God of Ecstasy (3 page)

And she wanted him.

When he thrust his tongue deep inside her, firm and hot and
slippery and rough, she cried out his name, “Dionysus!” as if she’d known him
forever, and perhaps she had—in her most secret dreams.

When she came, the sensations moved like waves down her legs
to the tips of her toes, up her torso, out to numb her fingers. Jaime let her
body float and lost herself to it, the pulsing of her pleasure synched with her
heartbeat. She could drown like this, she knew, but she wasn’t afraid anymore.
His tongue rode her through the aftershock, and when he surfaced, she was still
breathing heavily.

They watched each other for a moment, and Jaime’s heart was
racing. She could feel her flushed face and her hair slick with sweat, sticking
to her back. The god mere inches from her was just as disheveled with bubble
bath in his hair and rivulets of water running down his face.

It was Jaime who spoke first. “That was—” But she had no
words. “Thank you.”

He nodded, almost shyly at first but then with that smile
twitching at his mouth again. She watched his mouth, seeing it glisten in the
candlelight, wondering whether it was the bathwater or the juice from between
her legs that made it look so.

“You’re welcome,” was all Dionysus said. Jaime laughed. How
had her life become so strange, to the point that she was sitting naked,
post-orgasm, exchanging courtesies in a tub with a creature out of myth?

Exchanging courtesies.
The thought stuck in her mind.
Pleasuring Keith had always been a bit of a chore. Nothing she could ever do
had been right—too fast, too slow, too hard, not hard enough, her body never
slender or smooth enough to please him. It had gotten to the point where she’d
been terrified to try.

There was no fear in her heart now.

She pushed the god back against the tub, into the curved
corner of it beside the silvery faucet and taps, letting him settle in to a
comfortable position.

Jaime couldn’t breathe underwater. Hell, one time she’d
nearly drowned trying to beat her cousin George in his pool somersault record,
and wound up coughing stinging chlorine everywhere. But she could certainly
touch.

She ran a firm hand down his chest, across his stomach,
tracing the pleasure trail of black curls southward past his navel, to his
cock. It was as firm as it had been earlier. She wrapped the fingers of her
right hand, her strong painting hand, around the base. She watched his face and
used it as her guide, milking him with her fingers, pulling tighter when he
leaned forward, and loosening when he bit his lip. Her other hand teased at the
curls around his cock. She couldn’t see them beneath the bubbles of the bath,
but she could feel. Everything was moist and hot, the bath not having cooled
yet. She explored the folds of his foreskin with her fingers, touching every
part of him, not bothering to be gentle—she didn’t think he liked gentle.

When his breathing grew deeper and faster, she leaned
forward, planting a kiss on his mouth as her hands pulled frantically at his
cock. When he moaned she could feel him come, his warm seed pouring out over
her fingers, into the water. She pumped until he was dry and panting, leaning
back against the tub wall, and then she let his cock go free, moving herself to
the other end of the tub, wrapping her arms around her legs to watch him.

His face was full of shadow—the candle wicks were in their
dying moments now. But she saw him smile and she returned it with a grin of her
own. Jaime’s heart felt full and her body was exhausted. She liked it.

“Wow,” he exhaled. “I—I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“This isn’t how these visits normally go.”

“What do you mean?” Jaime had thought he seemed happy, but
had she done something wrong?

“Normally the women I pleasure don’t bother to return the
favor.” He raised his hands to his hair and rung it out, water trickling down
his shoulders. “That was incredible.”

Jaime flushed. She tried to think of something to say in
return. No man had called her that—
incredible
—before. She was thrilled,
but embarrassed, and sought something else on which to focus. The silver of the
tub faucet caught her attention.

And then she saw it.

The silver faucet held the reflection of a man’s face.

It was indigo, gaunt, furious and twisted, the image
distorted in the curve of the faucet. Flames flickered orange and gold around
its face, and smoke rose from its hair. The eyes were green and piercing, the
hair black as night, the skin mottled and bruised. The expression was something
from the nightmares she’d had as a child, or a time thousands of years before
her birth, when the night held an unknown presence that sent mere humans
running to their beds, barring the doors of their houses, praying out loud for
a divine savior.

The candles went out, plummeting the room into darkness.

Jaime screamed.

An hour after Dionysus had pulled her from the tub and
wrapped her in blankets, Jaime was still shaking. Still cold.

He’d been the perfect comforter, drying her straw-blonde
hair with a towel, making her a pot of hot Earl Grey, asking her nothing.

After she saw the face in the faucet, Dionysus had turned on
the bathroom lights. She’d begged him to check the house and he had, starting
with the bathroom. There was no one there. No one in the closets or under the
bed, no one in the attic or basement of her small bungalow.

She was almost sure it had been a figment of her
imagination. Her mind was certain—clearly there had been no one in the bathroom
with them.

But there had been no one with her before Dionysus appeared,
either. The laws of physics had been broken once today already.

Perhaps she could have dismissed it as a silly, post-sex
hallucination brought on by too much wine (though she’d never taken a swig from
the bottle of rosé, had she?) and a body-shaking orgasm. She could have written
it off, except for the tension in Dionysus’ face.

What could drive a god to fear?

Jaime didn’t want to ask.

They curled up in bed together, swathed in a cocoon of knit
blankets. Dionysus wore a pair of Keith’s old pajamas, plaid flannel several
sizes too big. Jaime was in her favorite navy sweats—comfort wear. She pressed
against his body, absorbing his warmth as he stroked her hair. Normally, she
hated feeling vulnerable. Tonight she didn’t care. They hadn’t spoken in a
while. He’d simply consoled her, and she’d fallen into his embrace and let him.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Jaime, I’m sorry to ask you
this.”

“Go ahead.” Her tone was formal, strange to her ears.

“Can you tell me what you saw? In detail?”

“No. I don’t want to.”

“I’m sorry. But this is important.”

Great. Couldn’t it wait until morning, when the sun had
risen and the world didn’t seem full of shadows and spirits? She realized it
couldn’t, or he wouldn’t have asked. She’d known him only for a few hours, but
she knew that much about him—he wouldn’t hurt her like this unless it was
absolutely necessary.

“Hold my hand?” Any other time, it would have made Jaime
feel ridiculously weak.

“Of course.” He took her hand in his, clasping tight. She
drew in a deep breath, remembering.

“It was horrible. I was watching you and then my eyes
drifted to the front of the bath, to the faucet. There was
someone—something—reflected in it like a mirror. It was a man. But I’ve never
seen a man like that before. His face was covered in bruises, or patches of
something dark and black, like oil. Slick like oil. His hair crawled with it,
worms slithering through black oil.” She felt foolish. Men didn’t have blue
skin or worms for hair. Did they?

What else was out there in the world that she’d never
dreamed of before?

“Go on.” The warmth in his voice was palpable. She clung to
it as if it were a lifeline.

“He laughed at me. I know that sounds ridiculous. But I
could hear it. His teeth flashed white with specks of gold and he wouldn’t stop
laughing—the candles blew out, I couldn’t see him anymore, but I could still
hear it. Or, I don’t know, not hear really, but feel. It wasn’t in my ears, it
was—” It had been inside her. Deep inside, where Dionysus had placed his tongue
only minutes before. The monster’s voice had sullied her, destroyed that moment
of joy.

Was that all he was, then? Guilt? Memories from a marriage
when a woman’s pleasure was seen as dirty, as unnatural?

“I am so sorry, Jaime.” Dionysus’ voice was filled with
regret. She turned to look at him. Tears ran down his cheeks. His beautiful
dark lashes glowed wetly in the dim lamplight of her bedroom. “This is my
fault.”

“I don’t get it. How was my creepy hallucination your
fault?”
An hallucination—that’s all it was, James,
she told herself. She
waited for him to confirm it.

“I’m afraid the creature you saw was real.”

Was it possible for blood to freeze instantly, but a body
keep working? If so, Jaime’s did, upon hearing those words. She wanted to ask
him to take it back. To admit that there was no such man in the faucet, that
she was just crazy.

She’d rather be plied with drugs and stuffed in a
straight-jacket than admit it was real.

“His name is Iblis. From your description it can be no
other. He is the djinn who cursed me and trapped me in that bottle over two
thousand years ago. Giving the bottle my soul in exchange for his, he is now
free to walk the human world and incite others to new heights of evil. Prior to
that, for millennia he was cursed to serve a master, the owner of the bottle,
and the world was protected from him.”

“Sounds lovely.”
Now there’s an understatement,
Jaime
thought to herself. “Why you?”

“What do you mean?” Dionysus turned his head from her, and
Jaime had the sudden sense that he knew exactly what she meant. He was hiding
something from her.

She trusted him, but to what extent?
Better figure it out
fast, James.
She let his hand go, wanting the time to think without his
influence. She didn’t meet his eyes—better to not fall under that wild thrall
again, at least for now. “I mean, why did he choose to curse you? If he was
living in the bottle for thousands of years, why suddenly capture you?”

“His prison was such that he could not replace himself with
just any hapless soul. He needed someone with magic, such as another djinn, an
angel, demon, titan, spirit, or, in my case, a god. And he needed someone whom
the fates would feel deserved the punishment.”

“So why you?”

“I did something that I am not proud of.” His voice was so
serious that she risked a glance at his face. The sparkle was utterly gone from
his eyes. They were focused on the blanket covering their laps. His face had
paled and his cheeks looked gaunt now. His appearance seemed to change slightly
with his moods. Every piece that made him so attractive to her was still there,
but dulled and hesitant. The confidence had left him.

It scared her, knowing that something could affect him this
much. Jaime realized she only knew a tiny piece of the story. Did she dare to
find out more?

“Will you tell me about it?”

He nodded, then inhaled deeply and pulled back from her.
Dionysus left her wrapped in the blanket and moved to a wooden rocking chair
beside the bed; it had belonged to Jaime’s grandmother. It was the oldest piece
in her house, and seeing him sitting in it made her realize that no, now he was
the oldest thing in her house. The oldest person. It might not be strictly
accurate, but she preferred to think of him as a person.

“I was foolish,” he began. The god stared at the ground
between his chair and her bed. Curly locks, now dry, hid much of his face from
her. “Foolish and selfish, and if I could take it back I would. As I mentioned
when we first met, women are attracted to me. I have power over them, when I
want to, and sometimes when I don’t. The djinn’s human mistress was one of my
followers for a time. He treated her badly, which was no excuse—but it is a
part of the tale.”

“Go on.” Jaime tried to keep her voice encouraging, but she
couldn’t look at him. She listened, her eyes drifting across the bedroom,
taking in the faded strips of wallpaper she’d been meaning to strip since Keith
had left, the mahogany chest of drawers that needed refinishing. The room must
have looked dingy and uncared-for to the god on the chair beside her.

“Many women, in those days, came from abusive families or
husbands, fleeing to my places of worship. Some of my temples were in the
wilderness, forests and marshes. Some were in cities, the buildings open to the
sky. Women would flock to my priestesses for initiation into the Mysteries, a
place where they were treated as equals. My maenads and I would dance for hours
under the open sky, naked, painting our bodies with crushed grapes, the women
loving freely as they wanted.

“This temple in particular was high in the mountains of
Crete. Her name was Agathe, the woman who fled Iblis. I remember her. She was
plain and timid, with marks of his fingers still fresh around her neck, but the
sorrow in her eyes made her beautiful.”

Jaime wondered if Dionysus saw her that way as well. She’d
never been abused, thank the gods, but was sure her gaze held its own form of
sadness. Did it make her beautiful? She fingered a lock of blonde hair. She’d
kept it waist length at Keith’s request. It was brittle and dry. She should
really cut it.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror facing the bed.
Her blue irises stood out, their light emphasized by a mosaic of blue and
purple stained glass surrounding the mirror—a gift from several of her artist
friends upon graduation. She remembered telling them she planned to dye her
hair purple to match, she loved the color so much. It had never happened.

She’d rather be beautiful on her own merits, by her own
choice, than out of pity, Jaime realized.

“What happened to Agathe?” she asked.

As the god took in a breath to answer, Jaime saw her blue
eyes in the mirror change to green. The same bright green as the djinn’s in the
tub earlier.

Jaime froze in horror. She felt herself pale in fear, her
pink complexion turning ashen. She began to shake.

Dionysus swore in Greek. Jaime didn’t speak Greek, but she
understood the tone completely.

“It’s him?” the god asked. She nodded.

“What do you see?”

She stared transfixed at the mirror. Flames materialized out
of nowhere and lapped at the glass. Jaime’s own face vanished. She could make
out parts of the djinn’s visage behind the flames—the mottled skin, white
flashing, pointed teeth in a mouth widening beyond all human capability, the
teeth taking up most of his face. Even the molars were sharp like the tines of
a fork. There were dozens and dozens of them, flickering in and out of view
behind the flames.

“You can’t see him?” she whispered.

Dionysus shook his head. “He can make himself visible to
whoever he chooses. What do you see?”

“There’s flames—everywhere. They’re pouring out of the
mirror like it’s a 3D movie but nothing’s burning. What do I do? There’s an
extinguisher in the kitchen.”

Dionysus gripped her arm with his hand. “No, don’t move. The
flames are an illusion. He’s trying to scare you, but he can’t hurt you. I
don’t think.”

“You don’t
think
?” Her voice was hysterical now.

“Keep your voice to a whisper so he can’t hear you. Stay
calm.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Breathe deeply. Move slowly. Don’t look at me—keep fixed on
him if you can. I’m going to get in behind him. Don’t look at me. He won’t be
able to see me if I move slowly enough.” The god carefully rolled up one of the
quilts at the foot of the bed, carrying it close to his chest.

Jaime shook uncontrollably and tried not to watch him. She
counted the flames in her mirror, naming the colors of each of them to keep
herself from crying out. How would she paint them, if she had her brushes?
Tangerine, goldenrod, lemon mixed with olive, deep carmine, indigo in the
hottest center of the flames. Flickers of white.

From the corner of her eye she saw Dionysus by the mirror
now, holding up the quilt.

She plotted the flames as web colors, determining the
hexadecimal code for each as if she were building a style sheet from scratch,
developing the perfect contrast between the page background and header fonts.
The djinn’s stare bore into her.

And then the god broke his slow creeping walk with a wide
sweep of his arms, throwing the blanket over the mirror, and as suddenly as
they had appeared, the flames and djinn were gone. The mirror’s surface was completely
covered with the bright red log-cabin pattern of the quilt.

Jaime heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Dionysus shook his head. “It’s not over yet. What do you
have that’s dark and opaque? More blankets?”

“Yes. Garbage bags? Will black plastic do?”

“Perfect. We have to move fast. Cover every mirror in the
house.” As he spoke, he tossed a blanket over the makeup mirror by her bed.

They exited the room together, carrying blankets. One went
over a freestanding mirror in the hall. Jaime sprinted in the lead to the
kitchen. The djinn’s green eyes stared at her from the dull metal reflection in
the sink. She turned her back to it, not wanting to see. “Bags are under the
sink, left drawer.”

Dionysus reached under and pulled out a box of large plastic
bags. He tossed some to Jaime, then covered the sink with two of his own.

Systematically they mirror-proofed Jaime’s small house. Bags
went over anything reflective. When they wouldn’t stay on their own, Jaime
taped them down. Her windows were covered, the taps, the television screen, the
reflective handle on the stove, the bathroom mirror, the computer monitors in
her small home office where she did web design work for a living.

It couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes, but by the
end, Jaime was panting with exhaustion. She sat on the couch, taking deep
breaths. Dionysus stood in front of her, his expression filled with worry.

“He won’t be able to watch us now,” the god said. “That’s
good.” But there was no cheer in his voice.

Jaime shuddered at the thought that the djinn could have
been observing them all this time. How long had he been watching them in the
bath together? What else could he do? “Can he hurt us?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t
know?
”

“This has never happened before. I’m sorry. I wish I had more
to tell you.”

“What do you mean this hasn’t happened before. Never? In the
past thousand years you’ve been bottle-bound, you’re saying—”

“Two thousand years.”