Dionysus (Greek God Romance Book 1) (13 page)

Rebecca asked, “Can’t you do something more permanent, so he doesn’t do this again?”

Dionysus said, “Tricky. He will put things together and come back. But if we do a singular thing, such as, this place. He will forget until next time.”

She shook her head. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

“Do I have to do anything?”

“Never mention where you live.”

“And if he asks?”

“Haven’t you learned? Evade the question, we all do it.”

Heph said, “Some more than others.”

Dionysus snapped back, “You’re married to the more.”

Heph grunted in response.

Mnemosyne took Hermes away. “It was nice meeting you, mortal.”

“Back at you.”

She chuckled heartedly and held Hermes as he kicked and screamed, “
What about the Vanderpumps?”

BUCK UP, OLD SAILOR

Heph and Mnemosyne took their leave, while Dionysus and Rebecca walked back into her apartment.

“Oh. . .” Words to describe the catastrophe that was her home came and went. She had never seen a mess like this. It was as if running with the bulls had taken place here. It was as if the Hulk had rampaged through her apartment. It was as if the last toy that all the kids want on Christmas was stationed here, and someone freed a horde of parents onto her apartment. It was as if. . . well, she figured that was enough.

Dionysus looked around, remembering that he saw a similar scene the last time he had done this. And of course, the best goddess to handle this situation happened to be Rebecca’s landlord, Hestia. He said, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?”

“Hestia will have this place brand-spanking new in no time. Correct usage?”

She nodded. “Correct. But. . .”

He brushed one of the holes in wall with his hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. She lives for this sort of thing.”

“A disaster?”

“No. . . Reorganization. Constructing homes. Barking orders. It has everything she needs.”

Rebecca sighed. “I’d sit on the couch exasperated, but I see that he broke that as well.”

Dionysus leaned on a wall behind her. “Would seem so.”

Rebecca annoyed by the disaster zone and Dionysus’ short responses that lacked any of the love and desire of the night before, turned to him and said, “All right, well, thank you. . . You can go.”

Dionysus frowned slightly. “I’ll contact Hestia. She’ll be here in the morning. . .” For some uncontrollable reason, he could not leave it at that. He had to give her context to his behavior. If he
truly
wanted what he was trying to convince himself of, he would’ve left without another word and their love may have never blossomed. “Uh, before I go.”

Rebecca did not move a muscle. She had been waiting and waiting.
Is he finally going to show some emotion?

“Yes?”

He scratched at his head. “Well. . . I think there may be trouble.”

“Trouble at sea?”

He frowned. “I think Ares came in for more than just Aphrodite.”

“Yea to fish for. . .” She tilted her head and looked up, noticing the ceiling had not been ravished by the rampage. That was a shame for Rebecca because she really hated that color. “Aphrodite mentioned Hera.”

“Right”

“And?”

“Well. . . It could be bad. He has a weird getting-dominated-thing with his mother.”

“Hera?”

He nodded, his voice darkened as he said her name again, “Hera.”

Rebecca could tell that the story was long and dark and old. Worse than anything portrayed in the book Apollo had given her; although, it would be hard to top a stepmother who made it so you were torn to bits as a child.

“And what’s that do for us?”

“She’s had it out for me since I came to be.”

“Ah—”

Dionysus started pacing, lost like a puppy. He had no idea what he was doing. Rebecca, he believed more strongly than ever, was who he had been waiting for. She could get him out of his head and expunge the memory of Ariadne. He could not let her get into more danger, would not have it. At least, that was the new excuse he was running with. “I’ll just keep my distance for a while.”

“You’re not coming to the bar? It’s your nature, so says the scorpion to the frog.”

He laughed. “That’s an old one—a bit different in my youth.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’ll—I’ll be a bit more stern, more like this bunch.”

“Hermes isn’t stern. And yeah, your voice has changed. You should look into that.”

“Not stern. . . but certainly demanding.”

She smirked. “You’re right.”

“I’ll just be a bit distant until the heat dies down.”

Rebecca thought Dionysus was acting like a boy not a god who had lived thousands of years. She said, “Is that what you want?”

He stopped pacing, looked her in the eye. “Of course, that’s not what I want.”

“Buck up, old sailor.”

“I can’t lose you.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

“I’d rather not have you and admire you than have you and lose you.”

Rebecca sighed, shaking her head. “Men are so dumb. God men too. What about what I want? Did you think about that? Or was this all Dionysus and no Rebecca?”

“I have to keep you safe. . .” Dionysus’ worries—although, manifesting so that he could wiggle his way out of a situation with Rebecca that he thought might hurt one of them—weren’t groundless. Olympus was ruthless when it came to love. Always a god or goddess out there that did not have love and a bone to grind. Each had a healthy dose of animosity towards each other—even the ones friendly towards one another—this made any couple an easy target.

Rebecca gestured around. “Look at this place. Was this safe? What if Hermes had done this without you guys around? You’d be picking me up from the floor. . . whatever’s left.”

“He would never—”

“How do you know? We can’t control what others do. . . they’ll do it anyway. We
can
control what we do.”

“I
know
you’ve heard the stories.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard most mortals don’t make it past day one.”

He confirmed, “That is true.”

“Well then, count me lucky.”

He smiled. “You’re too strong. Olympus would be different if you were a goddess.”

She scoffed. “Of course, it would, but where’s the fun in that? You wanted danger. I wanted danger. You wanted love. I’ve been looking all the wrong places all my life and happen to find some of it where I’m not supposed to.”

Dionysus stared at her, trying to decide what to do. Whatever she may say, his resolve still impeded his heart. . . and subsequently his genitals. He ventured, “And if we—”

She walked away, heading towards her bedroom. Somehow, someway men were all the same. “You coming or what?”

She started to strip her clothes off and left the door open.

Dionysus stared at her naked olive back, seeing a few prominent freckles that he wanted to kiss, to caress. He remembered something he once said, “
A lost opportunity is gone forever. There’s no getting back. From Tartarus to the Heavens, we have everything, anything but an opportunity. That’s how valuable one is.”

That saying had been his speech to convince Apollo to open The Old Watering Hole, so that he could drink in a socially acceptable place while wallowing in his private despair. It had worked. It had been a manipulation. But a truth. . . it was.

He stripped his clothes off, walked into the bedroom and closed the door.

FRONT-TO-BACK AND SIDE-TO-SIDE

Front-to-Back and Side-to-Side and that’s how we do the Bump-and-Grind.

Rebecca was nervous before she turned around, found Dionysus standing there and embraced him. A stray thought came to mind,
his closest friends are satyrs.
This was troublesome to her because a satyr had the penis of a horse, and having grabbed at his crotch, she knew he was at the very least, well-endowed. To Rebecca’s delight, Dionysus’s penis was not as big as a horse’s.

Rebecca loved sex when the other partner knew what they were doing. It could be wonderful, a blissful evening of ecstasy. What she had never experienced was the sort of sex that came about when two people loved each other. . .
and
knew what they were doing. It enhanced the experience to a lofty place, high in the heavens where she perceived herself—a truly out-of-body moment. Along with the ecstasy came the passion and feelings and love and excitement for the moment, she melted with him and he did the same.

They explored each other’s bodies through hours of vigorous foreplay and love-making. She will always remember the feeling of quivering under him as his mouth sucked lightly around her nipple and sucked lightly while his penis rhythmically stroked her pussy.

For each position, she had a lovely memory that accompanied it:

For Missionary, she remembered him wrapping his left arm around her back and slowly thrusting inside as they made out. She would moan and he said how lovely she was.

For him holding her up and slamming her against the wall—she did not know the name of such an act but was sure it existed—she remembered how he grasped her butt and penetrated, little beads of sweat dripping down his body—the only thing she could focus on as her body went wild with an oncoming orgasm.

For doggy style, she remembered his deep thrusts as he said, “This is mine,” and she responded breathlessly, “I am yours.”

For cowgirl, she recalled him moaning and groaning, claiming he was about to cum and her feeling the same impending orgasm. She felt him deep inside of her and he caressed her body as she pulled at her own hair. They came together.

 They took a short break, then repeated each position—the love they had for each other was infused in each act.

HE’S AT IT AGAIN

No one knew exactly how followers came to be. When the Olympians arrived, and as their presence and legend became known, followers simply existed. It was  like trying to explain the Big Bang. There was no need. Once there was nothing and then there was something, a lot of something. The same was how followers were explained.

They live to serve their respective gods. They worship. They follow. They do not die, or rather, when one dies that one is replaced. Followers do, however, disappear. . . meaning as years go by the flock of followers Hera once commanded has dwindled to seven. Interestingly enough, the same amount of work gets done and so no one complains about the shortage of followers.

Once again, Hera found herself drumming at the mahogany conference room table, this time, waiting for her followers.

Her seven followers rushed in, bowing and excusing their tardiness with apologies and delivering Hera’s favorite fruit: grapefruit.

She expelled air furiously through her nose. The act was furious because of the added flare to her nostrils and the malevolent glare she gave each follower. “You’re late.”

They each looked around, usually a follower was given voice by the god or goddess looking at that particular follower. With Hera surveying the room and holding no one’s gaze, the followers did not know who should speak.

Hera’s eyes widened with rage at the one in front of her. The girl nervously answered, “We are sorry. We were tracking Dionysus and Rebecca.”

“I
know
who you’re tracking. I told you to track them! What news do you have?”

“We’re—We’re—We’re sorry, mistress.”

Hera closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She turned to another follower and said, “Speak.”

“We—We’ve been tracking their movements for weeks.”

“
And?”

“Well, they’ve been seen periodically walking around Olympus together. They also talk a good deal at The Old Watering Hole.”

She screamed, “Everyone knows that.” She slammed her fist on the table, breaking off a quarter of it. She sighed. She would need to replace this table again—a monthly expense. “Have you seen Dionysus go to her place?”

“No.”

“How can that be?”

“We have tried to track him but. . .”

“So you’ve failed at keeping him in sight?”

“Yes. . .”

She breathed in quickly but was slow on the exhale. “You are dismissed.”

“Mistress?”

“Go. I have no need of you.”

They left without further comment, each one’s eyes downcast in their simple hoods of purple. They would stay at Hera’s temple in Olympus until summoned again.

Once the door was closed, Hera resumed her drumming on the table. She had found throughout the years, only her counsel would suffice on important matters.