Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) (16 page)

Ariston joined her watching the little creatures. His finger touched the animal’s small head and it recoiled, startling. He smiled.

Medusa could not tear her eyes from her husband. His curls danced in the water, moving as the sea grass. He was unlike any man she’d seen, and he was hers. He was her husband. Her heart full, she reached for him.

His jaw tightened as he regarded her. His arms caught her around the waist as he kicked, jetting them out of the water.

As they broke the surface, Medusa drew in breath and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed him deeply. His lips, open and wet, clung to hers with gratifying urgency. His hands clasped her back, leaving no room between them.

She was mindless of their labored breathing or the waves that washed them back towards the beach. She wrapped herself around him and held tight, her legs encircling his waist and her arms anchored about his neck. She was vaguely aware of the sand beneath her, aware that the waves washed over them, but no longer moved them.

His mouth lifted from her lips and she opened her eyes.

He was staring at her, his curls dripping on her face and neck. His fingers came up to trace her lips. She watched him, mesmerized by his fascination. Her mouth parted beneath his fingers, making his breath catch. She reached for him, tangling her hands in his hair and pulling his head to her.

She shivered as his tongue caressed hers, stroking her and making her weak with need. She wanted more. She wanted all of him.

Her hands slid down the wet expanse of his chest. She smiled against his mouth, reveling in the subtle spasm of his stomach under her touch, the hot burst of his breath on her lips.

A soft moan slipped from her as his mouth moved down her throat, his hands lifting the soaking wrap of her peplos. His fingers traced her collarbone, his lips followed. She closed her eyes, her head falling back, as his hand cupped her breast.

###

Ariston slipped the peplos from her.

Wet as it was, its sheerness served to provoke the fire in his blood. Removing the wrap bared all of her to him, golden in the sunlight. She was a feast for his senses. She was beauty. Her hair floated in the gentle lap of the waves about them, her eyes were closed and her chin tilted. Her face was tight, yearning. For him.

His gaze explored, and his hands followed.

Her skin was velvet, white as the richest cream. The swell of her rounded breast drew his hand, while his lips eagerly captured the puckered pink tip. She quivered under him, moaning softly and inflaming him all the more.

His hands continued, moving to her side, tracing the curve of her waist and the swell of her hip.

It was sudden, but he stilled, his breath catching as his awareness sharpened.

He felt a presence – someone watching them. He glanced up, searching the cliffs that sheltered their cove. They were alone. Or so it seemed.

Thea called overhead, a loud grating caw.

I feel it too, Thea.

The sun seemed to be prying, the water grasping, the open air exposing them. He grew chilled, wary, and drew Medusa close against him.

“Come with me, wife.” He continued to search their surroundings as he stood, drawing her up before him. He draped the sodden fabric of her peplos over her and took the hand she offered freely.

He glanced at her hand, softening to smile at her.

He led them from the beach, away from the prying eyes he could not find. Once inside the cool shadows of the cabin, he turned towards her and saw the question in her blue eyes.

“What is the matter?” she asked as he pulled her against him.

Ariston glanced outside. Once again he studied the brilliant sea and the sharp relief of the shoreline. He saw nothing to warrant his suspicion. And yet, he knew better than to question his instincts. Or Thea’s warning.

Here, in the cool of their cabin, his anxiety disappeared. It was likely a passing goat herder or farmer, mayhap even a scout – nothing more. He gazed down at her, stroking her face and smiling at her.

His eyes fell to her lips, stirring the hunger that was only momentarily dampened. He laughed softly, saying, “I would not share you with the rays of Apollo’s sun or gentle waves of Poseidon’s ocean. I would keep you for myself.”

His hand caught the base of her head, pulling her against him. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. He caught her to him, sweeping her off her feet to lay her back upon their mat.

He pulled the wet fabric from her, pressing her to him. As their skin touched, a hoarse gasp caught in her throat. The sound pleased him.

“I would hear you, wife, and know that I bring you pleasure.” He regarded her face as her eyes found his.

“There are no words…” her voice trembled, the faintest of whispers.

He clasped her face and kissed her, losing himself to the feel of her.

His hand grasped her hip while his body tightened. Her legs parted in invitation and he moved between them. She moaned as he joined her body, making them one. Once again, his attempt at a gentle union was lost.

He pushed into her, sliding deep. Her cry caused him a moment’s hesitation.

But the look on her face showed him the truth of it. Pleasure was teasing his lady. And he would help her find it.

Her hands clung to his back as he lifted her hips and fit her more firmly against him. He moved, watching her tremble and flush beneath him. Her breathing tore from her, her breasts shuddering as her chest rose and fell with her rampant breathing.

When her eyes opened and met his, a cry tore from her lips. Her body tightened and convulsed, and still she cried out.

He felt each quiver, each spasm, buried as he was deep within her. And her release forced him over the edge. He moaned as his body stiffened – one long heated contraction of ecstasy – as he filled his wife.

His passion left him trembling upon her. He lifted himself, to lessen her burden, but her leg tightened about his hips.

“I’ll crush you, love,” he whispered in her ear.

“I won’t mind,” she assured him, breathing heavily still.

He looked down at her with a smile on his face. “I would mind. I would keep you safe and happy.”

“Keep me here as I am…joined with you,” her voice was husky as her eyes met his.

Her love for him sparkled in her huge blue eyes, dazzling him with its simple truth. His voice was raw, “I am favored by the Gods, my lady, to have you.”

“As am I, to have you as my lord and husband.” Her fingers traced his jaw.

“I please you, then?” he teased softly. He shifted, sliding from her to lie at her side.

She frowned at him, making him laugh.

He could not tear his eyes from her, but watched as she tilted her face towards him and let her leg slip down, as if exhausted. “You do… I did not know such pleasure existed.”

His hand found hers and he lifted it. He kissed the tip of each of her fine white fingers before pressing another to her palm. “What would my lady wife want of this day?”

She smiled at him. “This. Only this.”

###

Poseidon was pleased.

He had expected nothing less from Phorcys. The Titan was humbled and honored, groveling over Poseidon’s choice. But then he was offering marriage to Medusa, whom Phorcys had described as ‘his lowly mortal daughter’.

“You’ve no need to marry her,” Phorcys had smiled. “Get a son on her. Let her bear you a child if you will. To take her as wife is more generous than I could ever have prayed for.”

Poseidon had laughed. “You would have me sully your daughter, Phorcys?”

Phorcys’ incredulous look had amused the God, but the Titan’s words were wise.

“My wife is a help to me. She is a Titan, strong and fearsome in battle. She bore me strong, immortal children – except Medusa. My daughter is beautiful to be sure, but the wife of the great Poseidon? What does she have to offer the likes of you? She cannot serve as your partner, as my Ceto is to me.”

Poseidon watched his ally. “But she will be my wife. As such I will see that she becomes immortal. And that she gives me many sons. It is a good match, Phorcys, one that suits all.”

Phorcys bowed deeply, “You do my family great honor.”

Poseidon did not argue. He did indeed do Phorcys a great honor. But his marriage had nothing to do with honor or finding a partner. It had nothing to do with Athena or pleasing Olympus.

He wanted Medusa.

His lust robbed him of sleep and wit. His temper was quick for his blood still boiled.

Thoughts of her coming to him, beckoning him to their bed… Images of her silken locks tangled about them haunted him. He could almost taste the sweet softness of her lips, smell the fragrant bloom of her scent, and his body ached with it.

This longing for Medusa, a lowly mortal, had become an affliction for which there was only one cure.

If his brother had not warned him against it, he would have her already. It was not an easy choice, for he rarely heeded Zeus. But he would not jeopardize his prize or have his ownership of the girl forfeit to Athena’s prattling or Zeus’ spite.

Medusa would be his until he tired of her.

Once he left Phorcys, he set out on the waves, riding on their very tips as foam. He moved quickly, skimming along the shores of the sea. Mortals did many things along his shores, from fishing to bathing. He watched them with indulgent interest or played with them at will.

And then he found a more interesting sight.

Poseidon unfurled himself, letting his frothy fingers float and pull him towards the couple on the beach. This was a past-time he enjoyed mightily, for young lovers often found passion on the sand. They would be unknowingly wrapped in his form as he became the waves that coursed over them.

He saw no point in depriving himself this slight pleasure, for the sea was his domain. As he was also the God of Fertility, he would appease both his duties. He would make sure that those who loved here would have evidence of their passion in due course.

Whether or not the resulting babe was sired by him, as sea foam, or the mortal involved depended on the woman. If she was beautiful or passionate, if there was something that drew him to her beyond the need to free his seed, then the babe would be his, of that he was sure.

Poseidon was generous when it came to women. He had many sons.

This couple was so absorbed in one another that he wondered. If he transformed into his human form, would they be aware of his presence?

He would not risk disturbing such a coupling. Their passion was great. Poseidon could see it, feel the current of it in the water about them. This man, whose back rippled and tightened as he knelt over his lover, was a virile sort. Yet he felt such tenderness towards the woman beneath him.

A tenderness Poseidon could not fathom.

He could also feel the man’s barely repressed passion.

Poseidon felt himself tighten, wishing he was that man. He would not hold himself from this woman. He would unleash the full extent of his hunger upon her. And she, Poseidon suspected, would take it eagerly.

For the woman’s body was both beautiful and passionate. She was writhing, naked in the sun, and so lovely that Poseidon wished his hands might reach out and stroke her. Instead he slipped forward on a wave, and washed over them.

The sudden sharpness in his chest startled him.

It was beyond his understanding.

But this was more than lust. This was not mindless desire, but a joining of two people beyond their physical being. There was a giving of self here, of the heart.

He was a God. The affections of mortals could not affect him. And yet, did they? His heart shuddered, pulled painfully tight.

Lust he knew well, it was his constant companion. He took what he wanted, with no remorse. But this was different. He washed over them again, feeling the woman tighten and rise beneath her lover’s touch.

And he wanted this.

The man froze. He grew taut, expectant, and turned to search out the source of his unease. Poseidon smiled to himself. The man, handsome in the prime of his youth, had sharp senses.

But his smile faded as the man drew the woman from the water.

Poseidon reached for her, the tightening of his chest suffocating. His watery countenance pooled about her ankle, attempting to pull her back into the water, to him.

He wanted this woman. He wanted to feel the release of this couple’s passion. He wanted to be this man.

The man led his lover from the water, shielding her face from Poseidon’s sight. The man draped the wet cloth over his woman, covering her beauty. It was a shame. He might have searched her out when next she visited the shore. But she entered the cabin with the man, lost to the shadows within.

Poseidon hurt, aching sharply – which he did not take kindly to.

Frustration stole his breath, forcing him back, forcing the water from the warmth of the sunbaked sand.

How dare they inspire such feelings within him. He was Poseidon. He had no reason to envy
mortals
.

And he was deprived again. Once knowingly, for Zeus knew the toll this time was taking upon his brother, and again by these…selfish mortals playing at love upon his beach.

The waves reflected his irritation, rising high and growing cold.

He turned loathing eyes upon the sun. It was barely midday. Another day stretched out before him, before he could claim his wife, his Medusa. He would have to bide his time.

With his anger rising, he considered drowning these lovers. He cared not that his temper was petty, that their death might be sorrowful to those who loved them. They had taunted him with their bodies, so lost in one another – in the shallows of
his
ocean.

A wave could crush their small cabin about them…

It was a pity he’d not pulled them into the ocean. Watching as their lungs filled, as their faces turned blue and they thrashed about in a useless effort to rise from the depths of his ocean. He could see to it that they’d never rise… Imagining it made him smile.

Mayhap it would appease the burning Medusa had infected him with.