We're back with another chapter of this story. There is R-18 content in this chapter, but I made sure to label where everything is so people who don't want to read it can skip over it.
Chapter 56:
– Blake –
I sat across from Hestia in a small private booth tucked into the back corner of what she'd called the second-best restaurant in Orario. The first-best, apparently, was somewhere called Mama Mia's, but Hestia had refused to take me there on principle because, and I'm quoting here: "Loki's stupid kids hang out there and I don't want them ruining our first date together, Blake!"
Fair enough.
The place was nice. Real nice. Dark wood paneling, candles in iron sconces casting warm flickering light across white tablecloths, and the kind of quiet murmur that told me the people eating around us had money to burn. Our private booth had a curtain that the waiter had drawn halfway across when he'd brought our food, giving us the illusion of privacy without actually sealing us off.
Hestia was happily working her way through her third plate. Some kind of seared meat in a dark wine sauce, paired with roasted vegetables that smelled like rosemary and butter. She was eating with the focused enthusiasm of someone who hadn't had a proper meal in a while, her cheeks slightly puffed out, her twin tails swaying every time she got excited about a new bite.
She looks like a chipmunk that won the lottery.
I sipped my water and watched her, content to let her enjoy herself. The bill was going to be obscene. I'd seen the prices on the menu and done the mental math against the small handful of magic stones still warming my pocket dimension.
It didn't bother me, though. If killing monsters paid that well, and if a goblin nest could fund a meal at the second-best restaurant in the city, then making money in this world was going to be the least of my problems. I'd just spend a couple hours tomorrow on some more Dungeon Floors and be back in business.
Plus, the look on Hestia's face when she'd seen the menu had been worth it. She'd done this little intake of breath, like she was about to protest the cost, and then I'd told her not to worry about it and ordered her whatever she wanted.
The way her eyes had lit up had hit me somewhere in the chest I hadn't expected.
Hestia speared a piece of meat, popped it in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then suddenly leveled her fork at me across the table like a tiny dramatic prosecutor. "Alright, mister," she said. "Spill it."
I blinked. "Spill what?"
"You!" She waved the fork in a small circle that took in my entire person. "You're my first child, Blake, and you're super mysterious! I want to know more about you!" She narrowed her eyes, trying to look stern, which was a hard look to pull off when she had a smear of wine sauce on her bottom lip. "I demand answers!"
I huffed out a small laugh and glanced around the booth. The curtain was still drawn halfway. Beyond it, I could see the edge of the dining room, a couple of well-dressed patrons at distant tables, a waiter moving toward the kitchen with an empty tray. I extended my senses out, both my chakra perception and the divine awareness I'd inherited from my dad, sweeping the room.
Nobody was paying attention to us. Just people eating their dinners and minding their business.
I leaned forward a little anyway, dropping my voice.
"You sure you want to know?" I asked. "I'm telling you right now, my story might blow your mind. It might change how you see the world."
Hestia snorted. She set her fork down, planted her elbows on the table, propped her chin on her stacked fists, and gave me a smug little smile that did weird things to my pulse. "Blake," she said. "Sweetie. I am a goddess. I have lived for thousands of years. I have seen empires rise and fall, gods do unspeakable things to each other at parties, mortals invent 1000 different kinds of sandwiches. There is nothing you can tell me that's going to shock me."
I shrugged.
"Alright," I said. "You asked."
So I told her…
"...and then I accidentally teleported to your world about five hours ago, met you, agreed to join your familia, killed some goblins, and now I'm sitting in this restaurant trying to figure out if my future goddess is going to faint…"
I leaned back against the booth's leather backing and took a long sip of water.
Across from me, Hestia was gaping. Not just open mouthed, but full on slack jawed, eyes huge, the rosemary butter on her plate forgotten. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, like a fish that had just been pulled into a boat and didn't know what to do about it. "...other worlds…?" she whispered. "And there's other... other me's?" Her voice climbed half an octave. "Like, somewhere out there, there's another Hestia on your world? Maybe lots of other Hestias on other ones too?"
I was pretty sure the multiverse was very real at this point. "Probably an infinite number, technically…"
"Other Hestias." She pressed both palms flat to her cheeks, squishing her face. "They're out there. Living their lives. I wonder if they're cuter than me? They're probably not. Right? I'm pretty cute. Right, Blake!?"
"You're very cute," I said honestly.
Her face went pink, but she barreled on anyway, half talking to me, half talking to herself. "I knew it. I'm the cutest version. Probably." Her eyes refocused on me. Hestia stared at me. Her eyes were doing this thing where they kept getting glassier and then she'd blink it back, like she was holding off a feeling.
I smirked at her. "So," I said. "Do you regret asking yet?"
She was quiet for a long moment. The smug, bubbly little goddess from a moment ago was gone, and what was looking back at me across the candlelight was something older. Then she shook her head slowly. "Of course not," she said softly. She reached across the table and took one of my hands in both of hers. Her hands were warm, and a little shaky, and she folded them around my fingers like she was holding something fragile. "We're going to be family soon, Blake," she said. "Real family. And family doesn't keep secrets from each other." Her thumb stroked the back of my knuckles. "You've led such a hard life. I'm... I'm sad about all of it. I'm sad you got separated from your mom and your sister for most your life. I'm sad about your foster homes. I'm sad you've had to fight so much for someone so young."
I had to look away for a second. The candle was suddenly very interesting.
"But," she went on, and her voice perked back up, warmth flooding back into it, "I'm so, so glad. That things also got better and that you never gave up! Because all of that is what led you here. To my world." She squeezed my hand. "To me."
I looked back at her.
She was beaming.
Then her expression shifted into something dreamy and dramatic, and she pressed one hand to her chest, the other still holding mine. "Oh my gosh, Blake. Is this fate?" she stage whispered. "Across worlds! Across dimensions! A handsome lost hero, falling out of the sky into the arms of his lonely goddess! This is just like one of those epic romance books all the mortal women keep gobbling up! Tehehehe."
And we're back to this version of Hestia...
"You read books like those?" I asked her playfully.
She huffed out her nose. "I am aware of them," she said with great dignity. "Oh! Oh oh oh! That reminds me! Blake!" She drew herself up, threw both arms up in the air in a triumphant little V, and announced at full goddess volume: "IT'S TIME! LET'S GET OUT OF HERE AND GO TO A HOTEL!"
The restaurant went silent. People around us began whispering to each other.
"Ara, that girl is certainly a bold one!"
"I would be too if I was on a date with a hotty like that! She's so lucky!"
"She looks kind of familiar? Have I seen that girl before…?"
Hestia's whole face turned the color of a ripe tomato. Her mouth dropped open in horror. Her hands flew up in front of her face, then dropped, then flew up again, like she couldn't decide whether to hide or fix this. She leaned across the table so fast she almost knocked over her water glass and dropped her voice to a frantic whisper that was just for me. "Blake! Blake, no! I wasn't, I didn't mean, I wasn't implying we were going to do that! That is not what I meant!" Her hands were waving in tight little circles. "I just! I just want to give you your Falna! So you actually properly join my familia! Tonight! And I need a flat surface and your back and quiet and ohhhhh my gosh everyone's looking at us aren't they?"
Several people, in fact, were still looking at us.
I took pity on her. A little. I leaned forward on my elbows, smiled my best slow easy smile, the one Tsunade had once told me was "extremely unfair to use on women," and watched Hestia's cheeks somehow get even pinker. "Alright," I said. "Let's go then."
"Wait, what?"
"Let's find an inn."
"Blake!"
"I mean, you said it pretty loud, my goddess. The whole restaurant heard. It would be a shame to disappoint your audience."
"BLAAAAAAAAKE!"
"I'm kidding," I said while grinning. "Come on." I dug into my pocket and dropped a generous stack of valis onto the table, more than enough to cover dinner and tip the waiter for not staring at us during all of that. Then I slid out of the booth and held out my hand.
Hestia stared up at me from her seat, her face still pink, her lips still parted slightly, looking like she didn't know whether to laugh or smack me. After a second, she huffed, slid out of her side of the booth, and put her small soft hand into mine. Her fingers curled around my palm and squeezed. "You're going to be trouble, aren't you," she muttered.
"Probably," I admitted.
She looked up at me and her face split into a smile that made the candles look dim. "Good," she snickered. And she tugged me toward the door with the entire restaurant pretending very hard not to watch us go.
– Hestia –
The walk from the restaurant to the inn was, by Hestia's estimation, the most stressful five minutes of her current millennium.
Not because Orario was dangerous at night, although it could be. It was because Blake was, as it turned out, the kind of man who drew eyes the way honey drew bees, and Hestia did not like bees.
She'd hooked herself onto his right arm the moment they stepped out of the restaurant, both of her smaller hands curled around his strong bicep, her cheek brushing the warm cotton of his shirt sleeve every few steps. She'd done it without really thinking about it, the same way she might grab a favorite toy off a shelf. He was hers. Her first child. Her first familia member.
Mine.
Then a tall woman with auburn hair and a low cut leather corset came out of a tavern across the street, took one look at Blake, and openly bit her lower lip.
Hestia's eyes narrowed.
Excuse me?
She let out a short, sharp little hiss through her teeth, the kind a cat makes when another cat walks into its yard, and pressed herself harder against Blake's arm. Her breasts squished into his bicep, the ribbon of her dress stretching even more dangerously than usual, and the auburn haired woman's eyes flicked to her, then to Blake's face, then back to her, and the woman had the decency to look a little chastened before she turned and walked off the other way.
That's right. Walk away. He's mine!
Blake glanced down at her, eyebrows up. "Did you just hiss?"
"I did no such thing!" she replied immediately.
"Pretty sure you hissed…" he muttered playfully.
"Mortals hear things sometimes," Hestia said primly. "It's a known phenomenon!"
It happened twice more on the walk. A pair of off duty adventurers, one human and one beastkin, both blonde, both clearly tipsy, openly turning their heads to track Blake as he passed. Hestia hissed at them too. They blinked, looked at her like they were just now realizing she was there, then quickly found very interesting cobblestones to look at.
The third time was a teenage girl on a balcony who actually leaned over the railing to get a better look. Hestia couldn't very well hiss up at a balcony without looking deranged, so she settled for narrowing her eyes into laser slits and projecting a small, focused burst of back off divinity that made the girl yelp and disappear back inside.
Blake didn't seem to notice. Blake, in fact, seemed entirely oblivious to the fact that he was apparently a walking advertisement for his own sex appeal, which was somehow even more attractive.
This is going to be a problem, Hestia thought, with some wonder.
By the time they reached the inn she'd picked, a clean reputable place a few blocks off the main thoroughfare with a sign showing a sleeping fox painted in blue, Hestia had decided that any future trips through public spaces with Blake were going to involve serious discussion about head scarves, hooded cloaks, and possibly a paper bag!
The innkeeper was a stout, motherly woman in her fifties with grey threaded through her braid and laugh lines around her eyes. She was wiping down the front counter when they came in, and her face lit up the moment she looked up and saw the two of them.
Specifically, when she saw Hestia clinging to Blake's arm.
"Oh my," the innkeeper said, in the warm, knowing tone of a woman who had seen many, many couples come through her doors. She set the rag down and clasped her hands together under her chin. "Welcome, welcome. What can I do for you both this evening?"
"A room, please," Blake said. "One night, two beds if you have it."
"One bed is fine," Hestia said quickly.
Blake glanced down at her. Hestia kept her face very neutral and stared straight ahead at the innkeeper as though she had not just said anything unusual.
"One bed," Blake said slowly, "is fine…?"
"One bed it is." The innkeeper's eyes were positively twinkling. She turned to her key board, selected one with a small carved fox on the tag, and slid it across the counter along with a leather receipt book for Blake to mark. "Top floor, end of the hall. Best room I've got! The walls are nice and thick, dears."
Hestia felt heat start to climb up her neck. "Thank you," she said, with as much dignity as she could muster.
The innkeeper leaned forward on her elbows, beaming, eyes flicking between them like she was watching her favorite romance play. "You enjoy your lovely night together, you two lovers," she said, in the kind of voice that suggested she was three seconds from offering them rose petals.
I should correct her…
I am the noble goddess Hestia!
Eh…
Hestia squeezed Blake's arm a little tighter, gave the innkeeper her warmest, brightest smile, and said, "Thank you so much. We will!"
She felt Blake's body go briefly very still beside her.
She did not look up at his face. Instead she snatched the key off the counter with her free hand, called a cheerful "good night!" over her shoulder, and dragged her enormous handsome adventurer toward the staircase before he could correct anything.
Well, she thought, twin tails swaying as she pulled him up the steps two at a time, I never said I was going to be a responsible goddess.
The room was, true to advertising, very nice.
Wood paneled walls, a small fireplace already laid with kindling but not lit, a wide window looking out over the rooftops with the lit silhouette of the Tower of Babel spearing up into the night sky in the distance. A soft rug across the floorboards. A washbasin on a stand. And one big bed, piled with quilts, dominating the far wall.
Hestia closed the door behind them, locked it with a small definitive click, and turned around.
Blake was already taking the room in. He shrugged off the outer layer he'd been wearing, hung it over the back of the chair by the window, and rolled his shoulders, calm and unhurried, like getting dragged into a hotel room by a goddess he'd known for six hours was just another part of a normal day.
"Alright, my goddess," he said. "How does this work?"
Hestia shivered hearing someone say 'my goddess.'
"Hnn...Right!" Hestia clapped her hands together to rally herself, which had the unfortunate side effect of making her chest bounce, which she pretended not to notice. "Falna! Yes! Okay. So. Um. The ritual involves a couple drops of my blood, and your back, and you should probably take your shirt off and lie face down on the bed."
He tilted his head a fraction. "On my front."
"Mhm!" she was beaming.
"Shirtless?" he asked.
"Mhm!" she was still beaming.
"While you sit on me?" he asked more skeptically.
Dammit! Just let me sit on you! "It's traditional," she said, with the same unshakeable conviction she used for most things she'd just decided were traditional in the last three seconds.
He gave her a look. It was a slow look. Patient. Slightly amused. The corner of his mouth tugged up just enough that she could feel her own pulse in her ears.
Then, because he was apparently a perfectly reasonable man, he just shrugged, reached for the hem of his shirt, and pulled it up and over his head in one smooth motion. He tossed it onto the chair on top of his other layer and turned away from her toward the bed.
Hestia made a sound. It was a small, high, strangled little, "Hnnk." She clamped both hands over her mouth.
He didn't see it. He'd already lowered himself down onto the mattress, face turning to one side on his folded arms, his back stretched out across the quilts like an offering she was extremely not equipped to handle.
Oh, sweet eternal hearth…
Her legs, which felt mildly unsteady, carried her to the edge of the bed.
She reached out and laid her hand flat between his shoulder blades. His skin was warm. Surprisingly warm. Smooth where it wasn't scarred and firm where it wasn't smooth, and under her palm she could feel the slow steady thump of his heartbeat. She moved her hand. Slowly. Down the long line of his spine, then back up, fingers spreading, just feeling him.
"You're really muscular," she said, before she could stop herself. Her voice came out smaller and softer than she'd intended.
A low hum of amusement rumbled out of him, vibrating up through her hand into her wrist. "That so?"
"Mhm. Very." Her hand moved again, across his shoulder, down the curve of his upper arm, back up. "Lots of, um, definition. I am noting it. For Falna purposes."
"Mhm," he made the same noise she made earlier, but more playful.
"It's important!" she tried to defend her dignity.
"Mhm," he just went and did it again.
There was a small pause, in which Hestia kept stroking his back like her hand had simply forgotten it had a job to do.
"Is groping me really part of the process?" Blake finally asked, his voice muffled into his folded arms.
Hestia was suddenly, profoundly grateful that he was face down. Because her face went absolutely scarlet, all the way up to the tips of her ears, and she felt the heat spread down her neck and across her chest like she'd been dropped in a hot spring.
Lie. Lie like your divine reputation depends on it. Which it does!
"Of course it is," she said, with the bright airy confidence of a woman making it up at extreme speed. "Very important! A goddess has to, ah, familiarize herself with the recipient's, you know. Vessel. Spiritually. By touching it. A lot."
His shoulders were shaking. Just a little. The bastard was laughing at her without making a sound.
He knows. He absolutely knows and he's letting me get away with it. Hestia took a steadying breath through her nose, hiked up the hem of her dress just enough to free her thighs, and climbed onto the bed.
She swung one leg over him and settled down on his lower back, knees on either side of his ribs, the soft skin of her inner thighs pressing snug against his sides, her bottom resting just above the small of his back. She felt him take one slightly deeper breath under her, and then go very, very still.
The position put her exactly where she needed to be for the ritual.
It also put her, she became hyperaware, sitting on a half naked, handsome man whose skin was warm against her thighs and whose back rose and fell slowly under her weight. The hem of her dress had ridden up considerably more than it was meant to. The thin fabric of her panties was the only thing between her and his back.
This is fine. This is professional. This is divine. This is...
...this is a very, very nice back.
She cleared her throat.
"Okay," she said, and was proud of how level her voice came out. "I'm going to start now."
"Whenever you're ready, my goddess."
"Don't call me that, it does things to me," she muttered, before she could stop herself.
"What was that?"
"Nothing! Hush! It's sacred ritual time!" She placed both hands flat against his back. She closed her eyes. She reached, not with her hands but with the part of her that was Hestia, the part that was hearth and home and warmth and family, and let it flow down through her palms into him. Her divinity reached for him, eager and curious and protective, and she felt the moment it found purchase, the soft click of something belonging.
She lifted one hand, brought her thumb to her own mouth and bit down. There was the small spark of pain, the warm welling of golden ichor. Carefully, deliberately, she let two drops fall onto his back, between her hands.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the room exploded into light. Every shadow ran for the corners and got swallowed. The lamp on the nightstand was washed out into nothing. The warm wood paneled walls glowed the color of sunrise.
The light was coming from Blake. His skin shone like there was molten gold poured under it. Hestia had to lift her hand to shield her eyes.
Where her ichor had landed, lines of light were burning. They spread outward in flowing script, weaving across his skin, threading down his spine, branching across his shoulders. The Falna script. Her Falna script. His stats writing themselves into his soul.
It was beautiful. She'd watched other gods describe the moment in flowery, drunken speeches at parties, and now she was living it, watching her family grow by exactly one in real time, and her chest swelled with something so big and warm she felt her eyes prickle.
Then she actually read the stat sheet.
Strength: 0
Endurance: 0
Dexterity: 0
Agility: 0
Magic: 0
Right. All zeroes. Brand new adventurer. He hasn't earned excelia under my Falna yet, none of his fights here count yet, that's normal, that's fine, that's...
Her eyes drifted up to the line above the stats.
She blinked.
She blinked again.
She leaned forward, almost faceplanting onto his glowing shoulder, because the line read:
LEVEL 6.
Level...
Level six.
LEVEL SIX!?
WHAT IS HE?
She opened her mouth to say his name. To say he wasn't going to believe this. To say, Blake, you wonderful unhinged outworlder, you broke my freaking system, this isn't supposed to be possible!
She didn't get any of it out.
Because at that precise moment, Blake's wings came out.
WHUMP!
One second, she was sitting on a perfectly ordinary, if extremely well sculpted, back. The next, eight enormous black feathered wings burst into existence out of him, eight of them, eight, unfolding in a thunderclap of displaced air that hit her in the chest like a soft punch and lifted her hair off her shoulders. The whole bed jumped under her.
Hestia made a startled, "Hyaaah!", lost her balance entirely, and toppled backwards off him in a tumble of skirt and twin tails and wide eyes, landing flat on her back on the mattress beside him.
The light in the room dimmed back down as the Falna finished writing itself.
Hestia stared up at the wood beamed ceiling. "...Fweh." That was the only thought she could put together. Just that. Fweh.
A rustle of feathers, a creak of the mattress, and then Blake's voice, warm and worried: "Hestia? Hey. You okay?"
She turned her head slowly on the pillow.
He was sitting up now, having pushed himself onto his hands. The wings were still out. Eight of them. Eight enormous coal black feathered wings, folded loosely behind him. Even in the dim lamplight she could see the way the feathers caught the glow, every one of them long and sleek and impossibly soft looking. They moved a little when he breathed.
The Falna script was still glowing faintly across his skin under the wings, before slowly fading into the marks that would only show again under her divine sight.
The aura coming off him was something else entirely.
Hestia, who had spent thousands of years sensing the divinity of her siblings, who had stood in the throne rooms of heaven and felt every great pantheon in one place, who had been in the same room as Zeus when he was trying to be intimidating, recognized what was happening to him and still wasn't ready for it.
Her power had found something in him that had been waiting. Something that had been only halfway awake. The Falna had landed on a soul that already had its own kind of light, a foreign heavenly light from a world she'd never set foot in, and her divinity had reached out and braided into it instead of just sitting on top. It hadn't only made him an adventurer. It had taken what he was already, this beautiful broken half divine boy, and turned the dial up.
He felt more.
He felt, oh gods. He felt good.
Hestia's body responded the way bodies responded to sun after a long winter. Heat bloomed low in her stomach and rolled outward in a slow steady wave. Her thighs pressed together against the mattress almost on their own. Her nipples went hard against the inside of her ribbon, which had shifted dangerously askew during her fall.
Oh no. I am very turned on…
He scooted forward across the mattress on his knees. The wings rustled. The bed dipped under his weight.
"Hestia," he said again, gently. "Hey. Talk to me. You're not, did I hurt you when those came out, did I?"
She pushed herself up on her elbows.
He stopped, half a foot away from her, looking down at her, those beautiful blue eyes searching her face for damage, his mouth right there, and her self control, which she was generally rather proud of, looked at the situation, took off its apron, and walked out the back door.
Hestia surged up off the mattress, fisted both her hands in the loose hair at the back of his neck, and crashed her mouth against his!
[The R-18 Starts Here. You can skip to past all of it if you don't want to read the R-18 part. Just move to 56 part 2]
...Hestia kissed him like she'd been starving for it.
Which, considering she had walked the Heavens for the better part of forever and never once felt anything close to this, was probably accurate. She had her hands fisted in the loose hair at the back of Blake's neck, and the moment his mouth opened against hers she pressed in harder, mashing her lips into his with the enthusiastic graceless need of a goddess who had decided exactly five seconds ago that this was happening, and she was going to be good at it on principle alone.
"Mmh," she gasped against his mouth, and dragged him down with her as she fell back against the pillows. He came willingly, bracing himself on one forearm above her so he didn't crush her, and she liked that, the way he was being careful with her even now, even with eight enormous black wings flared out behind him.
She was so warm. Her whole body was warm. Every place his bare chest pressed against her felt like she was being slowly lit on fire from the inside out.
Goddesses do not behave like this. Goddesses are dignified. Goddesses uphold the celestial standards of decorum and...
His tongue brushed against hers and her brain produced a small static pop and went offline for several seconds.
...nope, no, this goddess is doing this, signing off!
Hestia kissed him harder. She slid one of her hands down out of his hair, traced down the broad warm muscle of his neck, across the swell of his shoulder, and around to his back, fingertips dragging across his skin. He made a quiet sound into her mouth, low and pleased, that vibrated against her lips and went somewhere in her body that absolutely had not had things vibrating in it before.
She kept going. Her palm stroked down between his shoulder blades, and then her fingers brushed the base of his wings.
The reaction was instant.
Blake shuddered. His whole body did. The sound he made into her mouth was not low and pleased anymore. It was a sharp, helpless little, "Hnh," that she felt in her teeth, and the wings behind him jerked, feathers fluffing up in a shiver of black down.
...oh.
Oh ho ho.
OH HO HO.
Hestia broke the kiss and pulled back just enough to look at his face. He was flushed, properly flushed, lips parted, his blue eyes blown dark and a little dazed. The cool confident young man who had walked into the dungeon that afternoon and put a werewolf in his place was looking at her like she had just hit him with something he didn't know how to defend against, and she had, in fact, simply touched the place where his wings met his back.
She was going to smirk. She was trying to smirk. She was a goddess of the hearth and home, not seduction, but she was a fast learner and she had a thousand years of romance novels in the archive of her memory and she was going to try.
What came out was probably more of a smug little grin than a sultry smirk, but Blake was looking at her like she'd hung the moon, so she figured it had landed close enough.
"Is this okay?" Blake asked her, soft and serious. His voice was a little rough.
His thumb stroked her cheek as he asked it. He had braced himself above her with that one arm, and his eyes were searching her face like her answer was the most important thing in this room.
Hestia, ancient goddess, primordial flame of the hearth, witness to the rise and fall of three pantheons, felt herself melt into a small puddle of warm wax under that look.
She shivered. "Blake," she whispered. "I have walked this world for so long. I have seen so many things. And honestly? I have never wanted anything more than I want this. Right now. With you."
His face did something very soft. He kissed her again, slower this time, like he was answering her, and Hestia thought, dimly, oh, I'm in trouble. I am in so, so much trouble. I'm going to be ruined for everyone for the rest of forever.
When he eased back up, propping himself on his hands, she sat up too and pushed gently against his stomach with her fingertips. He took the cue and shifted to make room as she scooted up onto her knees in the middle of the rumpled bed.
She took a breath.
Then she reached up, found the bow at the front of her dress, and tugged.
The ribbon gave with a single soft fwip.
The dress, which had only been holding itself together by determined faith and her own divine will, immediately gave up the fight. The blue ribbon slid down across the curve of her chest, the white fabric loosened, and her breasts spilled out.
She heard Blake breathe in.
Hestia looked down at herself, at her own large soft breasts now bare in the lamplight, her pink nipples aching and stiff and standing out so hard they almost hurt. Then she looked back up at Blake.
He was staring. Pure desire. Mouth slightly open. He'd lost track of his hands, which had stilled in midair on the way to her hips, like his body had stopped sending instructions and just left them there. His blue eyes weren't doing the polite thing of trying not to look. They were drinking her in, sweeping over her chest with hungry fascination, and his Adam's apple bobbed in a hard swallow.
A slow, smug, delighted heat bloomed in Hestia's chest.
That's right.
Look at me.
I am the goddess of the hearth and home, and I have a fantastic rack, and the divine record will show that I have always been right about that!
She loved her chest. She had always loved her chest. Aphrodite herself had complimented these breasts on at least four separate occasions, two of them while sober. Hestia knew, with the absolute serene confidence of a goddess who had been gifted with abundance, that her breasts were one of the great wonders of the world.
Hestia let her dress slide the rest of the way down her body, pooling around her knees on the mattress, until she was kneeling there in nothing but her white silk gloves and a pair of plain white panties.
Slowly, watching his face, she brought her gloved hands up and cupped the underside of her own breasts, lifting them, squeezing them gently together.
"Mmh," she whispered, half a tease, half real, as her gloved thumbs brushed across her nipples and a sharp jolt of pleasure went straight down to between her legs.
Blake made a strangled sound.
Hestia squeezed once more for good measure, because she was enjoying this, and then she reached up to her right hand and used her teeth to catch the edge of the glove. She pulled it off slowly, dragging the silk down off her fingers, watching him watch her, before letting the glove drop onto the rumpled blanket. She did the same with the other one.
Now she was just kneeling on the mattress in her white panties, breasts bare, hair falling in loose dark waves around her shoulders, her body humming with a desire she had never experienced before in her entire eternal life.
She opened her mouth to say something cute and clever.
She did not get to.
Because Blake pounced.
"Eep!"
He moved fast. One second he was kneeling across from her, the next his hands were on her waist and he had bowled her gently down onto her back across the pillows, his strong body following her down, wings flaring behind him for balance and then settling. Before she had even finished her startled little squeak his mouth was on her chest.
"Aah!"
Hot. His mouth was hot. He kissed the soft upper slope of her right breast, slow and reverent, lips dragging across her skin, and then his lips closed around her nipple and he sucked, gentle and firm at the same time, his tongue flicking over the stiff little peak.
"Hyaaaah!"
Hestia's whole back arched right up off the bed. Her hands flew up and fisted into his hair, both of them, and she was probably pulling but she couldn't tell because every nerve ending in her body was firing at once. Her thighs scissored together involuntarily and she made a noise she had not known she could make, something high and helpless and entirely undignified.
Oh. OH.
His other hand found her left breast, palmed her, squeezed her gently, the rough warm pad of his thumb sliding back and forth across her other nipple, and Hestia thought, very clearly, 'so this is why mortals are obsessed with this,' and then she lost the ability to think in clear sentences for some time.
He worshiped her chest. There was no other word for it. He licked, he sucked, he kissed the soft underside of her breast, he traced his lips across her sternum and over to her left side and gave that one the same patient tender attention. He squeezed her with his hands like she was something precious. He took his time. His wings rustled softly behind him every time she gasped, like they were responding to her sounds.
Hestia heard herself making noises that goddesses absolutely should not make in cheap inn rooms. Whining little, "Mmh, mmh, mmhh," sounds. A long shaky, "Haaaaah," when he gently grazed his teeth against her nipple. A breathless, "Oh, oh, oh, oh," that just kept coming out of her like a leaky teakettle.
She had spent thousands of years not knowing how good this was. It felt like a personal affront.
"Blake," she gasped, "Blake, you, aaah—"
He hummed against her chest in answer, the vibration going right through her, and she nearly came right there, just from that. His hand slid down her waist, stroked across her stomach, smoothed warm and slow over the curve of her hip, and then he started kissing his way down her body.
Her ribs. The soft give of her belly. The sensitive plane below her belly button where her skin was a little ticklish, where she sucked in a breath that came out trembling. He kissed the jut of her hipbone. He kissed the crease where her hip met her thigh. His shoulders parted her knees gently, with no pressure, just opening her up.
Hestia, propped up on her elbows so she could watch, because there was no way she was missing a single second of this, looked down her own body at this beautiful man kneeling between her thighs, and she thought, this is mine. This is mine, this is mine, this is mine.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her white panties.
He paused. He looked up at her, blue eyes meeting hers down the length of her body, asking.
Hestia felt her face flame.
Okay. Be cool. Be cool, be a sexy goddess about this, you have presence, you have gravitas, you can do this.
She took a breath, lifted her hips up off the mattress to help him pull the panties down, and as he slid them down her thighs and off and tossed them onto the floor somewhere, she struck a small dramatic pose with her arms thrown out a little to the sides, lifted her chin, and announced:
"Behold! The virgin pussy of the goddess Hestia!"
There was a beat.
Her face was on fire. Her nervousness leaked through the dramatic flair like steam.
Blake made a sound that started as a laugh and ended as a groan, and he leaned down and pressed his forehead very gently against her inner thigh.
"You're beautiful," he said, low and serious, his lips moving against her skin. "Hestia, you're so beautiful."
Oh.
Oh, that's not fair, you can't just say things like that, I am emotionallycompromised,Blake.
Then he tipped his head, parted her gently with the warm pad of his thumb, and dragged the flat of his tongue all the way up the seam of her hairless pussy.
"HHHNG!" Hestia's elbows gave out. She flopped flat onto her back, both hands flying down to grip his hair as her hips bucked up into his mouth without her permission. Pleasure shot up her spine like a lightning bolt, pure white sharp delicious pleasure that detonated behind her eyes.
He licked her again. Slow and reverent, the way he had kissed her breasts. He licked the soft outer lips of her pussy and made a low pleased sound against her, like she tasted good, like he was enjoying her, and her brain almost completely fried itself right there.
His tongue circled. Found her clit. Lapped at it, gentle, exploratory, then a little firmer when she keened.
"AaaaaAAAH!"
Her wings—no she didn't have those did she?—his wings, behind him, were fluttering with every taste. Every time his tongue moved, his big black wings gave little excited shivers, feathers ruffling and settling, like the rest of his body was reacting to her flavor without his input. They rose up a little when she cried out, almost like they were preening, and Hestia, in some distant clear fragment of her brain that was still capable of observing things, thought, oh, his wings really, really like me.
The rest of her brain was extremely busy.
"Blake! Blake, ohh, ohhh, fuck, nobody has ever, nnnh!" Nobody had ever done this to her. Not in thousands of years. Not once. She had heard about it, sure. She'd seen mortals do it in private moments not meant for divine eyes, she'd read about it in those filthy filthy romance novels her family circulated in the back of Olympus, and she had always in her head thought of it as kind of an absurd act, frankly, why would anyone want to put their face there.
She got it now.
She deeply got it now.
She was clenching around nothing, her thighs trembling on either side of his head, her hands fisted so tight in his hair she was probably hurting him and he didn't seem to care at all, in fact every time she tugged he made a low pleased sound that sent another shiver of want shooting through her.
She heard, dimly, somewhere outside the warm wet heaven that was Blake Himejima's mouth, the soft metallic click of a belt buckle being undone. Then the zhk of a zipper. Then the rustle of fabric, the muffled sound of denim being pushed down hips, kicked off, dropped onto the floor.
Hestia, panting, propped herself up on her elbows again and looked.
Blake had sat back on his heels between her legs. He'd shoved his pants and underwear down off his hips and they were puddled around his knees on the bed. He kicked them the rest of the way off, sending the bundle of fabric flying off the side of the mattress to land somewhere on the floor with a soft thud.
And then.
And then she got a good look.
...glub.
His thighs were thick and muscled, his chest was broad and flushed pink with effort, and right between his hips...
His cock.
His cock was big.
Hestia, who had seen every famous sculpture ever carved and a great number of regrettable mortal anatomy textbooks, who had once sat through a frankly ridiculous lecture from Aphrodite about ideal proportions, stared at Blake's heavy hard cock standing up against his stomach, the head flushed and slick at the tip, his big heavy balls hanging beneath, and she swallowed audibly.
Aaaaaaah.
Okay. Wow. Okay. That is a lot of cock.
She must have made some kind of audible squeak, because Blake's mouth tugged up at one corner, and his blue eyes did this soft warm thing.
Then, instead of doing what she expected, which was lining himself up for any of the more obvious activities, Blake did something that surprised her.
He leaned forward, took her by the hips, and gently pushed her thighs together.
Hestia blinked. "Bl—Blake, what—"
"Trust me," he murmured, and he leaned over her, bracing one big hand beside her head and using the other to fit himself between her thighs.
His cock slid into the soft warm space between her squeezed together legs, and the underside of his shaft pressed up against her wet pussy lips and right against the throbbing little nub of her clit.
"HhhhhAH!"
He held there for a second, breathing slowly above her, his wings settling around them like a soft black canopy. Then he started to move.
Slow. Slow at first. He pulled his hips back, dragging his hard cock through the slick narrow channel of her thighs, the underside of him pulling against her clit and her lips on the way back, and then he pushed forward again, the fat head of his cock sliding right up against her belly.
Hestia made a sound that was just, "Aah! Aah! Aah! Aah!" with every thrust, surprised every time, every single one new.
It wasn't inside her. He was sliding his cock against her, fucking the soft wet seam where her thighs met, and somehow that simple gentle thing was so much more than she had expected, every glide of him riding right against her clit, every push and pull a fresh hot spike of pleasure.
He set a slow rhythm. His big hand slid up from her hip, came up to her breast, palmed her there, his thumb finding her nipple again and rolling it, and Hestia whined.
"Mmh, mmh, Blake, oh, oh, that's, mmh!" Her hands were everywhere. Up his arms, across his shoulders, down across his chest, back up around his neck. Every time her hands accidentally brushed the inner edge of one of his wings he would shudder, his rhythm hitching for a second, and then catch himself and keep going.
She kissed him. He kissed her back, sloppy and breathing hard above her, his hips never stopping, slow and patient and steady.
"Goddess," he murmured against her mouth, voice ragged. "Squeeze your thighs for me, just a little. Just like that."
She did. She pressed her thighs together harder around his cock, and he groaned into her mouth, deep, and his hips jerked forward an extra inch. "Mmh!"
"That's it," he panted. "Good girl, good girl, that's perfect, fuck."
Good girl? Something inside Hestia, some little old proud divine thing she didn't know was lurking inside her, lit up like a struck match at those two words. "Aah! Aah! Yes, yes, Blake, mmh, more, please, ahh, harder,"
He gave her harder. His pace picked up, the slow patient rhythm sharpening, the slick heat building between her thighs every time he dragged the underside of his cock right up against her clit. The bed creaked. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, and his eyes kept dropping to them and then back up to her face like he didn't know which thing he wanted to look at more.
Pressure was coiling in her lower belly. Tight and tighter and tighter. It was nothing like the slow warm lazy little climaxes she'd given herself in private over centuries. This was a spring being wound up. It was a kettle reaching the whistle. It was something huge getting closer and closer and she was terrified and she wanted it so badly!
"Blake!" she gasped, eyes squeezing shut, head tipping back into the pillows. "Blake, I'm, I'm, I'm gonna—"
"Yeah," he breathed against her neck. "Yeah, my goddess, come for me. Cum for me. I've got you." He shifted his hips a tiny bit so the head of his cock was sliding even more directly against the hood of her clit on every thrust, and the world ended.
"HHHHHAAAAAHHH!"
She came.
She came hard.
White light flashed behind her eyes. Her whole body locked up tight, her thighs clamping around him so hard he gasped, her back arching up off the bed, her hands clawing at his shoulders. Pleasure rolled through her in waves, one after another, and she made a long, broken, "Aah, aah, aaaah, aaaaaaahhh!" that she was going to find very embarrassing once she was capable of caring about anything ever again.
Above her, Blake gritted his teeth.
"Fuck," he ground out, his rhythm going stuttery and rough. "Fuck, Hestia, you're, I'm gonna—"
"Yes," she gasped, still trembling, still riding the slow aftershocks rocking through her. "Yes, Blake, please, on me, on me, I want to see—"
That broke him. He pulled back, sat up on his knees between her thighs, and wrapped one big hand around his slick cock, stroking himself fast. His other hand rested on her hip, gripping her, his eyes on her body, pupils blown huge and dark.
His wings flared out wide.
"Hhhng! Aah!"
The first hot rope of his hot cum splashed across her stomach, painting a thick streak from her belly button up between her breasts. The second landed across her right breast, warm and thick. He kept going, his big hand working him through it, and she watched him paint her body with him, watched his chest heave, watched his face go slack with pleasure, watched his beautiful black wings tremble behind him.
By the time he was done she was a mess. Glossy white streaks across her stomach and chest, dripping slowly down the inside of one breast, a small pool of him pooled in the dip of her belly button.
Hestia, panting, looked down at herself.
Then up at him.
Then back down at herself.
A slow huge giddy grin spread across her face. "Tehehe."
"Holy shit," he panted.
"Mmhm," Hestia agreed dreamily. She had no muscles. She had no bones. She was a small goddess shaped puddle on a mattress in an inn somewhere in Orario and she had never been happier in her entire eternal existence.
He was still kneeling between her thighs, breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling. His cock was still hard, glistening in the low light, twitching slightly against his stomach.
His eyes were on her.
That dazed lustful look on his face hadn't gone anywhere. If anything, looking down at her sprawled out and covered in him seemed to be doing things to him. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. His chest hitched.
Hestia, still floating somewhere two inches above her own body in the slow warm afterglow, slowly became aware of the cum on her chest as more than just a sensation. It was there. Hot. Thick. Streaked across her divine skin in glossy white ribbons, pooled in her belly button, dripping slow over the curve of her right breast.
She blushed.
She brought one trembling hand up and let her fingertips touch the sticky white streak on her stomach. Drew them through it, slowly, watching her own hand do it. The cum was warm and thick and dragged in a soft sticky line under her fingertips. She lifted her hand up.
Three of her fingers came away coated, glossy and white in the lamp glow.
She glanced up at Blake. His eyes were riveted to her hand. Hestia, holding eye contact with him, brought her fingers slowly to her lips, parted them, and drew her own fingers into her mouth. She closed her lips around them and sucked, gentle and curious, sliding the slick of him off her own skin and onto her tongue. Her eyes fluttered as she actually tasted him, salty and a little bitter and surprisingly warm, like he had a flavor of his own that her divine senses parsed as Blake.
A soft little, "Mmh," hummed in her throat without her permission.
She slid her fingers slowly back out of her mouth, glistening clean. "You taste good, Blake," she said, voice dreamy and soft, and licked her lips for good measure.
The sound he made. It was a low, rough, needy sound that came out of his chest before his brain seemed to know it was coming. His pupils blew wide. His cock visibly twitched against his stomach.
He grinned.His big hands came back to her thighs, which were still trembling weakly from her last orgasm, and he pushed them apart again with gentle inexorable strength. She let her knees fall open for him, her body too soft and lazy to do anything but obey, and watched, half dazed and half thrilled, as he wrapped one hand around the base of his still-hard cock.
He guided himself down. The blunt slick head of him brushed against the soft wet seam of her pussy lips, and Hestia's whole body twitched. "Aah!"
He paused there, just the tip, and then, very slowly, he pressed forward.
The head of his cock spread her virgin lips apart. Just that. Just the very tip. Her overly sensitive folds parted around the broad blunt shape of him and the sensation that shot through her was so intense, so new, that she nearly arched off the bed all over again.
"Hyaah!" She felt him there. Hot and hard and thick, nudged right up against her, wanting, his hips trembling slightly with the effort of holding back.
He was being so careful. So slow. He hadn't pushed in further, just held the head of him spread against her opening, breathing hard, looking down at her with that lustful glazed face like he was waiting for her to tell him to keep going.
He could keep going.
She could feel her body wanting him to keep going. Her pussy was clenching around the small piece of him that was already there, rhythmic, eager, pulling at him. She was so wet she was leaking down onto the sheet beneath her. Just one more inch, two, and he would push his cock past the soft fragile barrier inside her, and she would be filled with him, and...
And.
A small high alarm bell rang somewhere in the back of Hestia's head, and the goddess part of her, the part of her that was older than this city and most of these mountains, snapped into focus through the haze.
Oh no.
She had been celibate for thousands of years for reasons that were not arbitrary. The vow was a load bearing thread in what she was. Her divinity, her hearth flame, the warm steady core that made her her, the part that made homes feel like home, it was all bound up with that vow. And while she had been more than willing to bend the spirit of it sideways for one Blake Himejima tonight, breaking the actual letter of it, having him push past that particular fragile little wall, would not be a small thing.
It would be a huge thing. The kind of huge thing that would have other gods feeling it across the world, would crack something in her divinity, might cost her some genuinely important pieces of who she was.
"W—wait!" she gasped, her hands flying down to grip his hips, and Blake froze instantly. His whole body went still above her. His cock didn't push another fraction of an inch deeper. Just stopped.
His blue eyes snapped up to her face, dazed lust replaced fast with concern. "You okay?" he asked, voice tight with how much he was holding back. "Hestia, hey, what's wrong, did I hurt you?"
"No, no, you didn't, you're, you're being perfect, I'm, mmh—" she squirmed. The head of him still pressed at her entrance was making it really hard to think. "I—ah, I am sorry but losing my virginity right now might be really, really bad."
He blinked. "Bad?"
"For me." She winced. "Um. I'm a, I'm a virgin goddess, Blake, like, in the cosmically registered sense. The whole celibate thing is sort of... structural? For me? Like, it's holding parts of me up. If I—ah, if I take you all the way in, especially right now, I might lose pieces of myself I actually need." She could feel his cock practically throbbing against her opening, aching to push deeper. She felt herself clench involuntarily around just the tip of him and they both made small strangled sounds. "And I really want you to," she whispered, going pink. "I do. Aahh, gods, I really, really do, you have no idea, but I, I have to be smart, just for tonight, just for now, I'm sorry, I—"
Blake didn't even let her finish. He very, very slowly drew his hips back. The head of his cock slid back out of her and he sat up onto his heels between her thighs, breathing hard but not pushing for anything, his hand carefully moving away from his cock to brace on the mattress instead. "Hestia," he said softly. "Hey. Don't apologize."
She made a small grateful, "Mmh," and her chest did something fluttery and ridiculous.
But she also did not want to stop. Her body was humming and aching and her thighs were still spread wide for him and he was kneeling there beautiful and naked and hard between them and she had just discovered that the world contained cunnilingus and thigh fucking and orgasms and she absolutely refused, absolutely refused, to let end this night here!
A slow, sly, very pleased little grin curved across her mouth. She propped herself up on her elbows again, ignoring the cum still cooling on her chest, and gave Blake the smuggest look she had in her arsenal.
"Buuuut," she purred, "as it just so happens, Blake...."
"Yeah?" he said. He was smiling slightly now. The dazed lustful look was still there but he was smiling, watching her, indulgent.
"I happen to have," Hestia said, and her grin widened, "another virgin hole I would be more than happy to share with you."
Blake's eyebrows went up. His mouth opened slightly. His cock twitched.
She watched all three reactions happen in roughly that order and felt something extremely satisfied curl up in her chest.
Hestia pushed herself up enough to reposition. She rolled her hips up off the mattress, drew her knees up toward her chest, and reached down with both small hands to grasp her own butt cheeks. She spread herself, deliberately, slowly, putting on a show for him.
She was very aware of what she was showing him.
Her own little pink asshole, on display between her round soft cheeks, just below the pretty hairless pussy he had just been about to ruin her for.
Heat flared up her face and chest. Her skin felt like it was glowing.
Oh, this is so embarrassing, this is the most embarrassing thing I have ever done in my entire long divine existence.
She held the pose anyway, lower lip caught between her teeth, blushing furiously, and watched Blake's face.
His eyes went wide. He stared. The man looked, frankly, like someone had just hit him very gently with a sock full of bricks. His gaze swept down her body, down between her cheeks, lingered there, and then came up to her face. Down again. Up. Down. His tongue ran across his lower lip again. "Are you sure?" he asked, low and serious, and even now, even with her literally spread open for him in the lamp light, he was asking, which was not helping the situation in her chest at all.
"I'm sure," Hestia said, in a small but firm voice. "I want to give you something nobody else has ever had. Even if I have to be a little, ah." She blushed harder. "Creative. About which hole—"
Blake made a low rough sound. "You are something else, Hestia—" he murmured. He leaned forward over her, planted one hand beside her head on the pillow, and kissed her deep on the mouth, slow and hungry, his tongue sliding against hers.
She made a small happy noise into his mouth and her hands came up to his neck and held him there.
When he broke the kiss, he reached down between them.
She felt him shift. The head of his big cock dragged through the slick mess between her thighs, gathering wetness. Her pussy was leaking from just the brief touch of him before, and his pussy juice slick cock slid down lower, between her cheeks now, finding the new target.
The blunt head of him pressed against her tight little pucker.
"Aaah," Hestia gasped, eyes going wide. "Aaah, okay, okay, that's, that's a thing, that's a thing happening, mmh—"
"Easy," Blake murmured against her temple. "Slow. Tell me if it's too much, alright? Promise."
She gasped. "P—promise."
He pressed forward. So slow.
Hestia sucked in a breath as the broad slick head of his cock began to spread her tight little asshole. Her body tried to clench shut against the intrusion, the way it always did, the way it had any time she had ever in passing fingers down there in the bath, but he didn't push hard, he just held there, steady and patient, letting her get used to the pressure.
"Hh, hhhhhh!" She breathed out. The instinctive clench loosened a little. He pressed forward another fraction of an inch. Her body stretched. The head of him was thick. Thick and hot and unyielding, splitting her tight ring open in a slow inevitable burn. She felt the wide flare of the head start to slip past her opening and a small whining sound rose out of her throat. "Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh,"
"Almost," he breathed, his forehead pressed against hers, his own breath ragged. "Easy, my goddess, fuck, you're so tight, you are, fuck—"
The head of him popped through.
"HYAAAH!" Pleasure and heat and a deep fullness she had never imagined shot up her spine. Her hips bucked up off the mattress without her permission. Her tight little ring of muscle clamped down on the thick base of the head of his cock, and she felt every inch of him in a way that no part of her had ever felt anything before.
Above her, Blake was shaking. "Hestia," he ground out, "you, fuck, I'm not gonna make it long if you keep pulsing so tight around my cock, don't squeeze—"
She tried to tell her body not to squeeze. Her body told her to take a hike. Her body was very enthusiastic about this. Her body was a hundred percent on board now that the worst of the burn had passed and the pleasure was settling in instead.
Goddesses are perfect, she thought, dimly, panting up at the ceiling. We are made of divine substance. We are made to be exactly the right shape for whatever situation, and right now my divine substance is deciding that the right shape for this situation is the exact shape of Blake's enormous cock. Thank you, divine substance. Take a victory lap. You earned it!
Blake pushed in further. Slow as melting honey. Inch by inch by inch. Her ass opened for him, her body realizing somewhere around the third inch that this was happening and adjusting accordingly, the tight burn warming into a hot glowing fullness that had her gasping out loud with every fresh push.
"Ah, ah, ah, ahhhhh, Blake, oh, oh, you're, oh—"
When his hips finally pressed flush against the soft round curve of her ass, when she felt the warm weight of his balls resting against her lower cheeks, she keened, a long high happy sound, because he was all the way in her, so deep, so full, and she had not died, and she had not destroyed her divinity, and she had not even ended the night, this was just the beginning.
He held there. His big chest heaving above her. His wings spread out wide behind him for balance again, the lamplight running down every black feather.
"You okay?" he panted.
"Mmhmm," she squeaked. "Mhm. Yes. Good. Very. Move. Please."
He laughed, breathless, kissed her on the mouth, and started to move.
He pulled back, the long hot drag of him out of her, and her ring stretched to follow him, gripping at his thick shaft, and she made a high helpless little, "Aah!" Then he pushed back in, slow, all the way home until his hips were flush against her again, and she made a breathless, "Mmh!"
Out. Aah.
In. Mmh.
Out. Aah.
In. Mmh.
He kept it slow. He kept it patient. Every thrust was full and deep and felt like he was reaching some place inside her that she had not known existed. Her body was a string and he was tuning it. Pleasure built in soft hot waves with every pull and push, slow but rising, undeniable.
"Aah, aah, aah, aah, Blake," she chanted. Her hands clawed at his shoulders. Her thighs were trembling on either side of him. The slow grind of his abs against the soft hairless mound of her pussy with every thrust was rubbing right against her clit and building something low and hot.
"That's it," he breathed against her ear. "That's it, my goddess, you take me so well, you, fuck, you're perfect, you're amazing, you're so, mmh—"
He picked up the pace. Just a little.
The slow drag became a steady firm rhythm. The bed creaked softly beneath them. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, his cum still streaked across them. He looked down at her, at her bouncing sticky chest, at her face, at where they were joined, and made a small reverent sound.
"Beautiful," he muttered, almost to himself.
Hestia whimpered. She wrapped her legs around his lower back, careful of the place where his wings rooted into him, and pulled him in deeper, urgent now. He grunted, low and pleased, and his hand came down between them and his thumb found her clit.
"HYAAAH! AAAAH!"
The slow waves became a tide. He was thrusting into her ass at a steady firm rhythm, the broad thick length of him filling her up, dragging out, filling her up, while his thumb circled tight wet little patterns on her clit at the same time. Two completely different kinds of pleasure stacking on top of each other inside her, building, twining, knotting tight low in her belly.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh, Blake, Blake, Blake," she babbled. "I'm gonna, I'm gonna again, oh, I'm—"
"Yeah," he gritted, his rhythm getting just a little less smooth, his hips snapping forward harder. "Yeah, come on, my goddess, cum on this cock, do it, fuck, let me feel you—"
She did. The knot in her belly snapped. "HHHHHHAAAAAAHH!" Her whole body locked. Her ass clamped down around his thick cock. Her pussy spasmed around nothing, fluttering, pulsing. Pleasure detonated through her in a great rolling white wave that crashed and crashed and crashed and crashed, longer than the first one, deeper, bigger, because everything was bigger now, everything was so much more.
She heard Blake groan above her, low and broken. "Hestia, fuck, I'm gonna—"
"Inside," she gasped, still riding her own wave, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back. "Inside, inside, in me, fill me up, please, I want it, please please please!"
His hips slammed home one last time, deep, all the way to the hilt.
"HHHHHNG!" He came inside her.
She felt it, hot and thick, deep in her ass, his cock pulsing and twitching as he pumped his cum into her. He held her hips down with one hand and pressed himself flush to her body, riding it out, his wings flared wide and trembling behind him with every spurt. She felt three, four, five hot pulses fill her up before he finally sagged forward.
He caught himself on his forearms above her, panting hard, his sweaty forehead coming down to rest against her shoulder.
For a long minute, neither of them said anything.
The only sound in the room was their breathing, slowing, evening out, and the faint creak of the inn's old wood settling.
Hestia, still floating, still humming, still full of him, slowly lifted one limp hand and patted him very gently on the side of his neck. "Tehehe," she said dreamily.
Blake huffed a breathless laugh against her skin. "You good, my goddess?" he murmured.
"Mmhm." She was grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. "Mhm. Yes. Excellent. Five out of five. Would absolutely, absolutely do again. Tehehehe."
"Yeah?"
"In, like, a few minutes. After my legs come back."
"Take your time."
She turned her head and kissed his temple, sloppy and affectionate, and he turned his head into it, nuzzling against her cheek.
After another minute he carefully, carefully eased himself out of her, and she made a small protesting aah at the loss, feeling him slide free, feeling the warm slick mess of him still inside her body. He flopped onto his side next to her on the rumpled bed and pulled her into him, tucking her smaller body against his chest, his big black wings folding down around them like a soft warm blanket.
She nuzzled her face into the soft wings and let out a long, contented sigh.
[R-18 Ends here]