The Goddess Read online

  He repeated the move again and again. Friction built and, bit by bit, the burn speared closer to a more intense heat.

  When his fingers slid away, the tension spiraled down, and her muscles relaxed. Then he began stroking the bead above her opening, circling and gently prodding for long blissful moments before pressing back into her opening again and repeating the move.

  Every part of her was present and connected only to him. Even with her eyes closed, she sensed his gaze on her face, gauging her responses—particularly when he varied the speed or angle—and her head rocked back, or she released a gasp or sigh.

  When she wound her arms up over her head, he shifted to taste a leisurely line down her throat, across her breasts. His teeth took a nipple and lightly tugged. The glow at her core blazed brighter, muscles squeezed tighter, and her neck arched while her spine pressed down.

  He murmured something—an endearment that, translated, meant my love—and other things she couldn’t concentrate on because the throbbing between her legs, inside her womb, had whipped up a fever. A white-hot storm gripped her core, sensations balled up inside, then collapsed in, catching light, and then…

  Then there was a flash of calm. She felt herself hovering, quivering. Braced. When his mouth captured hers again—when the stirrings of his kiss merged with her ticking time bomb down below—the fire broke free and every part of her blew apart.

  …

  When the roll of contractions finally eased, Helene relaxed into the sheet and blinked open heavy eyes to see Darius’s face close. His incredible mouth was softly smiling. Humming out her own smile, she filed her fingers through his thick black hair.

  “You like?” he asked.

  She cupped his cheek. “Very much.”

  “I like you. Very much.”

  He took her hand and dropped a kiss on the underside of her wrist then her forearm. When he reached the crook of her elbow, his scratchy chin tickled and she let slip a soft laugh. His grin grazed higher before skipping across to nuzzle her breast. Then an arm hooked under her knee.

  He took his time leaving a trail of kisses all the way from her shin to her thigh. When he didn’t stop there, Helene held her breath and clutched the pillow behind her head. His tongue dipped into her center then curled an inch higher, and as he continued to gently kiss and tease her, her body’s responses condensed, and then soared. Surrendering completely, she coiled a calf over his back and pressed in.

  Too soon, splinters of light began to converge, melt together. Everything shrank down to a pinhead and, a heartbeat later, her second orgasm hit. Gates flung wide open. Blasts of pleasure rushed out. The contractions kept coming, squeezing then rolling until she couldn’t say which way was up, didn’t care that she was writhing and entirely lost.

  On the fringes, she was aware of a drawer opening, of Darius sheathing himself. Then his long, strong body covered hers—a hot mantle of muscle. As she caught her breath, her palms traced down the sides of his neck and fanned across his chest. She nestled into his forearm as he positioned himself then slowly entered her.

  Her body and mind were filled in a way that went beyond physical. Every inch of her was “woman”—intelligent, beautiful. Limitless. Desirable. When he began to move inside of her, heat streamed through her blood and intensified with each thrust to warm every cell.

  His tempo increased. Before long, his pelvis was slapping hers and she was hugging the pillow at her ears. When he suddenly stopped and shifted away, she wondered why and dragged open her eyes.

  He was crouched between her legs, scooping his big hands under her behind. He lifted her hips to meet his erection and then, tendons rippling, he penetrated her again.

  His strokes were long and measured. Every time he pushed, he hit a spot that made her walls quiver and grip. The heel of his hand settled low on her mound. As she concentrated on the way their bodies fit and moved together, he lightly massaged the top of her slit.

  When his hand dipped lower, the waves swelled higher. He stroked her folds then shifted to catch her nub between a finger and a thumb. As he gently squeezed and rubbed and plucked, her muscles clenched and twitched and hummed. Just when she was certain she was ready to break, he shifted to cover her again.

  His strokes were quicker and deeper now. She fastened one leg over the back of his thigh and, heart racing, clung onto his chest. When his pace picked up another notch, the sensitive spot inside of her started to feed on itself and glow.

  Veins stood out like cords down his neck. With each breath, his nostrils flared. He stopped long enough to push up on one elbow then drag her leg higher up the back of his thigh. His body gleaming above her, he lifted his face to the ceiling and started pumping again.

  Tremors built. Air burned in her lungs.

  And then the rocking stopped and he stilled completely. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

  She was about to ask if he was okay when he pumped again in a deliberate, precise way. Sensing his body harden more—feeling him tremble and pulse—she clutched the sheet at either side and held on. A moment later, he buried himself to the hilt and, groaning aloud, spasmed deep inside of her.

  …

  Darius’s orgasm gripped him with a ferocity he hadn’t known before. He wanted to bury himself deeper and embrace the sensations longer. He didn’t want the feeling to ever end. But he’d make sure this wouldn’t be their first and only time. They would come together again like this, so he relaxed and gave in to the booming pulse pounding through his blood.

  As the spikes of pleasure petered out, he caught his breath and felt normal brain function return. Pushing higher on his elbows, he searched Helene’s eyes. Smiling softly, she looked as sated as he felt.

  She stole a loving kiss and lingered close to say, “I have a feeling the dishes won’t get done today.”

  His fingers curved around her cheek. “Who cares about dishes?”

  “I’m supposed to.”

  “Not anymore.”

  A sultry smile lit her eyes. “We’re going to spend all day in bed, aren’t we?”

  Although that didn’t need a response, to answer her question, he kissed her again, which only served to ramp the buzz coursing through his body back up to high. When his lips left hers, her gaze was dreamy and her demeanor downright amenable.

  He arched a brow. “I take it you don’t object?”

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  Rolling onto his side, he kept her close. His hands wove down her arm and her back. At the same time his mouth slid up to her earlobe. When she didn’t respond straight away, he understood. She needed time to recuperate.

  But then she stiffened.

  Drawing away, he peered into her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Except… You don’t feel even a bit bad about any of this?”

  Letting out that breath, he dragged his lips down the side of her throat. “How could this possibly feel bad?”

  She twisted in his arms and he made himself clear. “Helene, I don’t regret this.”

  Her uncertain gaze drifted over his shoulder—to the safe.

  He wanted to laugh. “Don’t tell me you feel uncomfortable about the figurine being in the room?”

  “It’s dumb, I know. But you spend so much time in here with her alone. Just then, when I thought about it…” She gave an awkward shrug. “I kind of feel like I’m intruding somehow.”

  He chuckled. “That is dumb.”

  Her smile crimped to one side, but her gaze shifted again to that safe.

  He looked over, too. “Would it help if I brought her out? You could see that she hasn’t come to life and concocted any spells.”

  “That has to be against tradition.”

  “We’re not exactly going by the book here.”

  “And that doesn’t make you nervous?”

  He twined strands of flaxen hair around a finger. “Having you here with me like this doesn’t make me feel nervous at all. It feels good.” It felt…right.<
br />
  Before he thought about that too much, he eased away. He’d show her the figurine one more time. But he’d clean up first.

  …

  As she watched Darius saunter into the bathroom, Helene swept up the sheet to cover herself then studied the safe again. She did feel a little strange knowing the figurine was waiting quietly behind that thick steel door. Not because she was aware of any ancient mystical powers wafting around the room—what had happened between herself and Darius was completely natural, with no hocus-pocus involved.

  Although…she could admit that every moment she’d spent in his arms had indeed seemed magical. They’d made love—unbelievable superlative love—and, by the sounds of it, the good stuff wasn’t over yet.

  With a towel wrapped around his hips, Darius walked back into the bedroom. His smile was gone. Actually, his complexion looked almost chalky. He sat on the edge of the mattress and took her hand in his while she pulled herself up.

  “Something’s wrong,” she said.

  “Probably nothing.” He gave a thin smile. “We’d have to be pretty unlucky.”

  His gaze lowered before his shoulders straightened and jaw tipped up. “The condom broke.”

  Helene’s mouth dropped wide open. “How?” Holding her brow, she shook her head. Oh God. “It doesn’t matter how.”

  She collapsed onto the pillows. The condom broke? And she wasn’t using any form of contraception. She said the only thing that seemed to fit. “It’s my fault.”

  “Of course this isn’t your fault.”

  “I flirted with you today. I wore all that silk last night…”

  “I make my own decisions. I’d feel this way about you no matter what you wear.” Visibly reining himself in, he lowered his voice. “What’s done is done.”

  She swallowed against the sick feeling backing up her throat. “Have you ever had this kind of thing happen before?”

  He pressed a kiss on her furrowed brow. “We’ll be fine. Some couples try for years to…well, to…”

  “Get pregnant?”

  A lead weight sailed through her middle. She wished she hadn’t said that word aloud. But as Darius had pointed out, creating a baby wasn’t always as easy as some might think. Plenty spent a bucket load on IVF. Other people never became parents no matter how long they tried. But Helene would bet her life not too many of them had a genuine fertility figurine sitting in the corner of their bedroom.

  She tugged the sheet out from the foot of the bed. She needed space. She thought Darius might feel the same way.

  “I might go pick some fruit for lunch,” she said.

  He looked as preoccupied as she felt. It took a moment for him to smile and nod. “I’ll be out soon.”

  With the sheet wrapped around her, she walked out the door. Passing through the main room, she scooped up her scattering of clothes. In her quarters, she crossed to an arched window that overlooked the sea.

  She felt numb. Stupefied. She and Darius Vasily had made love. Protection had malfunctioned. And so…

  What if the unthinkable had happened? What if she were pregnant? Were cells already splitting and multiplying inside of her?

  Gazing out over the ocean, she followed that thought to a not so surprising conclusion. If she had conceived, she had a choice to make—and that choice would be to let nature take its course. She’d never had to think about those options on a personal level before. Or about giving a baby up for adoption either.

  Her chin lifted even as she swallowed the ball of nerves stuck in her throat.

  If this time with Darius ended with her bearing a child, she could never give it up.

  Never, never.

  Of course, it wouldn’t come to that. For now, there was nothing to do but wait and see.

  On her way to the bathroom, the shorts slipped from her hand. The shell in the back pocket bounced to the floor and rolled under the ornately carved wardrobe. She crossed over, knelt down, and swept an arm underneath. No luck.

  Setting her cheek to the floor, she peered between four wooden claws. The shell sat well back against the wall. Lying flat, she stuck her arm under again and reached.

  Her fingers grazed the cool smooth surface but the wardrobe was so deep, even with edging her shoulder completely under she couldn’t grab it. Grunting, she strained and then snatched. Her knuckles hit the wardrobe’s timber bottom. A second later, it fell on her arm—or at least part of the bottom did.

  As she slid her arm out, a sheet of paper came with it. One side was covered in writing—sentences penned in English. Rolling onto her back, Helene held the paper above her head and read the first line.

  The world had gone mad.

  Her gaze swept the yellowed page. It smelled old, too. She swept her hand under the wardrobe again and carefully extracted more sheets. Assembling them in some order, she moved to the window-seat and began to read.

  Chapter Eight

  Darius stayed behind, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped and hanging between his legs as he stared at the safe and thought over the steps—or missteps—that had led to this point.

  He was an educated man. While he respected the importance of tradition and valued the legacy handed down, his more educated side confirmed that a block of stone—no matter how revered—couldn’t influence whether sex between two people would bear fruit.

  As much as he wished that damn condom had done its job, he’d been truthful with Helene. He didn’t regret a second of their time together. He wanted to be with her again. Holding off from making love again would not change that incident or its outcome.

  Two hours passed before he showered, dressed, and then ventured out to the kitchen. Helene was putting the final touches to a lunch platter. In her sleeveless shirt and shorts, she sent over a smile, but he caught a glint of wariness in her eyes.

  She grabbed two plates while he joined her behind the counter. He wasn’t hungry but to lighten the mood he’d put up a good front.

  “I’m starved.”

  “Boys like their food.”

  He collected the platter. “When I was very young I liked to hang out in the kitchen. One of the cooks would let me watch her bake and help a little.”

  “Bet she dished out a few treats along the way?” Helene teased, skirting around him.

  “My father was determined I should know about duty. Who I was and what was expected. But around that cook, I was just a kid who liked to lick the spoon. I’m sure she baked far more cakes than we needed.” He followed Helene down the hall and out onto the balcony, smiling at a flashback—a man laughing as they kicked a ball. “My uncle liked to indulge me, too,” he said.

  “The uncle who abdicated?”

  “He was a kind man. Patient.” There was a time Darius had wanted to grow up to be just like Uncle Galen. “I loved him. So did my father. When he renounced the throne, he was banished. No member of my family was permitted contact. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “All because he fell in love with a woman who’d been married before?” She set down the plates while he centered the platter.

  “People can be protective of their royals.”

  “So this woman was supposed to be dangerous?”

  Darius slid back her chair then sat after she did. They talked as they ate.

  “There were rumors that she’d seduced him in order to drain funds from the coffers to funnel to her ex-husband in Germany.”

  “Was that true?”

  “There’s no proof. Either way, when things got hairy, my uncle chose his personal life over his sovereign duty. No matter how much he loved her, he should have given her up. If it had been my father, there’d have been no choice to make. When unrest broke out, it was up to my father to hold it all together. I was in his office when he got word that a mob had formed downtown. My mother was caught up in the crush. A special guard got her back safely but after that, my father always made sure we understood never to underestimate whispers that can turn into cries.”

  “Your f
ather was stepping up to help. Why would anyone want to hurt your family?”

  “There was an element that saw my uncle’s mistake as a way to end Vasily rule forever.”

  She thought that over. “I guess there aren’t a whole of lot of absolute monarchies left.”

  He rubbed an ear. “I’m partial to them myself.”

  She leaned across to pop a blueberry into his mouth. “And you’ll make one very cute king. Word on the main island is you’re pretty special.”

  He put his head down and laughed softly.

  “You don’t believe me?” she asked.

  “I’m just thinking about my sister. In her eyes, I’m a tyrant.”

  “Teenage years are hard. And she’s lost both her parents. When my father passed away, I remember thinking that suddenly no one seemed to understand me. My mother was always nitpicking, was always demanding respect. She didn’t seem to understand that I deserved respect, too.”

  “I don’t try to take my parents place where Tahlia is concerned. I only ask that she finish her education before getting sidetracked, thinking about boys.”

  “Sorry to tell you, but all teenage girls stress over make-up, clothes, hair, and boys—not necessarily in that order. How old is she?”

  “Just turned eighteen.”

  “She wants to stretch her wings, to be her own person, to feel as if she can make her own decisions.”

  He poured more wine. “She likes a boy. A member of my staff.”

  “Likes?”

  He conceded. “She says loves. She’s naïve. Little more than a child.”

  “That’s something my mother would say.”

  “A person needs more than butterflies chasing around in their stomachs to make a marriage work.”

  “My parents married at a young age and they were happy.” She shrugged. “Maybe your sister truly is in love.”

  “Young love comes and goes. But an education lasts a lifetime.”

  “Haven’t you read Romeo and Juliet? The more you try to keep star-crossed lovers apart, the more they’ll fight to stay together.”