Page 36 of The Night Belongs To Lovers

However, what caught its attention was seeing a horrifying sight not related to the bloody death of thousands of mortals but one that could potentially ruin all of its work that day. The Olympians, gathered on the ground below amidst the carnage, had done something terrible. At least, to the apparition, it was.

They had not destroyed Coriolanus, which meant he could still talk, have his mind read, and his blood tasted to experience his memories, undoing all of the apparition’s efforts.

As it entered the portal of light that would send it back to its prison of darkness, the enraged apparition cursed itself for not remembering the gods’ law above all others. It was this very edict that Olympius had spurned, the one that began all of this: gods do not kill their own kind.

As the portal closed completely, the apparition realized that it should have slaughtered Olympius’ godling bastard itself.

CORIOLANUS

The Present

CHRISTIANrubbed his body methodically, seductively fondling himself at specific points in the performance for the god’s enjoyment. When he was down to his shoes, socks, and underwear, he asked, “Did you like that? Do you want me to continue?” He played not-so-innocently with the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Corey’s muscular biceps flexed as he firmly grabbed Christian by the arms and effortlessly lifted himoff the ground. With a thud, he deposited him in the recessed doorway as easily as if he were handling a feather. Christian’s prick was very nearly at eye level with him.

Grabbing onto the designer undies, that thin cotton barrier separating him from that swollen cock, Corey tore them from Christian’s body, ripping the garment to shreds; the remains of the material flitted to the concrete pavement.

“Do you like me now, sir?” the mortal asked. “Naked, exposed? Go on, touch me, suck me, whatever you want.” The hesitancy was gone in the young man’s voice.

Corey saw that Christian desperately wanted to be desired, to be taken on the sexual odyssey promised to him by the dark, seductive stranger, even chancing that it could prove dangerous. But the god saw nothing but trust in the mortal’s eyes.

Corey levitated off the ground until he was face-to-face with the prey. Then, he moved in close, but just as their lips were about to meet, he halted, holding back for a moment. He whispered in a firm yet sultry voice, “Do you wish to kiss me, Christian?”

“Yes,” the mortal man replied breathily without any reticence.

The god nodded, granting permission.

However, seconds after his lips connected with Christian’s hungry mouth, Corey’s eyes widened with surprise, and he abruptly pulled back, ending the deep kiss. His body language changed as if lightning struck him; a look of shock appeared on his face. He roughly grabbed Christian’s chin and lifted him off the edge of the elevated doorway by it.

In one swift motion, Corey turned them around and shot across the alley toward another brick building opposite their previous location. There, he pressed Christian against a cold, rough wall with great force, causing him to gasp for air as the impact knocked the breath from his lungs.

Corey knew why he had ended the kiss and became aggressive, temporarily forgetting his great strength to Christian’s detriment: guilt. He never kissed the prey. They were not boyfriends or more. They were sustenance and amusement, yet he was always respectful and careful with the ones he did not plan on killing.

But kindness and consideration never equated to love. Lust, yes,for the blood. Even a desire for physical connection was often there, but that was a superficial comfort for a solitary being like himself, nothing more.

But oh, how Christian reminded Corey of Olympius. It was that mouth, those lips, ones of a god, his soulmate, that he believed, just for a moment, he was kissing. The thought sent shivers down his spine and left him longing for something he could not have.

Corey’s heart produced a tumultuous mix of emotions as he struggled to accept his recent actions. Overwhelmed by anger and regret, he could not help but berate himself for his momentary weakness, silently promising himself never again to be so vulnerable to his fantasies.

The god took a few steps back from Christian before barking an order that left no room for disobedience: “Get down on the ground, mortal!”

Christian obediently complied, falling to his scraped knees.

The god’s voice was stern and commanding as he followed up with another order, his tone again showing he would brook no argument: “Turn around and spread!”

Christian did as he was told, his heart pounding. He even moved his legs wider apart than the god expected.

“Nice.”

Corey had no intention of performing that act, of course. That type of mortal pleasure no longer did much for him, his immortal flesh too dense to fully connect to the physical sensations fucking could give. And there was no way he would make himself vulnerable by willing his skin to become temporarily supple.

But he wanted Christian to expect it to happen, that limited human imagination incapable of comprehending what else was possible aside from such primal physical contact. What the god planned to do would be so much more delectable.

Corey removed his half-finger gloves so Christian could feel the marmoreal smoothness of a god’s skin against his quivering mortal flesh. Then, he carefully raked his fingernails down the man’s back, not hard enough to break the skin but with intent, causing him to cry out, pleasure and pain mixing agreeably.

Grabbing Christian’s bare ass, the god separated his plump, peach-fuzz-covered cheeks further, teasing the erogenous zones with his fingers, running one, then another, up and down the separation and over that most intimate, puckered pleasure spot.

And then Corey entered Christian’s mind, psychically filtering out the images his eyes saw and replacing them with ones of his creation. The process was tricky, and the power was intense, but he mastered his mental abilities millennia ago; Corey feared no failure.

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