Goddess Rising, page 13
“Tonight is your reminder that I am older, bigger, stronger, meaner, and more powerful when it counts, Bandia Beag, and I am most certainly badder.” He sank his fangs into the base of my neck, sending electric shocks down my spine and making my body tingle with need. Then he pulled them out, stepping away. My back felt the chill from his absence.
There was rustling behind me and the soft sound of air displacement, then nothing. “If you let yourself go, I will be forced to live a lifetime of want. Of need,” he whispered, his mouth so near my ear that his heat radiated into me. “Now that you are mine, there could be no going back to the days without you, Liomsa. I would suffer without hope of relief from the pain. There will be no release into the ether of the universe for me, should you leave me alone on this plane.”
He brought the side of his hand up, rubbing it between my legs and making me groan with need. “You are so wet for me already when you do not know what awaits.” Then he laughed, and I froze.
“I used this cross years before an apostle named Andrew died upon one; it holds the body perfectly, does it not?” I groaned at his words, my legs already getting tired. “Use your arms,” he said, his chuckle not bringing me levity.
“Aedan, I.”
“Hush. You have so much power, remember? You can withstand this. You could fight me. Escape. Or give up your power for a moment and be powerless for me.” And then the lashes fell, forcing my startled yelp.
“This cat is made with the softest leather available and will not break the skin unless I allow it.” I heard air displacement before I felt the lashes across my tender ass. My cry changed when he brought the head of the whip between my legs, rubbing to induce a moan.
“No relief, only pain. Remember my fate if you leave me.” The lash fell again and again, followed by the soft touch of leather at my core, but he wouldn’t give me what I needed, only wound me tighter and tighter with his whip-soft lashes and his occasional sips from my body.
“I need to cum, Coi. Please.” I begged, sweat running down my spine as he brought me to the edge again before stepping back.
“No. Not this time,” he said, once again leaving me bereft of his heat. “Imagine this for an eternity so that the next time I say you are using too much magic and going too far, you will stop. If not, this feeling? This is a fraction of what I will feel.” I groaned, tipping my head back and forgetting about the nipple clamps. I hissed as they dug into my flesh, making my core clench. “Please!” I begged, and I wasn’t ashamed. I’d never felt anything like this. It was deep, overwhelming, painful, and more than any pleasure I’d ever felt. My vision faded at the periphery, and he stopped his ministrations, rummaging behind the curtain for something else.
“Your ass is deliciously pink, cailíní álainn, but I do not think it is enough.” The sound was different before I was struck on the tops of my thighs with something firm and woody.
The pain was dull at first, but it turned into a firebrand that had me screaming. Just when I thought it was too much, the rod pressed between my legs, teasing my core with entrance. I gasped.
“Caning was the punishment of choice for naughty women back when women endured such things. But it needs an expert touch or leaves terrible marks. Good thing I have the expertise.” The Devil whispered in my ear, “Tip back your head.”
I obeyed, letting the chain pull my nipples tight while the cane struck with beautiful accuracy and skill until I was sobbing, begging, and almost coming in the same breath, but he was merciless.
Duine go Milleann made his point. As much as I needed, I did not get. As much as I wanted, I was denied, and I saw his words in lashes and nips. I needed to stay grounded, stay present, and not do what I did on the moors.
I was a sobbing, snotty mess when he finally stepped behind me, pushing into my chained body with a groan. I held on to those chains for all I was worth as his final punishment played out, and he fucked me with a vampire’s vicious skill set, showing no mercy then, either. My body pulsed and spasmed, trying everything to get what it needed, but he still denied me.
“Imagine this need for a lifetime. I am surely as immortal as you, yet I cannot escape to the stars as you can. I will be forever denied with no end to my misery, Anamcara. You will listen the next time,” he schooled, never slowing his hips. “And there will be a next time, so you must learn this pain now so I do not suffer it forever.”
“Please, Coi, Please, I cried, sagging in my chains, and only then did he reach with one hand and pull the nipple clamps off, letting the blood rush painfully to their steel-hardened points. The other strummed my core with the same skill that he used the lash, and I screamed myself hoarse as I let go, shattering into a million pieces around him.
Chapter 18
Duine go Milleann
My love hung limp in the chains of the cross, my essence leaking from her core and mixing with the sweat I caused to glisten on her body. I took a moment to watch it trickle down her reddened skin. Goddess, but she is beautiful. And Goddess, but I am a Monster.
The pressure I felt growing in my chest was gone, and I no longer thought I would explode and take out half a continent with collateral damage. The last time I felt that way was referred to as the Dark Ages, and thousands upon thousands died.
Undeniably, Lara would forget this lesson after a few decades, but as long as I could keep her on this plane, I would remind her the cost of great power. And I think we will both enjoy it. My wife is a bit of a pain slut.
I released her ankles and then wrists, scooping her up and placing her on my ancient bed while I extinguished candles and dampened the fire. Her deep, auburn hair hung in a limp, sweaty waterfall over the bed’s open side and onto the floor, and I couldn’t help but think it was the most sensual thing I had ever seen. I would have it painted and hung on the wall as a reminder.
There was something about seeing her in the heart of this most dangerous place that spoke to my demons, and I wanted nothing more than to keep her in my old lair, but Lara would want to wake in her bed, and this place was not yet hers at heart.
Someday.
I loved this drafty old castle, but it needed work to be fit for a queen. Work I would contract now so when the day came when Ireland grew tired of our presence, we could move on. And on. We had dozens of properties and could choose a number that were move-in ready, but I had a soft spot for the old Scottish place, as evidenced by my frequent unintended travels.
I had spent a century or two holed up in the cold, vast place during the worst of my rampage, and while I loved the blood-tinged rustic charm of this home, I knew Lara needed more and more she would get. Once the room was secured, I gripped my wife tightly and sifted home.
I draped her one-handed over my shoulder, leaning to run water approximately the temperature of hell, as is her preference. I drizzled scented oil under the faucet, letting it mix so it would soothe her skin. While the tub filled, I made her a drink, still carrying her limp form.
She forgets sometimes.
She so rarely sees the monstrous side that she forgets who and what I am. Most of the time, I am okay with that. However, it pays for her to remember that I am not always the placid gentleman she sees most days. I chuckled to myself, patting the reddened backs of Lara’s thighs gleefully. I would need to remind her often so she didn’t think to disobey me by allowing herself to unite with the stars.
Though, I would not frame it that way.
I smiled, cupping my bourbon and Lara’s vodka in one hand and her ass in the other before taking her to the ready tub. Setting our drinks down, I eased her into the fragrant water, enjoying her sigh as she stirred.
Multifaceted emerald green eyes met mine, and she groaned, stretching like a cat and causing the water to roll around her as she held my eyes.
I handed her the vodka, watching her smile. “I should edge you more often; it makes you pliable.” I brought the bourbon to my lips, showing her the tips of my fangs as I sipped.
She splashed me like the mink she is.
“You’re a terrible creature,” she laughed, ducking under the water.
“And it is past time you remembered,” I grinned, showing more fang and not in a happy way.
“You don’t scare me, babe.”
Because, of course, I did not. I sighed. “Then I must try harder. Next time, I will leave you wanting.” I winked as she growled her cute displeasure.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would do anything to remind you where you belong, including not letting you orgasm.” I moved behind her, filling my palm with oil and rubbing it into her shoulders where the muscles would be tight. “It is not always about you.” I deadpanned, knowing it was always about her, and that is how I wanted it.
Everything I did was for her. I’d waited an eternity to find my perfect mate and would spend another eternity worshipping her in all the ways she needed. And well she knew that.
“Humph,” she grumbled, leaning her head into me as I massaged and oiled her arms before soothing oil over her raw nipples as she hissed.
She indulged me by standing so I could wash and oil the rest of her before settling back and letting me wash her hair. Perhaps I had been too hard on her and perhaps not hard enough. Time would tell, but we both needed my care as a reminder of who we are together.
“Do you want a snack before bed?” I asked as I toweled her dry.
“I’m not a toddler.” She yawned, neglecting to cover her mouth in an adorably childlike fashion.
“Of course not, Liomsa.” I hid my smile by leaning to brush my teeth as Lara dressed in one of my worn tees.
I herded her to the bed, watching her eyes droop as she fell asleep before her body finished settling. It had been a long few days, and it showed in the tired lines on Lara’s face. So, I pulled her to me, the little spoon to my big, nestled my nose into her damp hair, and fell asleep alongside my one true love.
Chapter 19
Aedan
I slept longer than intended, waking to the thought that Lara was not the only one who needed rest. I felt her warm and curled into my side, which pleased me. I lay a moment longer, reveling in the comfort of her body and the rise and fall of her breathing. There is no luckier male than I; I know this. I soaked up her heat, allowing it to warm the depths of my soul and brighten the darkness that sometimes surfaces.
Funny how this fiery, wild, passionate, untamable, but slightly dented spirit was my perfect mate when all I had ever wanted was precision, order, and control. After centuries of being little more than a revenant, I never dreamed my love-at-first-sight moment would come in the form of a chaotic, smart-mouthed, fiery spirit named Lara Hennessey. But I am grateful, and my mother says I should thank her.
Eventually, I slipped from our bed, walking the stairs human slow to the kitchen where Cook had left coffee in the French press, scones on the counter, and a rasher of bacon on a plate. How well he knows my wife. She must be going to awaken soon as he times his meals with her rising, not mine since I do not eat. I shook my head, pouring a cup of coffee when I would rather have tea, but Cook rarely considered my wants.
I had expected the brownie to move on without children to care for, but he loved my wife in the way brownies do and stayed. I suspected he used the Ways to care for Sephone and possibly Aurora and PJ, but I did not know. Perhaps the mate we suspected he acquired helped. Brownies were secretive, quiet, and protective of their families, and if you cared for them, they rarely abandoned you. Cook had unlimited resources at his disposal, and any note he left voicing his needs was answered to his satisfaction, no questions asked. But we never saw him anymore, so it could be an entirely different brownie.
Still, the coffee tasted like Cook’s as he added a chickory to the mix.
I sipped, smiling into the steam from my cup at my wife’s silent descent of the stairs. “I smell bacon. And coffee. I need coffee.” She stretched into a wide yawn, her sinuous body curving like a well-formed cat’s.
I turned, eyeing her appreciatively. When I first met Lara, she was all curves and softness, but her association with me had not started well. So many changes struck too quickly, and she’d lost weight. She maintained slimmer curves, but some of the softness disappeared.
Then she died.
It is another story for a darker day, one I cannot relive without losing my mind, but my wife died, and when life somehow returned to her shattered body, she came back a different person. No traces of her former humanity remained, and the so-called God Particle had seated itself deep within her soul.
She didn’t gain a pound unless she was pregnant. Her friends cut their eyes at her over it, and we both missed her deep curves, but nothing could be done. Still, her body was a work of art I appreciated on every level. She had aged all she ever would, and nothing would change physically unless she changed it herself with magic and maintained the spell.
“Baaaaaaaaaaaaacon,” she moaned, sounding like a zombie as she pressed multiple pieces of cooling, salty pork into her mouth, chewing. “Ummmmmmmm.”
“I will get your coffee, Mo Chroi,” I rose, chuckling at her passionate response to Irish bacon, which is, in fact, much better than American bacon.
“Mumf. I camph gethit,” she tried, clutching more bacon into her claws and shoving it into her mouth.
She hip-checked me, forcing me to step back while snatching a scone with a growl as she poured herself a cup of rich black brew.
I returned to my barstool, picked up my phone, and scrolled the daily news while watching her cautiously as she devoured everything on both plates with snarls and growls my way before she finished the coffee from the industrial-sized French press. I hid my laughter behind my hands, tucking my face lower to the counter so as not to increase her ire.
I understood a little better why we still enjoyed the grace of a brownie.
“Oooooooh, she said, leaning against the counter and placing her hand over the tiny food baby she had grown. With a professional sigh, she turned to me. “I ate too much. I’m never eating again.”
I blinked at her, considering my choices. “You barely ate. Would you like an omelet? I can throw one together.” I rose again, moving toward the stove as she cocked her head in thought.
“Nah. I really did eat too much. She patted her belly, groaning as she stacked the dirty plates in the dishwasher.
She would be starved in an hour. I smiled again, the thing breaking across my face like the sun.
“Good morning,” my mother said, sifting into the kitchen nearest the wide double glass doors that lead out to the moors. Her voice subdued, and her dress more muted than usual, a soft gray instead of one of the brighter pastels she favored. She shielded the babe from view with her arms and long silver hair, holding him angled away from us. Her frame had thinned to its baseline state, and I realized the child was far younger than I had assumed, as that change in my mother would take no longer than a month.
Lara gasped, reaching for the little bundle and wiggling her fingers, saying, “Gimme.”
“He’s,” my mother tried.
“Gimme.” Finger wiggles, and two steps closer, Lara snatched the little child from The Great Goddess like he was hers to steal.
“Hello beautiful,” she crooned, nuzzling into the child’s neck and inhaling grotesquely.
“Darling,” I attempted.
“Oh, look at you,” she interrupted, ignoring me. “You smell like an angel. You look like an angel. Coi, your brother is an angel,” she sang, squeezing the little bundle until he let out a faint squeak. “Mother, he’s perfect; I just love him. Do you want to hold your brother?” she asked, not attempting to pass me the child or offering to loosen her grip.
"You need another,” the Goddess announced, smiling happily and clapping her hands like the action was decided.
“Oh, no,” Lara backpedaled, dropping the little bundle into my arms like he’d grown hot. “No, no. Other people’s children are fantastic. Perfect. Amazing even. Mine? Ours? No. Nope. Not happening. “I’ll babysit yours, but no thanks to another of our own.”
I ignored the women as they crossed their arms in a silent standoff, Goddess to Goddess. I knew Lara had discovered magical birth control and did not care. She would want another child, or she would not. The world had plenty without another of ours, or we could have a dozen more if she wanted. I loved my wife, and what we had between us was more than enough to sustain me.
But the baby did feel good nestled in my arms like a warm, limp sack that provided comfort only a babe can.
“Mother, he is quite perfect,” I added, taking in the child’s soft features and almond-shaped eyes. Wispy-soft blond hair rose from his head as if electrified, waving in an absent breeze.
Growling, Lara snatched the baby from me and pulled him from my reach, making me question the veracity of her claims. “What’s his name,” she almost snarled, hunching over the little thing like she was about to run off with him.
My mother threw her head back and laughed for the first time since her return to our lives, and I knew that Lara was just what she needed to feel better about her newborn son. What better way to prove his normalcy than seeing the covetous desire shown by another mother? Lara was perfect; she truly was.
“Max,” Dani answered. “His name is Max, and his father is Australian. I’ve been seeing him for a few years.”
“Oh, do tell,” Lara cooed, cutting her eyes toward my mother while placing soft kisses on Max’s head.
“Do not tell,” I stated. Absolutely do not tell.” I groaned, moving to make more coffee.
“Don’t,” Dani said, her eyes smiling so brightly they blazed purple.
“Do not what?” I asked, turning from the sink.
They snickered.
I growled, giving them my back to heat the water for the French press.
“He’s magical,” Lara said, sniffing the baby again.
“But his genes are misaligned,” Dani admitted, looking softly at the baby in Lara’s arms, then up at Lara’s expression.
