Page 124 of The Rose (The Godwicks 2)

He stepped toward her, rivulets of water running down his naked body from chest to stomach, down impossibly long thighs.

He towered over her, gazed down upon her.

“You called me by name,” he said, his voice the low rumble of ocean waves.

“Poseidon,” she whispered.

He stretched out his hand, his enormous mighty hand, and touched her cheek.

He was so large it seemed impossible he could be anything but a statue come to life, but when he touched her cheek he was warm, made of flesh, if not human then more than human.

Her skin burned where he touched her. All around her the temple floor steamed and breathed with wet heat. Lia knew she should run away, run anywhere, run nowhere, but run. Yet her feet remained rooted in place. Distantly she recalled she had a husband in her bed and that she must return to him. But she couldn’t move. She was Poseidon’s slave. But not from fear or force, but desire.

He was magnificent.

So she stayed.

And he touched her more.

Both hands came up to her face, his fingertips stroking her from her neck under her ears to her lips and again. His touch tingled with lightning. She shivered, and the hairs on her arms rose. She felt so insignificant standing before him, so small in comparison to his enormity that she might as well have been a child. But she didn’t feel the fear of a child, a child’s horror of seeing a naked male form in front of her, but a woman’s hunger.

As he touched her face, she told herself this was simply another dance in a dreamworld so she had no reason to be afraid. Might as well enjoy it while it lasted, until she woke up from this impossible dream.

The thick long fingers of his enormous hands lightly stroked her parted lips. He pressed a fingertip, only one, into her mouth and touched the tip of her tongue. She allowed it. She would allow him everything. A drop of water slid from his earlobe and dropped to his chest. She watched it run over the hulking pectoral muscles and into the ridges of his stomach. Everything, yes. She would allow him everything. How could she not?

She a mortal and he a god?

Lia looked up and met his eyes. He studied her face like a jeweler examined a diamond, seeking out the flaws, but finding none. He ran his fingers through her hair, grasped it gently and pulled it to bare her throat to him. She was a rag doll in his hands, small and helpless and limp. Even his lightest touch overwhelmed her. He could have lifted her with one hand.

With her throat bared, he bent down low and pressed his nose against her skin, inhaling her scent. In the steaming heat of the temple, in her terror and desire, she had begun to sweat. Salt water glistened on her skin. The scent seemed to please him like a perfume. He pressed in closer to her, inhaled her scent again. But it was not all he did to her. Before she knew it had happened, he’d found the knotted belt around her waist and untied it. He didn’t bother with the ties at her shoulders. He simply pulled, and the gown came off her body, puddling at her ankles.

She wished he would speak to her and was grateful when he didn’t. What could he say to calm her hammering heart? What could she hear that would make this encounter any less strange or terrifying?

Nothing.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her to her knees.

Of course she should kneel before him, he a god and she a mortal.

And of course he should push the head of his enormous organ into her mouth. The head was all her mouth could take. She wrapped both hands around the shaft—solid as marble—and held and squeezed it. She was well aware of his huge solemn eyes watching her as she sucked him. Did she even please him with what she did? Was this about pleasure for him? Or did he want her obedience?

Or did he want her worship?

Or her love?

The immense tip of his cock strained her mouth. Her jaw ached around it, but she had no desire to stop her work. To simply kneel and stroke the great length and breadth of his cock was divine. He towered over her. She understood prayer now, the desire to kneel before immensity and to please the great being with her kneeling.

Without so much as a shudder or a sigh, he released into her mouth and she swallowed what he released, tasting the salt and finding it sweet to her tongue. A god’s semen would be sweet, wouldn’t it? And when it was done, she already craved more.

It was nothing for him to reach down to her, to cup her head and caress her face. Her hands were still around his cock, and he took both of them into one of his and lifted her off her feet, lifted her easily until she stood with her back arched and breasts thrusting forward. She hung from his great left hand as if from a hook while his mighty right hand made a survey of her body.

Poseidon took each breast in his palm and held it a moment, squeezed it and released it. He swept his large palm over her quivering stomach, up and down her arching back and bottom, down her thighs and up again. Then the moment came she’d known would happen. His long thick fingers, large as a normal mortal man’s cock, spread the lips of her vulva and pushed into her vagina. She didn’t cry out but she whimpered. His touch was probing, searching. She wondered if he was measuring her inside, to see if he could take her and she him. On the fulcrum of his fingers, he pivoted her this way and that as he explored the wet inner chamber of her body. He turned his hand to force her hips to tilt forward and her vagina contracted around his fingers and she cried out from the sudden shock of pleasure.

She thought she saw him smile, but just the once and then it was gone before she could be sure she’d seen it. But she must have pleased him. He withdrew his fingers from her vagina and took her around the waist with both hands. His hand span was as wide as her waist and he again lifted her effortlessly off her feet. At once, she put her hands on his shoulders and her legs around his waist as he brought her down onto his cock.

She cried out, a sound that the whole kingdom must have heard as he pressed the enormous head of the granite organ into her body—the tip alone, for it was all she could take at first. But he was no more content with that than she. He lifted and lowered her, lifted and lowered her, as she pushed and pulsed her hips until she opened enough to take the length of it inside her.

His huge hands slid up her back—one hand cradled her head and neck, the other arm and hand supported her back.

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