Athena was dressed in a white, ancient Greek-style robe, with a wreath adorning her silver hair. She leaned against the headboard, one leg bent, while the other stretched out straight and slender like a lotus root, gleaming faintly under the sunlight streaming through the window.
Seeing the goddess in such a languid pose, Roy let out a soft sigh, his earlier complaints fading away as he slowly approached her.
The air in the room, thick with golden dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun, seemed to still as he crossed the space between them.
The faint, clean scent of her—of olive groves and cool marble—reached him, and his breath hitched. He came to a stop at the edge of the bed, looking down at her where she reclined, a modern-day deity at rest in his humble sanctuary. Her eyes, the color of a stormy sky, held his, not with command, but with a quiet, waiting intensity.
He knelt on the mattress, the old springs groaning softly beneath his weight. He did not speak. Words felt like clumsy, mortal things in this sacred space. Instead, he raised a hand, his fingers trembling almost imperceptibly, and brushed a stray strand of silver hair from her cheek. His touch was a question.
In answer, Athena's lips parted on a soft, silent exhale. It was all the permission he needed.
Roy leaned in, closing the final distance. The first brush of his mouth against hers was tentative, a whisper against a sigh. It was chaste, a mere pressing of skin to skin, yet it sent a current through him so potent it felt like a divine shock. Her lips were softer than he could have ever imagined, cool and smooth, and they yielded to his with a pliancy that belied her immortal strength.
He deepened the kiss, and she met him with a sudden, surprising hunger. Her hand came up to cradle the nape of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, not guiding but participating, pulling him closer.
The kiss was no longer a question and answer but a conversation, a silent, fervent exchange. He could taste a hint of ambrosia and something uniquely her, an essence of wisdom and eternal spring. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened to him, a temple granting entry to a single, devoted worshipper.
Their breathing grew ragged, a syncopated rhythm against the quiet room. Roy broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing the same air, charged and electric.
His hands, which had been braced on the headboard, now moved to the simple tie at her shoulder holding the white robe together. He looked into her eyes, another silent question shimmering in the space between them.
A faint, knowing smile touched her kiss-swollen lips. She gave a single, almost regal nod.
With reverent fingers, he loosened the knot. The fabric, soft and ancient, whispered away from her skin, pooling around her waist. Her torso was revealed, pale and sublime in the sunlight, her breasts high and proud, tipped with rose. But his gaze was drawn lower, past the gentle curve of her stomach, to the place where the robe still gathered.
A new kind of reverence filled him. He shifted his weight, sliding down the bed, his journey one of devotion. He pressed a kiss to her sternum, another to her navel, his hands smoothing over the sharp jut of her hips.
He felt the powerful muscle of her bent leg beneath his palm, then the astonishing softness of her inner thigh. He nuzzled there, inhaling her scent, now deeper, muskier, utterly intoxicating.
He looked up the length of her body. Her head was tilted back against the headboard, her eyes closed, her silver hair fanned out like a halo. One hand was fisted in the bedsheets, the other rested on her own breast, her fingers idly tracing circles around a peaked nipple. The sight was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed.
Roy bent his head to his task.
His first touch there was with his lips, a closed-mouth kiss to her very center. She jolted beneath him, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath that was louder than any cry. Her hips lifted slightly from the mattress, seeking more. He gave it to her.
He used his tongue, a flat, slow stroke that parted her folds. She was slick and warm, tasting of the sea and the earth and something impossibly sweet. He groaned against her, the vibration pulling a low, guttural moan from her throat.
He lost himself in the rhythm of it, in the worship of her. He licked and suckled, exploring every hidden fold, learning the geography of her pleasure. He found the small, hard peak of her clitoris and devoted himself to it, circling it with the tip of his tongue, then flicking it gently, relentlessly.
Athena was no longer still. Her body was a live wire, arching and twisting beneath his ministrations. The sounds she made were not words but raw, unfiltered expressions of sensation—gasps, moans, and sharp, pleading cries.
Her hand left her breast to knot in his hair, not pushing or pulling, but anchoring herself to him, to this man who was offering her a pleasure so acute it felt like a new kind of knowledge.
He could feel her tightening, coiling like a spring. Her thighs trembled on either side of his head. Her breaths came in short, sharp pants. "Roy…" It was the first word spoken since he had approached the bed, and it was a broken prayer.
He redoubled his efforts, drinking her in, and with a final, keening cry that seemed to shake the very sunlight in the room, she came apart. Her release washed over his tongue, and he held her through the shudders that racked her body, gentling her with his lips until the last tremor subsided.
She lay boneless beneath him, her chest heaving. Roy crawled back up her body, kissing a damp trail over her stomach, between her breasts, along the column of her throat. He finally found her mouth again, and she kissed him with a languid, sated passion, tasting herself on his lips.
Her eyes fluttered open. They were dark, heavy-lidded with pleasure, but held a new fire. Her hand, which had been tangled in his hair, slid down his chest, over the desperate ache in his groin. Her fingers worked at the fastening of his trousers with an efficiency that was both divine and utterly practical.
"Now," she whispered, her voice husky and raw. "Make me feel you this thing."
In moments, he was free, his length springing heavy and hard into her cool hand. Her touch was sure, stroking him once, twice, before she guided him to her entrance. He positioned himself above her, bracing on his arms, looking down into her face. The wreath was askew, her lips were red and bruised from their kissing, and her stormy eyes held his with an unwavering focus.
He pushed inside.
She was still fluttering from her climax, incredibly wet and tight. He sank into her depths with a groan that was torn from his very soul. She enveloped him completely, a silken, perfect heat. He was buried to the hilt, and for a long moment, he did not move. He simply existed within her, joined, a mortal man sheathed in a goddess.
Then Athena moved her hips, a slow, undulating roll that broke the stillness.
It was all the impetus he needed. Roy began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that was as much about connection as it was about friction. Each stroke was measured, profound, a piston stroke of worship. Her legs came up, wrapping around his waist, locking him to her, pulling him deeper still. Her heels pressed into the small of his back, urging him on.
The pace quickened, building from a deep, worshipful rhythm to something more primal, more urgent. The headboard began a steady, rhythmic tap against the wall, a mortal counterpoint to their immortal joining. Their skin grew slick with sweat, gleaming in the sun like oiled statues. The air was filled with the sound of their bodies meeting, of their ragged breaths, of her soft, breathless cries matching his guttural groans.
He drove into her, again and again, each thrust sparking a white-hot pleasure that coiled at the base of his spine. He was lost in her, in the feel of her, the scent of her, the sight of her unraveling beneath him once more. Her inner muscles clenched around him, milking him, pulling him toward his own precipice.
"Look at me," she said, her voice a breathless, powerful thing.
His eyes, which had been squeezed shut in concentration, flew open. He met her gaze. Her stormy eyes were blazing with a light that was not of this world, seeing into the very core of him.
Held by that gaze, he felt his climax tear through him, a devastating, soul-shattering wave. Athena cried out Roy's name like a supplication, feeling Roy pouring himself into her, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
He collapsed upon her, spent, his face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin and their joining. Her arms came around him, holding him close.
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