saw the pair of scissors rushing toward her head.

Jaime threw herself to the side, smashing into the counter,
sending brushes and bottles of conditioner flying. Her stylist’s face was
twisted in a rictus of rage and he lunged at her again with the scissors. Jaime
screamed. This time, Dionysus heard, but the other three male stylists blocked
his path.

She could see the djinn laughing in the mirror, his face
larger than life, the flames crackling wildly around him.

You idiot, James, this is what he warned you about. And
this is why you shouldn’t have dropped those kickboxing classes just because
Liv did!

The stylist came at her again. He had a light build and a
platinum-blond mohawk. She kicked at him, aiming for his groin, but slipped on
clippings of hair that littered the floor everywhere. She smashed into the
floor, landing hard on her knees, bruising them. She could hear Dionysus in the
distance yelling, women and kids screaming.

If someone gets hurt because of you, James…

The stylist loomed over her. She found another pair of
scissors on the floor and stabbed at his leg with them, making him shout in
pain and jump out of her way. She hauled herself up using the chair. It
swiveled and she spun with it, her bruised knees screaming in pain. She held
the scissors high, ready to meet another attack.

But there wasn’t one.

Someone else was grabbing at the stylist now—or rather,
three someones. Jaime was surrounded by what must have been every woman in the
shop. Some had dripping hair. One wore foils. Their faces were filled with
rage. Two held the stylist back from her and threw him against the mirror.
Jaime saw the djinn’s horrible visage flicker as the stylist hit it.

Dionysus appeared behind the women. He was speaking softly
to them. “That’s it, my beautiful maenads. Stay calm. Protect the one with the
purple hair. Don’t hurt anyone. Protect her.”

The other men who had attacked him were held back by more
women. It seemed the god had every woman in the shop employed in her defense.

Jaime was never so happy to see someone in her life.

“Come on,” he said. “Hurry—I’m still enslaved, his magic is
stronger than mine is. We’re just lucky you picked a place to get attacked that
had so many women.”

Jaime nodded, placing her hand in his. It was hard to speak.
Shakily, she whispered, “Will they be okay?”

Dionysus nodded. “It’ll be like last night. No one will
remember a thing.”

“I’ll have to send my stylist a big tip when this is all
over.”

The god’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as they
picked their way through the frozen chaos. They walked slowly together, making
no sudden movements to disturb the tableau.

As they passed through the salon doors and let them close
behind them, Dionysus pulled Jaime into a run. They sprinted down Queen Street,
not catching their collective breaths until they were well away from any
storefronts or cars that might contain mirrors, running into the middle of a
city park.

When they finally stopped, breathing hard, Dionysus pulled
her into a fierce kiss. “That’s it,” he said. “No more mirrors for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It was my stupid idea.” She held up a hand to stop him from
speaking. “And my stupid timing. Dee, I figured it out. The reason the djinn
wants me dead so badly. I know how to break the curse.”

He pulled her deeper into the park. They crouched down
between too pines, and he lowered his voice. It was filled with quiet hope.
“Tell me.”

“You said it the first night. No woman before has ever
offered you a fantasy in return, or bothered to pleasure you.”

“Sure, when offered three nights of pure sex, any way you
want it, most people will just take it, no questions asked.” His voice was
getting louder, growing excited. “But you didn’t.”

“I had enough of that from the other end in my marriage. I
wasn’t going to do it to you. And I never will. I don’t want a slave, and I
don’t want to be a mistress—I want you. Forever.” Her voice shook with the
confession. She gripped his arms tightly, nails digging into the skin beneath
his t-shirt.

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“I mean, if you’ll have me, I’d like a relationship of
equals. You can have any woman in the world, so I understand if you won’t
choose me.”
Please choose me,
Jaime thought. “But if you’ll have me, I’d
like to marry you.”

A grin broke out over his face. “That’s it, isn’t it? Find a
woman to forgive me and have me despite my past, and prove that I’m not the
scoundrel god I used to be.” Then he frowned. “But are you sure you want to do
this? You’ll be giving up your freedom too, to spend the rest of your life with
me. You’ve just met me. You wouldn’t marry a normal man after less than a
week.”

“You’re not a normal man.” Jaime felt shyness overtake her,
and she let the new purple bob of hair fall to cover her gaze. Her voice was
barely a whisper. “And if it’s a choice between marrying you and putting you
back in the bottle for another forty years to be with some other woman, then
it’s not really a choice to me. I choose you. Fuck, Dee, it’s more thought than
I put into my first marriage. Please trust me on this.”

He nodded. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Then so am I.” He looked down at his arms, still covered in
the vine tattoos. “So why am I not free?”

“Uh, Dee?” This time she spoke firmly, with no sense of
shyness. “You have to say yes.”

He laughed, and hugged her, and kissed her on the mouth,
then said it. “Yes.”

The tattoos still didn’t move. This time, he knew the
reason. “I believe we have to, uh, seal the deal.” He’d clearly been reading
those women’s magazines at the hairdresser. “A wedding ring, and the third
fantasy.”

“My third fantasy is making love to my new husband.”