Erotic fiction by Michele London
In Greek mythology, Eros was the god of love. Psyche was the only woman – mortal or goddess – to have ever captured the heart of the Heart’s Master.
Eros rolled over onto his back and let out a sigh. His muscles ached. Though performing his duties well was a source of great pride and satisfaction, it did make one dreadfully tired. The intrigues of mortals in love, not to mention the dalliances of his fellow Olympians, often made his head swim.
His quiver and bow rested propped against the edge of the bed, the collection of arrows greatly diminished after the day’s work.
He would have to have them replenished soon; it was a full moon tonight, there would be a mob of hapless, charming victims waiting for him in secret meeting places, breathlessly enjoying the company of one another and never looking for the piercing of true love that he would grant them. He smiled at that; but the energy to rise and see about his arrows did not come to him.
Instead, he shoved an arm beneath his head and tried to settle deeper into sleep, desperate for the respite just for a moment.
Psyche pulled back the drapes with her fingertips, peering through the shadows at the well-hewn chest and arms of her love. It was not by accident, she knew, that he appeared to mortals clad in so little – the sight was striking indeed. She let the silk curtains slide past her body as she came fully into the room, making her way by candlelight to stand by the side of his bed. In her bare feet, she didn’t make a sound on the marble floor.
A curl of hair fell into her eyes as she studied him, tilting her head to better take in the full glorious length of his body and contemplate all the ways in which she was shortly going to enjoy it.
“Wake up, my love,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes immediately. When they focused on her, on the curves and peaks of her naked body, his flesh awoke with arousal.
“I know you must be tired,” she purred, placing her hands on the bed and crawling up and over his lap. “But I am a Princess, and I will not be denied what I desire.”
Eros’ words were already thick in his throat as he ran his palms up her soft arms.
“You would dare make demands of a god?”
“I would make demands of my lover. That he is also a god is of no consequence in the matter.” She reached behind her hips and found the hardness of his desire through his garments, and began to stroke it slowly.
“You have left your weapons far from your side, and so you have no defense against me.”
“Then I am in your power, lady. Command me.”
Psyche eased his phallus from the confines of his undergarments and ran her thumb over its tip, collecting the moisture that had gathered there and bringing it down over the sensitive skin below. Eros hissed in a breath and squeezed her arms as she toyed with him.
“So hard and wet for me already, my winged wanton,” she said with a smile.
“Would you like to touch?”
“Yes, my lady.”
She brought his hands to her breasts and helped him to squeeze them together. He stroked her already budded nipples and pulled a moan from her throat. He had large hands; strong, and callused from wielding his bow and arrow day and night. The rough patches scratched against her skin, and the sensation sent a flush of heat to her loins.
“You’ve been working harder of late,” she said, “and your hands have paid the price. But so have I. I have been thinking of you, waiting for you, wanting you these many nights. It was not nice of you, Eros.”
“Forgive me, my love.” She smiled at him.
“I will. In time.”
She bent forward until her breasts hung low in his face, and at her nudging he took one of her nipples in his mouth and lavished it with strokes of his tongue. Mimicking him, she lowered her mouth to his ear and licked and tasted of the flesh there until he was writhing beneath her.
“You’re still begging my forgiveness, remember?”
She sat up and tucked his hands at his side. Wrapping her fingers around the top of the headboard, Psyche pulled herself further up Eros’ chest until her pelvis was flush with his face. Without needing further instruction, Eros thrust his chin forward and explored her slick skin with his tongue.
She let out her breath all at once and let her hair fall around her face as she dropped her chin to her chest. After centuries of making mortals love one another Eros was skilled at his task, and he swirled his tongue in and around the most sensitive parts of her hidden folds, sucking at her swollen mound until she was panting and breathless and grinding back against his mouth.
Abruptly, she pulled back, taking a moment to slow her breathing before her climax overcame her.
“You’ve done very well, my love,” she gasped. “I might almost think you’d been practicing on one of your mortal playthings.”
“Never,” he said, his hands wandering up and over her thighs, stomach, and buttocks. “You are the one I love, Psyche. You have always been. No mortal can compare to you, nor any goddess. You surpass them without even trying.”
Psyche blushed and gave a little laugh despite herself.
“Such honeyed words. It is no wonder you are the god of love. Can you do more than give speeches?” He squeezed her buttocks in his strong hands and licked the taste of her from his lips.
“You know that I can.”
She pushed one of the soft, golden curls for which he was so known away from his eyes, and placed a kiss on his lips.
Eros returned her kiss, grasping her hair at the roots to pull her closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her chest against his own, and his warmth spread into her like a welcome fire. She reached down and began stroking him again, rubbing his erection against the wet heat of her sex. When she guided it into her opening, Eros groaned into her mouth and brought his hips up to meet her.
She lay on his chest, pressed in his embrace, as he filled her again and again, and she rained kisses down on his neck and shoulder and throat. She moved her hips to match his rhythm, rising and falling to bring his thrusts home with all the depth and power she desired.
“My love,” he panted. “You’re so…gods, I…I need to…”
“Yes,” she said into his ear. “Yes.”
Eros’ hold around her tightened, his thrusts came faster, and he bit down on her shoulder as he lost his breath and shuddered his seed into her. She pressed her damp forehead to his and breathed with him.
“I’m not much of a penitent, am I?” he said at last.
“What do you mean?”
“I was supposed to be seeking your forgiveness, my love. But I’ve seen to my own desires and left you unfulfilled.”
“I have what I came for,” she replied, rolling off him to curl her sated body up against his side.
Eros lifted the sheets to cover them both and smoothed back her hair before kissing it. He snuffed the dying candle and turned to her, twining his legs with hers and tucking her head beneath his chin.
“Then you shall have it all.” he murmured.
Warmed by his skin, and lulled by his scent, Psyche smiled and let herself drift into sleep.
Michele London is an author, editor, and romance consultant with Scarlet Girl. She is a regular contributor to Scarlet’s Letter and the archive of articles at ScarletGirl.com. She writes dark fiction and erotic fantasy, and dips into real-life tales of sexy for the lovely ladies as a Scarlet Girl pleasure party consultant in the San Francisco Bay Area.
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