Page 24 of Perfectly Matching Again

“You do?”

Erato asked rather idiotically, since she was doing just that at that very moment. Watching Demeter step away from the bed and slowly undo the ties that held her gown, one then the other and finally allowing the dress to fall to her feet, standing in front of Erato in nothing except the cloud of her perfume.

“I had a feeling tonight would go this way. My way…” Demeter kept their gazes locked and reached down her chest, squeezing her own nipples, Erato moaned, unable to hold back her reaction. Titans, she would not survive this night.

“You will survive, darling. You will survive this and more. And yes, I can feel you watching me. What is it that you think about when you do? Do you imagine touching me like this?”

Demeter flicked her one nipple and Erato had to bring her thighs together, desperate for friction, for anything, because this show was going to be her undoing.

“Do you remember how you tasted me? Did you like it?”

Demeter slowly allowed a hand to drift down and disappear between her thighs, only to emerge wet. Erato’s vision grayed at the corners. No way…

Except way, because Demeter was sitting on the bed once again and bringing that very hand to Erato’s mouth.

“Yes, lick me.” Erato did not have to be told twice, sucking two fingers into her mouth, letting her tongue swirl around them, remembering every single note of taste. She didn’t think she’d ever forget. She had been addicted since their night in Vegas. Demeter’s eyes grew hooded and darker at Erato’s slow sucking on her fingertips and so she removed them, bit her lip and then very purposefully drew the now wet fingers down Erato’s neck, collarbone and then without preamble pinched her nipple. Hard. Erato actually screamed. Goddess, please, oh please…

“I will, Muse, I will please. Patience…”

Patience? The word was not in Erato’s dictionary. Not when Demeter’s mouth replaced her fingertips and Erato realized she was slowly licking her own taste off Erato’s hard nipple, not when Demeter moved lower, kissing and licking every inch of Erato’s body as she went. Not when that mouth, that was already driving her insane, finally reached its destination and fingers gently spread her open, finding her wet and desperately wanting.

“You are so ready for me. So wet and ready for me, darling. Is this what I do to you?”

Erato was far too gone for words. She nodded and thankfully Demeter took pity on her, licking the very tip of her clit, once, twice, before suddenly sucking it in her mouth and Erato simply lost all reason then. She was taken apart piece by piece, slow and gentle and then fast and purposeful and with each new orgasm—and she had lost count after the third one and might’ve blackedout after the fourth—a simple truth had become very clear in Erato’s febrile mind.

This was the one.

Minutes, hours, days or years later, Demeter lifted her face from between Erato’s thighs and looked at her handiwork. Or mouthwork? Either way, she smirked, clearly satisfied with the results and before Erato could quip or say something undoubtedly foolish, the Goddess stood and moved up Erato’s still tied up body and simply lowered herself on the mouth that had become hoarse from so much screaming pleasure.

“I think I might’ve had my fill for tonight, darling. And I think it’s your turn. Make me come, lover. I want to come for you.”

The last thought Erato had before diving in was that she had been right. She might not survive this night. And if her body did, her heart stood no chance.

10

WHERE THE 80% ISSUE IS THE MUSE BEING DEVASTATINGLY OBTUSE (AND IN NEED OF THERAPY)

“You just had to sass Hera back in DC. Now who in the Hell knows when she will remove the bond?”

Demeter huffed out a breath and looked away from Erato, seated as far from her on the plane as the golden thread allowed.

“Did I upset you?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded small, tentative and rather pitiful, all things considered. But Demeter merely shrugged and turned back to her laptop. A few seconds later, the familiar clacking of fingertips on the keyboard resumed. Somewhere in the world, some land was fitted for an irrigation system or something, courtesy of this particular set of rapid keystrokes.

As for the freeze radiating from the Goddess of Harvest? Erato’s guess was as good as anyone’s.

Their morning after what had been the most amazing night in Erato’s life was subdued. Well, it was almost non-existent as those very mornings went, if she was perfectly truthful. She had not slept, opting to watch the exhausted Demeter slumber and then once the Goddess woke up, Erato was so embarrassed at getting caught acting like a total creep and by the fact that she really couldn’t tear her eyes away from the gorgeous perfectbreasts fully on display in front of her… It was only logical that she hurried out of bed, into the shower, almost dragging Demeter down the hallways only to lock the door in her face and then proceeded to hide there for thirty minutes.

When she emerged, Demeter was seething… Somber. Monosyllabic. Now the clipped words told Erato she’d probably made some mistake in the process of trying to hide how deeply in trouble she was, and how completely fucked—and not just literally. Something had happened during the night, something that had never happened in her entire history of prowling the Earth as the Lothario-in-Chief.

Erato had fallen in love. Erato, the Muse of Erotic Poetry, or Smut, as it was generously called, the most skillful lover of all times, the one who had women begging for her touch and the one who never refused a single one of them… was in love.

And if that wasn’t a career-ending situation, which was heartbreaking in itself… Because how could she… You know… Complete her “skillful lover” duty to the world if all she wanted was to look at this one goddess who was resolutely not looking at her?

And there lay the bigger issue. Though she should’ve perhaps figured out that she was in much deeper trouble, since Demeter not looking at her was a bigger issue than her losing her job, her calling. Her purpose.

The problem with wanting nothing but to be under the light of those golden eyes was that Erato had zero right to do so. To want. To be. Demeter was off limits. And not just because Hera and Hades and every other Olympian thought so. Screw the Olympians. No, Erato wasn’t worthy of her. The Muse of Smut was not deserving of the Goddess whom everyone used and dismissed despite her being the most important Olympian, who tried her best to keep the world fed, against the contrary efforts of pretty much every other asshole god.

And so all Erato could do was to go about this business of theirs, to visit the spring festivals and hope Hera’s bond would end soon, because she was certain a few more days of this and she’d be on her knees begging to be released, to be spared the torment of being so close to someone she could never have.

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