He leaned in slowly, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. "You threw your swimsuit at me, Annie," he murmured, his voice all silk and shadows. "You practically summoned me."
He didn't kiss her. Not yet. Just let his lips brush feather-soft along her ear, his nose nuzzling the damp skin there. Teasing. Testing. Driving her mad.
"Annie, my dear…" he purred, voice low and sinful, velvet-wrapped danger in every word. "Only good girls get what they want."
The way he said it, so close to her ear, with that voice, the one he knew she liked, the one he'd used only when she'd earned it, sent a full-body shiver down her spine. He felt it through their bond, and gods help him, it only made him worse.
He chuckled, dark and warm. "Mm, you like that. Of course, you do."
Another near touch, his lips brushing her jaw, then her cheek, stopping just before her mouth. Just before her breath could catch on his.
Then a sudden, sharp nip at her ear.
"You are not a good girl today, Annie," he growled, his grip on her tightening just enough to remind her she wasn't going anywhere. "You've been very, very bad."
And every single emotion rolling off her—defiance, excitement, that delicious swirl of boldness and anticipation—urged him on like the perfect kind of storm.
His grin deepened, wicked and knowing. Dangerous.
"Oh, Annie," he whispered, his voice dipping even lower, all silk and smoke, "you started this."
He kissed her neck, slow, deliberate. Then her shoulder. Then lower. His hands skimmed her sides, his body pressed just close enough to promise more but not quite deliver. His power curled around her, tugging on every sensation, drawing out her tension like music stretching to its crescendo.
She gasped, arching close, her thoughts stammering, emotions spiraling. He felt everything: her want, her ache, her anticipation.
One hand trailed under the water, slipping up her thigh, almost there.
Almost.
She was practically shaking. Practically begging.
And then—
He stopped.
The warmth of his body vanished.
She blinked, stunned.
He was out of the pool.
Dry. Fully clothed. Smirking like the bastard god he was.
"Malvor," she hissed.
He sipped from a conjured glass of wine, lounging in a sun chair like nothing had happened. "What?" he asked innocently, eyes gleaming with absolute menace. "Did you want something? Maybe if you were a good girl?"
The audacity.
The absolute, smug audacity.
"Mal!" she yelled, water dripping down her face. "You are a tease!"
He raised his glass in a lazy toast, reclined like he's starring in Gods Who Deserve to Be Slapped Weekly. "Only the best kind, Annie, my love," he purred, voice like warm velvet and sin.
She splashed a wave at him, furious, flustered, and still very much aroused. The water soaked the edge of his chair, but not him, of course. The bastard stayed perfectly dry.
He dodged with ease, smirking. "Careful! This is vintage. Much like my charm."
"You are infuriating!" she huffed, chest rising with rage and…other feelings.
"I know." He grinned, all teeth and trouble. "But you adore me. Deeply. Painfully."
She glared, cheeks flushed, every inch of her vibrating with tension. "I will drown you."
He leaned back even further, sipping his wine. "Worth it."
And gods help her… he'd probably do it with perfect hair and a smug smile.
"You are a bastard!" she snapped, crossing her arms.
Malvor grinned. "While technically true, my parents weren't married, it is also not true. I only have a father. No mother." He gestured to himself with a casual flourish. "I was brought forth directly from the mind of Creation himself."
Annie blinked, stunned. "You… what?"
"Yes, yes," he said, already settling into a dramatic retelling as if he's performed this monologue on stage before. "One wild night, when the universe was but a swirling soup of disorder, Creation, big C, daddy C, not just the concept, got bored. He was tossing stars like popcorn and cackling at galaxies crashing into each other, when suddenly, poof! He had a thought."
He spread his arms grandly. "A thought so powerful, so full of mischief and questionable decision making, that it took form. That thought… was me."
Annie squinted at him. "This is a story, right?"
Malvor gave her an exaggerated gasp of offense. "How dare you! This is sacred cosmology!"
She lifted a brow. "So, you're telling me you were birthed by a thought?"
"No, no, no, forged, my dear. Not birthed. There was no birthing involved. That's icky. I simply appeared. Fully formed. With impeccable bone structure and a tragic backstory."
"You always say that," she muttered.
He continued, undeterred. "My first act of life was to turn Saturn's rings into hula hoops. My second was convincing a black hole it had stage fright. I was chaos incarnate, Annie. The original divine wildcard."
She stared at him, expression stuck between disbelief and mild concern.
"And the best part?" he said, leaning in. "Every word of it is true."
"…You're lying."
"Annie." He placed a hand over his heart. "For once in my eternal, ridiculous existence, I am not."
She narrowed her eyes, trying to tell if he's being serious.
He smiled.
And that's the problem, he always smiles when he lies. And when he tells the truth.
"That is an interesting version of the birds and the bees," Annie deadpans, folding her arms.
"Annie!" Malvor gasped, scandalized. "Once again, disgusting! Birds and bees is how Ravina was made. Not me!"
"Ravina?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Yes, yes, Ravina. Goddess of plants, harvest, the green stuff, all things leafy and inconvenient during allergy season." He waved a hand lazily. "Very in touch with nature. Forests and vines and whispery tree magic."
"And the earth?"
"Oh, no no, that's Tairochi. Big rock man. God of mountains, valleys, dramatic landscapes, very serious, very… stoic. Also very boring."
"You don't remember?"
"I don't care," he replied cheerfully. "They're both a bit muddy and leafy for my taste. Not enough sparkle or spontaneous fireworks, if you ask me."
Annie raised a brow. "So you're saying they're grounded."
Malvor froze, eyes wide, then placed a hand over his heart. "Annie, you've made a pun. I'm so proud, I could cry."
"Don't."
He's already dabbing at his eyes with an invisible handkerchief. "Too late."