Page 37 of Immortal Sun (Dark Olympus)

CHAPTER 37

CLEO

I always knew she would die—and now I have to watch it.--Cyrus

L ying on the bed, spooned in the embrace Cyrus, Ra, my lover, my very own sun. I’ve never been so sated in my entire life. Everything is a mixture of pain and pleasure, hurting in such a delicious way that I want to beg for it again and again just so I can feel him between my thighs, no matter how rough it is. I lost count of how many times he took me, each growing fiercer than the last, though nothing as desperate as that first time during the festival.

Even now where we should be resting, his hand slides over my hip, up along my ribs, teasing my breasts, then pinching one nipple, the other, rubbing back and forth. I wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it. Cyrus leans up on one elbow, shifting me slightly so he can reach that nipple and soothe it with his tongue and lips. Does he realize that he’s both god and man? That right now I can see how powerful he is, but also how vulnerable? I love both sides, and I wonder if he was ever worried I would be fearful of something I couldn’t understand or something that was bigger than my imagination?

He's everything, though.

If all I had to do was worship this god among men, I’d be on my knees. If that’s all it would take for him to survive, to create, destroy—for us to love, it would be the easiest sacrifice of my life.

Maybe that’s the problem? The sacrifice to him would be easy but losing my life to him? That’s the hard part. Because while I would do it a hundred times, not knowing his touch is the most terrifying thing I can imagine.

“Mmmm…” I moan when he moves against me, tugging me back against his chest.

Evidence of his constant arousal presses against my ass as his caresses grow more urgent and chaotic.

“Are you ready to run again?” he whispers in my ear before tugging it with his teeth.

A sigh slips past my lips as I lean back against him, giving him access to more of my body. “I’m a little tired, do you think I can just pretend to run, and you can pretend you already caught me? We are already in bed…”

His laugh brings too much joy to my soul. He flips me over onto my back, his smile real, present, so different than before, like he’s finally found more purpose and I hate the hope in my soul that says it’s because he’s found me the way I’ve found him.

“I can fix the exhaustion,” he murmurs, trailing his hand lower and brushing my clit, just a hint of a touch, light and teasing. My hips buck as heat sparks in my core. Liquid warmth begs its way in, his fingers create magic even with the slightest touch, don’t they?

I don’t know how, but I feel it in my bones, we’re almost out of time, and this is all I have of him, and rather than receive, I want to give, I want to give with my last energy, strength, hope, and love.

But how do you give back to an immortal?

Maybe by giving back to the man first.

I want to leave him something, he deserves that much, something from me, something that’s real, something that has nothing to do with gods and monsters, myths, legends.

Something tangible.

Until my last breath—I need him to have something.

I calm myself, taking a few deep breaths, despite my body’s protests because all I want is to drown in him, when for once, maybe he should drown in me. I want to give back. I want to give Cyrus—the man, not the god—something of me.

I reach down and still his hand bringing it to my mouth, kissing his fingertips gently, relishing the feel of the cold against my mouth before whispering, “Let me tell you a story.”

He pulls his hand away and reaches for my face, cupping it so gently I want to cry. A soft breath escapes from between his lips as he chuckles near my ear. “What kind of story, little human? What sort of story don’t I already know?”

I shrug and offer, “a fantasy.” I giggle. “Obviously.”

He moves his other hand to cup my hip, dragging his thumb back and forth there in a comforting motion that has me acutely aware of him.

“It starts in a house on this beach,” I begin trying to focus. “Where Cyrus, a busy and successful businessman is just walking across the yard to the door. He opens the door, knowing that his person, his other half, is inside. Waiting for him.”

He leans up on his elbow, his eyebrows arch. “And is it you?”

“Of course.” I laugh and then trail a finger down his chest. “Now, pay attention!”

“Smart businessman, got it.” He nods. “Continue.”

“I didn’t say smart.” I laugh, but “Yes, thank you, Ra, I’ll focus.”

He growls and kisses my cheek, his tongue slides down to my neck. I breathe him in. “That’s not focusing.”

“This is too distracting to the tired businessman, he’s been dealing with shit all day.” He chuckles against my neck.

“So…” I inhale, long and deep. Damn this man or god or whatever. “So, he glances around and spots her making dinner in a giant pot. She hasn’t seen him yet.”

“What’s in the pot?” Cyrus murmurs in my ear.

“What’s your favorite food?” I ask, snuggling closer to him.

“Food is not?—”

“Shhh, this is a fantasy. If you had a favorite food, what would it be?”

“I love any sort of soup, anything with chicken.” He says it fast, like it’s the first thing off the top of his head. “It’s warm and it tastes delicious.”

“Okay, then.” I shift and pepper a few kisses along his jaw. “Chicken noodle it is.”

He kisses my mouth again. “I approve. So, what happens next? When he gets home and smells that soup?”

I smile. “He sneaks up behind her, all the while knowing she’s aware of his presence. She is always aware of him.” How could she not be? Tears well in my eyes. “He walks to her purposefully, and she hears him and smiles but doesn’t turn. His steps match the beat of her racing heart, until he’s right there. He wraps his arms around her from behind and nuzzles her neck.”

“But he smells like sweat, like work,” he points out.

“No.” I shake my head. “He smells like home.” A tear runs down my cheek. “He smells like fresh air. The sun. Heat. He smells like hers.”

Ra’s eyes fix on mine, and while I still see the chaos, the waves, the rain, I’m no longer afraid. The one thing I was so afraid of my entire life was where I came from.

Where I belong.

In his arms.

How tragic. How very, very tragic, to finally realize your fear is your truth and that fear—would one day be your comfort. That in your last moments you would beg for the storm and curse at the stillness.

As I continue the story, the cave around us morphs into a traditional home in the suburbs. Everything about it is modern, normal. Our kitchen overlooks a lake, and he’s sipping his wine while I smile at the child that will never be born, struggle with blocks. I want this life. I want it so bad I could scream. Our house has three stories. We have a boat. He likes to fish on it with our child. We laugh at night and watch stupid sitcoms. He tells me I’m pretty when I feel my worse and when I’m cold at night, he doesn’t shy away from my feet. He keeps them warm. It’s what he does.

Tears stream down my cheeks.

It isn’t fair.

This test.

This trial.

Him.

Because in the end, is it fair that I choose to die so he can live? The daughter of his enemy? The potential chaotic end to the world all because I want to watch our child grow?

I squeeze my eyes shut, they burn.

With the suddenness of lightning, he spins me in his arms and cradles my face in his large hands. He gazes into my eyes and then hungrily takes my mouth. He isn’t tender, when has he ever been tender or gentle? No, he’s aggressive, he wants, and I want to give more than anything. His tongue sweeps my lips, pushing inside, thrusting in and out in a timeless rhythm. He still tastes like the sea I’ve begun to crave. I shove past the thought that one day I won’t remember his taste. It will be like two deaths. Mine. His.

“Did you have a good day?” I manage to ask in our little fantasy world.

“The best, but none compares to coming home to you.” His smile is there but his eyes are sad, like he knows we’ve created this moment just for us and nobody else, something that no one can take away, something that neither of us will ever have.

He steps forward, causing me to walk backwards until I find my hips against the table. In one fast movement, he lifts me and sets me down on the hard wooden surface. His movements grow frenzied as he rips my white dress open, popping the buttons and sending them flying all over the floor. Cyrus moans when his eyes fall on my breasts, nipples already beaded with my arousal. He suckles first one, then the other. His breathing is uneven as he steps back and spreads my legs apart, he rips the rest of my dress away, I’m completely bare to him. He’s rough just the way I like it.

He stares for a long moment, his tongue running over his lips like he’s imagining tasting me there already. I squirm under his scrutiny. With deliberately slow strokes, he drags a finger over my clit, down into my slick folds, circling and tormenting. As he languidly leans forward, he slips a finger inside, then two. His lips are next, latching on with an almost painful tug while his third finger shoves in, stretching me, readying me for him.

He sucks and nibbles until I can’t keep my hips still. I buck and grind against his face and explode, diving over the cliff of orgasmic perfection.

“I’ve waited for this moment all day, it felt like an eternity,” he says as he draws back, stroking one finger over his lips tasting me again, sucking, popping.

What a great fantasy.

What a great story.

He unbuckles his belt and unfastens his tight black jeans. As he drops them to the floor and steps out, his cock springs free like he wants to remind me how huge he is, and how much he wants me. He brings the fingers that have just been inside me up to my mouth and drags them across my lips, dipping inside and teasing my tongue.

I taste myself, and my body feels like it’s contracting, ready for another orgasm, ready to do it again. He steps closer, rubbing his dick against my folds, seeking and finding my entrance. With one bold thrust, he’s inside me, not waiting for me to adjust but pumping into me fast and hard, stealing my breath.

His face is contorted with pleasure as he bends forward and presses a kiss to my lips, adding his tongue, giving me more tastes of my first orgasm. His tongue and hips settle into the same driving rhythm as he pushes a hand between us and circles my clit with thumb and forefinger, rubbing fast then slow then fast again. It’s just enough out of sync with the movements of his tongue and cock to make me lose my concentration. I’m no longer thinking, just experiencing.

He's Cyrus. Not Ra right now.

We’re back at our home.

Things are normal.

I’m sinking into him while he sinks into me. Could this moment last forever? Is that why people look into an immortal’s eyes or sink deep into Styx? Because they tell themselves that if they take that one chance they can have this fantasy forever? Not realizing that you’ll be in eternal hell.

It’s tempting, living in one moment, drowning in it.

So while he’s driving into me, while my concentration is gone, I ask the question. “Is this why they search after writing their names?”

“They search because they know.” He hesitates and then clenches his teeth. “What could have existed had Chaos not.”

“I like my gift. My immortal gift.” It’s the only thing I can find to say when my heart is breaking. “I’ve never experienced the sun like this.”

“Then experience it now with me.” He whispers.

“Love me. Just me, Cyrus. In a few hours you can be Ra but be mine now.” I know I’m begging.

“Do I get chicken noodle soup?”

“You get the damn soup.” I start to sob.

He nods and crushes his mouth against mine. I don’t know how much more I can take as my body contracts in pleasure. My heart is thundering an erratic cadence, and I’m about to explode. Abruptly, he stiffens, arching his back, head thrown back as the veins in his neck protrude. He slams into me once, twice, a third time. Then the thrusting stops with his cock hard against my entrance, and a deep groan is torn from his throat as he spills himself inside me. He is breathless as he finishes with some ragged thrusts.

He picks me up, still inside me, still hard even though he’s just spent. With my legs wrapped around his waist, he carries me to the bedroom and lays me tenderly on the bed.

The house dissolves around us, and the cave reveals itself once more. Cyrus fades back to Ra. I’m on my back and he is holding himself over me now, tears leaking from both eyes.

“That was a nice fantasy.” His voice cracks.

I reach up and brush my thumbs across his cheeks. His tears glisten on my fingers. I bring them to my mouth and taste the salty tears of a god. I didn’t mean to make him cry. This was supposed to be just a fun fantasy to escape our damned reality.

He bends and presses his lips to mine. “What now?” he asks softly.

A grin slides over my face. “Maybe it’s your turn to run.”

I slide from beneath him, startling him enough that I push and he falls off balance, landing on his back.

“Oops, too late,” I say with a laugh. “I warned you…”

Moving faster than I ever have in my life, I leap onto his thighs with his engorged cock jutting just in front of me.

“My turn to play,” I whisper as I raise myself up and settle again over his weeping dick. Then I begin to gently move up and down.

His breathing hitches and his eyes flare brilliant white then darken again as he moans my name. Knowing that I’m doing this to him is the most powerful feeling in the world.

But time…still goes on.

Tick. Tock.

And as I ride him and lean over onto his chest, I see the flash of the sunrise as if an alarm is going off.

As he comes again.

I know.

It isn’t just the end.

It’s the end of us.