Page 21 of Heroines of Olympus

It sometimes catches her off guard, the way she enjoys being used in the quiet private of the bed they sometimes share. Her best guess is that her disdain for him guarantees she will never develop feelings for him and, therefore, can let this to be something she allows herself to get lost within.

Abruptly, he pulls out of her mouth and releases her hair. She stays where she is, back on her knees as he climbs out of the bed and walks around behind her. He stands at the edge of the bed and yanks her backward toward him until her core is inches away from his erection.

He runs his hand along her back, up and down in strokes that a naïve girl might confuse for intimacy. She knows he is doing it to tease and build up to something, to throw her off guard.

His right hand slides up her back and around her neck as his left hand clenching her left hip firmly, his grip on her throat tightening as he teases her entrance with his cock.

Aphrodite whimpers with need, almost shaking with it, and he keeps delaying her pleasure until she’s about to disobey and tell him to fuck her already.

As she opens her mouth to do that, he slowly presses into her until he fills her, causing her to cry out.

Zeus deliberately works in and out, his grip on her throat never wavering. Her body is singing with ecstasy as he moves in a rhythm that is slow and torturous. After a few more thrusts, he flips her around, the soft bedding caressing her back as she spreads her legs for him, with barely enough time to adjust to the new position before he is inside her again.

She moans with pleasure and he simply says, “now.”

The orgasm that tears through her is almost blinding as she rides its waves. Just when she thinks it’s done, his thumb is on her clit and a zap of his lightning has her rolling again.

* * *

Several hours later,Aphrodite lies in her bed staring up at the ceiling. Zeus is drifting off to sleep next to her. She will never be stupid enough to mistake him sleeping in her bed as intimacy. He is simply too lazy to go back to his own chambers. It often to works to Aphrodite’s advantage, allowing her to slip in what are hopefully innocuous questions as his consciousness is fading.

“Where is Hera?” She asks quietly.

He yawns before answering her. “Traveling.”

Aphrodite wrinkles her forehead. “No one has seen her. What if the rebels have her?”

“They don’t.”

“How can you be certain?”

He sighs in annoyance. “If you think I don’t have my own spies, you’re as naïve as they are.”

12

MEDUSA

Medusa checks that her hood is still in place before stepping out of her small cabin. The last thing she wants is an accident of that magnitude. It surprises her to find it still perfectly secure, the same as it has been the other hundred times she has compulsively made sure it was safe. Maybe whatever magic allowing it to work also enchants it to stay on? Next time, she’ll try to remember to ask Psyche.

She looks left and then right, coming through the door. The hallway is empty and a few feet to her right are stairs that she hopes will take her topside. Each board creaks loudly as she steps on it, no matter how delicate her foot placement and Medusa hopes it does not disturb Psyche, assuming it is actually night time. Her internal clock is telling her it is, but she will not know until she sees the sky.

The staircase does in fact lead to the decks, and the dark purple sky says her estimate was correct. A thick blanket of clouds covers the sky, preventing her from using the moon to gauge the time. The skeleton crew running the ship tells her the hour is much later than she initially thought and she is grateful for the opportunity to come out here when the fewest amount of people will be around.

She is uncertain what to expect from them. Everything has been happening so fast and being thrust into the public eye is very overwhelming. What will people think when they see her? What do they know about her? Are there whispers spoken at night to warn their babies of the serpentine horror? Do the children run through hills chanting a morbid nursery rhyme about her? Or have they hidden her existence, like they did to her parents?

Lost in a sea of her own thoughts, she nearly misses the man standing on the deck. Nicodemus, the captain.

His face is pulled into a grimace, as if he has a foul taste in his mouth. What did he just slip into his pocket?

Turning, he sees Medusa watching him, his gaze icy and full of loathing.

Flustered at her mistake, she rushes to apologize. “I am so sorry. I was in my head and should have been watching where I was going.”

His dark eyes stare back at her- judging her, assessing her.

Medusa rubs the birthmark on her wrist as she stands there awkwardly for a moment and is about to leave when his face turns into a sneer that she has seen too many times. One laced with hate and loathing.

“You’re awake, I see,” Nicodemus says, his deep voice low but with a threatening undercurrent to it.

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