Page 8 of Loved by Aphrodite (Gods and Beasts #4)
Chapter 8
Aphrodite
A phrodite let go of Hephaestus’s hand and strode toward the house, her sandals crunching the gravel path. The old structure loomed before them, its whitewashed walls and terracotta roof as pristine as the day they’d left. The enchantment she had cast had held up well, preserving the home’s outer charm against the passage of time.
“Well, let’s see what we’ve got here,” she said.
Hephaestus followed her, his pace slower, eyes scanning the area. “It looks the same.”
“I placed an enchantment on it before we left,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair away from her face. “You haven’t been back?”
He shook his head. “Have you?”
She hesitated. It was such a simple question, yet it made her heart feel heavy. “No,” she admitted. “There’s been…no reason.”
An emotion flickered across Hephaestus’s face—something between nostalgia and regret—but it was gone before she could name it. The sight of it made her stomach twist in a way she didn’t like, so she pushed the feeling aside.
“Let’s go,” she said, heading toward the front door.
“Wait,” he said, grabbing her arm. “We don’t know what’s waiting for us.”
She arched an eyebrow at him, her patience wearing thin. “Oh, please. Only the three of us knew about this place. We’re fine.”
His grip tightened briefly. “I’m serious, Aphrodite. Anchises’s disappearance isn’t some random accident. If someone’s using him, they might know about this place too.”
“And if they do, we’ll handle it,” she shot back, shrugging off his hand. She stepped up to the door and placed her palm on the smooth wood. The enchantment she’d cast all those years ago hummed faintly beneath her touch, recognizing her magic. With a soft click, the door unlocked and swung inward.
The air inside was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of aged wood and wild thyme. She stepped inside, her heels echoing lightly on the tiled floor. She glanced around the open floor concept, taking in the familiar surroundings: the simple furniture, the shelves lined with scrolls and small keepsakes. It was like stepping back in time.
He followed her in, his broad frame filling the doorway as he paused to look around. His gaze lingered on the low worktable near the hearth, where Eros had spent hours fletching arrows under his watchful eye. Her eyes followed his, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
“It’s like he’s still here,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.
She nodded, her throat tight. “Yeah. It is.”
She turned away abruptly, unwilling to dwell on the memories tugging at her heart. “We need to focus,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. “If there’s anything here that can tell us why the sirens sent us here, we need to find it.”
He gave her a long look but didn’t argue. “I’ll check the workshop,” he said finally, disappearing through a doorway at the back of the room.
She watched him go, then let out a slow breath. She tried to steady the flutter of emotions swirling inside her. The kiss earlier had been nice, better than nice, really. And last night had been incredible, the kind of connection that left her both exhilarated and vulnerable.
But as much as she cherished those moments, a knot of uncertainty tightened in her chest. They still hadn’t talked about what they were, about what any of this meant. Why was it so hard for them to just say the words? They had shared so much laughter, arguments, and history, yet when it came to defining their place in each other’s lives, the words seemed to fail them. Was it fear? Pride? Or were they both just too stubborn to risk putting their feelings out in the open? Whatever it was, the silence between them was starting to feel like a wall, and she wasn’t sure how to tear it down.
She moved to the small desk near the window, her fingers sweeping over the scattered papers and trinkets left untouched. She picked up a tiny wooden carving—a rudimentary attempt at a rabbit that Eros had made during one of their rare quiet afternoons. Her heart clenched, and she set it down carefully as if it might break under her touch.
Outside, the waves crashed on the distant cliffs, their rhythm steady and unchanging. The sound was both comforting and unsettling, a reminder that while the world moved on, some places—some memories—remained frozen in time.
Then the memory hit Aphrodite like the scent of a flower from long ago—sharp, vivid, and inescapable. She had been standing on Olympus’s gilded steps, the air electric with anticipation. The Golden Apple ceremony was about to begin, and Eros was fidgeting, his wings fluttering erratically as he adjusted his ceremonial toga.
“You’re going to do great,” Hephaestus said, placing a large, steady hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Remember, it’s not about showing off. Be yourself. The gods aren’t looking for perfection—they’re looking for heart, and you have more of that than anyone I know.”
Eros threw his arms around Hephaestus in a quick, tight hug. “Thanks, Heph. I’ll make you proud, I promise!”
“You already do,” Hephaestus replied.
She had turned away from the tender moment, her chest tight with emotions she couldn’t name. That was when she noticed Zeus standing a few steps away, his piercing gaze fixed on her. He tilted his head slightly, motioning for her to come closer. She hesitated, then smoothed her toga and approached him.
“Aphrodite,” Zeus began, “I still need your help.”
Her stomach twisted. “What now?” she asked warily.
“The mortal princess in Crete. She’s so beautiful, young, perfect for me. But she’s proving…resistant to my charms.”
She blinked, her lips parting in disbelief. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking? You will ensure she feels drawn to me. A nudge, a suggestion—whatever you need to do to get her in line.”
She balked, crossing her arms. “I’m the goddess of love, Zeus, not a matchmaker for your conquests. This isn’t what I do.”
“You’ll do it,” he said, his eyes narrowing.
Aphrodite’s jaw clenched, her teeth grinding in frustration. She hated this, hated being complicit in Zeus’s endless trail of broken hearts. She hoped Hera wouldn’t find out about her part in this one. But she knew better than to defy him outright. Still, if she had to do this, she was going to demand something in return.
“Fine,” she said, her voice cold. “But I want something, too.”
His brow arched in surprise. “You? Asking me for a favor? That’s rare. What do you want?”
“A divorce,” she said firmly. “From Hephaestus. Grant it, no strings attached.”
Zeus barely blinked. “Done.”
The casual dismissal made her chest ache. He didn’t even hesitate. But as she turned away, she told herself it was for the best. She had hoped—fervently, desperately—that Hephaestus would find someone he truly loved, someone who wasn’t tied to him by Zeus’s decree.
When she returned to Hephaestus and Eros, the boy was laughing, his nerves forgotten under Hephaestus’s steady presence. She plastered on a smile, pretending she hadn’t just shattered what little thread of connection they still shared.
She’d told herself it was for him. But even now, the memory left her hollow.
“What are we looking for?” Hephaestus’s voice called from the other room bringing her back to the present.
“Anything that doesn’t belong,” she replied. Whatever answers this place held, they wouldn’t find them by dwelling on the past.
Aphrodite decided to go outside, but when she reached for the door, it wouldn’t budge. She frowned, pulling harder. Still nothing. “What the…”
She tried using her magic, willing the knob to turn. A golden glow spread over her hand and the door, but it remained stubbornly closed. Her frustration grew, and with a snap of her fingers, she unleashed a blast of energy meant to force the door open.
Instead, the explosion sent her flying backward, and she landed unceremoniously on her ass across the room. The impact jarred her, leaving her momentarily dazed.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the house, and Hephaestus appeared, his face etched with worry. “Aphrodite!” he exclaimed, rushing to her side. He knelt before her, his hands moving over her shoulders and arms as he frantically checked for injuries.
She blinked at him. “I’m okay,” she said finally, her voice soft. “Really, I’m fine.”
He released a shaky breath, his forehead creasing. “What happened?” he asked, his hands gripped her arms.
She sat up straighter, mentally brushing off the remnants of her embarrassment. “The door,” she said, gesturing toward it with a sigh. “It wouldn’t open, so I…tried to persuade it.”
“By blasting it?” he asked, one eyebrow arching in that infuriating way of his.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she replied, crossing her arms defensively.
They stayed like that for a beat too long, his hands lingering on her arms, his eyes searching hers as if needing confirmation. Then she caught a whiff of his cologne—earthy and warm, with a faint metallic edge. It tugged at something deep within her.
Her gaze dipped to his lips before she caught herself, and she quickly straightened, clearing her throat. “If you’re not going to help me up, then let go of me.”
He flushed, his ears turning a telltale shade of red. “Right. Sorry,” he muttered. He stood and pulled her up with him. But instead of stepping back, they found themselves chest to chest, her hands pressed lightly on his shoulders, and his arms around her.
They froze, and Hephaestus’s eyes widened slightly, his breath catching, and she swore she saw a flicker of something—hesitation? Desire?—before he broke the moment, stepping back abruptly.
“Uh, sorry,” he said again, rubbing the back of his neck.
She took a steadying breath, smoothing her dress as though it might erase the electricity that had passed between them. “It’s fine,” she said, forcing her voice to be breezy, though her heart was still racing. “Let’s just figure out what’s going on with this house.”
He cleared his throat. “Right, let’s see about this door.” He stepped forward and gripped the knob, his strength and confidence making it seem like the lock would snap under his hand. But the door didn’t budge. He frowned, trying again with more force.
She let out a smug laugh. “Having trouble?” she taunted, crossing her arms.
He turned to glare at her, but his sudden movement brought them face-to-face—too close for comfort. She instinctively leaned back, her breath catching as she stared directly into his eyes.
“Well,” she said quickly, trying to defuse the moment, “you know what they say—brains over brawn. Maybe you should try a gentler touch.”
He frowned, stepping back as much as the space allowed. “This isn’t the time for games,” he muttered, turning away from her.
“Games? Me? Never.”
He ignored her, striding toward the nearest window. But when he tried to open it, the glass wouldn’t budge. He furrowed his brow, tugging harder. Still nothing. “What the—” He jiggled the frame again before moving to another window with the same result.
She straightened, her teasing demeanor fading as she took a cautious step toward him. “You’re kidding.”
After trying the door to his workshop, he turned back to her, his expression serious now. “I’m not.”
She walked over to the nearest window and tried herself, adding a touch of magic for good measure. Nothing. The room was sealed tight, and her earlier confidence began to waver.
They exchanged a glance. “It’s like the house doesn’t want us to leave,” he said quietly.
She nodded, her unease growing. “Or something doesn’t want us to leave.”
All of a sudden, a loud pop echoed through the room, and both Aphrodite and Hephaestus jumped. They turned toward the kitchen to find groceries neatly arranged on the counter, accompanied by a piece of paper that hovered above them before gently floating down.
She reached out and snatched the paper mid-air, her brow furrowing as she scanned the handwriting.
“What is it?” he asked, stepping closer.
She held up the note, tilting it toward him. “It’s a recipe. Looks like we’re supposed to make dinner.”
He blinked at her, then at the ingredients. “What?”
She turned the paper over, looking for some kind of explanation, but there was none. She gestured at the groceries. “You heard me. I think this house—or whatever magic is at play—wants us to cook.”
He moved beside her to get a better look at the recipe, his closeness forcing her to hold her breath. He smelled like metal and earth, a scent that always made her feel strangely grounded. But now, it also made her want to kiss him.
He sighed, his broad shoulders rising and falling. “Well, I guess we’re making dinner.”
She huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Better than starving, I suppose.”
They set to work, unpacking the groceries, and laying everything out. Hephaestus busied himself chopping vegetables, his precision and strength turning the task into a smooth, rhythmic process. She mixed spices, tasting as she went and occasionally making small, teasing comments about his overly methodical approach.
“Are you always this serious in the kitchen?” she asked, leaning over to steal a slice of carrot.
He smirked, his focus never leaving the knife. “Somebody has to keep things from burning down.”
“Funny, I don’t remember any fires when we lived here,” she said lightly, stirring the pot on the stove.
The words hung in the air, and Aphrodite stilled, the memories creeping back. Those quieter days in this house—days when they’d stood side by side in this very kitchen, raising Eros and navigating the chaos of their unconventional family—felt like a lifetime ago.
Hephaestus must have felt it, too, because his movements slowed. “It’s been a while,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” she said softly, her gaze fixed on the pot.
They worked in companionable silence, the familiarity of the moment settling over them. Every now and then, their hands would touch as they reached for the same utensil or ingredient, and each time, Aphrodite felt her pulse quicken.
By the time the cooking was finished, she glanced at him as they plated the food, catching a flicker of warmth in his expression that made her chest tighten. “I guess we still make a good team.”
He looked at her, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small, genuine smile. “Yeah. We do.”
Dinner had been unexpectedly delightful. The food was excellent, the wine rich and smooth, and the initial tension between them began to dissolve as the conversation turned light and easy. She found herself smiling more than she had in days, and even Hephaestus seemed more at ease, his laughter coming more freely than usual.
As they finished the last sips of wine, a strange sensation jolted through her chair. Before she could react, she was pushed to her feet. “What is—” she started, but her words trailed off as a soft melody began to play.
She looked over at Hephaestus, who was already on his feet, his chair nudging him forward like an impatient child.
Their eyes met, and she raised a brow. “Is this house serious?”
He chuckled. “Seems like it.” His gaze softened, and a rare, playful grin spread across his face. “So, do you want to dance?”
She blinked, momentarily thrown off by how different he seemed. He looked…relaxed, lighter than she’d seen him in ages. Something about it tugged at her. Without thinking too much, she slipped her hand into his. “Alright, let’s dance.”
He held her close, one hand resting on her waist as the other held hers. The dinner table vanished, replaced by a soft glow of candles that lined the walls, casting flickering shadows.
She glanced around and let out a huff of mock indignation. “Damn, I wanted a bit more of the food.”
Hephaestus grinned, a sparkle of amusement lighting his eyes. “Yeah, it was pretty good.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “This house is way too dramatic for its own good.”
“Maybe it knows something we don’t,” he murmured, his gaze dipping to meet hers.
They moved slowly, swaying to the gentle rhythm of the music. She let herself relax, her head resting lightly on his shoulder as they turned in small circles. The flicker of candlelight painted warmth across his features, and she felt an odd sense of comfort and nostalgia as if they’d done this a hundred times before.
She looked up at him, catching the way the warm candlelight softened his features. “What do you think is happening here?”
He glanced around, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “I wish I could tell you. But since we’re stuck in this room, it’s not like we can search the house for clues. Whatever this is, it wants us right here.”
“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” she tilted her head, studying him. “No frustration? No attempts to tear the place apart?”
He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Would it help if I said I’m used to unpredictability? Besides, it’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad?” she echoed, one brow arching in mock disbelief.
Hephaestus’s hand on her waist tightened slightly, a grin tugging at his lips. “I mean, good music, candles, dancing…could be worse.”
She felt her heart skip a beat, and she cursed herself for the warmth creeping up her neck. She rolled her eyes, trying to cover her reaction. “You’re ridiculous.”
His grin widened. “Maybe. But you’re still here, dancing with me.”
She opened her mouth to respond but was momentarily at a loss. The music swelled around them, and after a beat, she looked at him again. “Do you think this is connected to why the sirens sent us here?”
He hesitated, his expression turning more serious. “I don’t know. But if the house wanted us to focus on something else, it’s doing a good job of it.”
She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “We can’t just stay here and?—”
“And what?” He cut in gently, his gaze steady on hers. “Sometimes, the only way forward is to stop fighting and just let things happen.”
She stared at him for a long moment. The idea of letting go felt foreign, almost impossible—but she had to admit standing there, swaying to the music, with his steady presence grounding her, it didn’t feel so bad.
“Fine,” she said at last and waited until he looked at her. “But if this house starts throwing more surprises at us, don’t expect me to handle it quietly.”
Hephaestus’s laugh was warm, the kind that made her heart ache with something unnameable. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
And so, they danced, the unspoken questions lingering between them, their steps guided by the unseen hand of the house, as if it, too, was waiting for them to figure out what came next.
The first rays of morning filtered through the windows, the faint light bouncing off the walls of their enchanted room. Aphrodite lay on the oversized bed the house had produced after their impromptu dance the night before, her back firmly turned toward Hephaestus. Her body was stiff, her mind wrestling with the overwhelming sensations crashing into her like waves.
Even with the block she had cast, she could still feel the mortals’ prayers this morning—a relentless deluge of gratitude and devotion. They prickled under her skin, buzzing in her ears, a persistent reminder of her divine nature and the cost of it.
A sharp pulse of pain rippled through her, and she clenched her teeth to keep a whimper from escaping. She couldn’t let Hephaestus know. She needed to deal with this herself.
Her thoughts scrambled for distraction, replaying the events of the night before. The dancing, the laughter, the easy warmth that had somehow seeped into the cracks between them—it was unlike anything they’d had in a long time, maybe even ever. And now, here they were, sharing a bed, albeit separated by the space she’d intentionally kept between them. She didn’t want a repeat of the other night. She couldn’t stand the awkwardness after, especially now that it seemed like they had managed to get past it.
Another wave of pain struck, and this time, a small, involuntary whimper escaped her lips.
“Aphrodite?” His voice was low, tinged with concern, and she cursed under her breath.
She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping he’d let it go, but the bed shifted as he moved closer. A warm hand gently touched her shoulder, his touch both grounding and inescapable.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, softer now, closer.
“It’s nothing,” she said quickly.
“It’s not nothing. Tell me what’s going on.”
She turned her head into her pillow, her jaw tightening. “It’s just…the prayers. They’re stronger than usual this morning. It’s not a big deal.”
“Stronger? I thought you blocked them.”
“I did. But it’s not enough.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
She hesitated, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, she considered brushing him off again, but the weight of the prayers and the pain made her pause. “Just…stay here,” she said finally. “It helps. Somehow.”
He moved closer, his hand rubbing her back, “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” she nodded, leaning into it.
The pain didn’t vanish, but it ebbed, dulled by the strange comfort of his company. And for a while, they lay in silence, the tension of the morning giving way to an unspoken truce between her and the mortals’ prayers.
“Lucky you,” she quipped. “You don’t have mortals overwhelming you every second, begging for their soulmate or cursing their ex. Love’s the one thing they always want, so my work hasn’t stopped, not even for a breath.”
“I can’t imagine it ever would. Love’s a constant. For better or worse.”
“When’s the last time you remember getting a prayer?”
He was quiet as if trying to recall. “It’s been a while,” he admitted. “They come at random, usually when I’m in the middle of a project. Honestly, most of the time, they’re just a blip on my radar.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “But if I really think about it, they haven’t stopped entirely. Manufacturing’s a big deal for mortals these days, so prayers come in now and then. Though a lot of them are sad. Mostly asking for help. But sometimes they’re thankful.”
“That’s all they pray for?” The prayers she was blocking felt distant, so she could finally breathe, but she found herself wanting to talk more with him.
He snickered. “Not always. Whenever there’s a volcanic eruption, I hear mortals praying to me.”
“What could possibly be amusing about that?”
“One time, someone prayed for me to ‘please stop being angry’ and promised they’d never skip church again. Another time, a farmer in Santorini swore he’d name his first goat after me if I calmed the mountain.”
She burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking. “A goat? That’s the bribe they thought would work?”
“I think I got an offer for a pizza oven once, too.”
She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still laughing. “That’s rich. You’re the god of fire and forge, and they think you’d settle for a goat and a pizza oven.” She giggled again, her mood lighter since she woke up.
Things were good between them now, better than they’d been in centuries, but there was still a restlessness inside her, a lingering unease that she couldn’t quite shake. She took a breath and decided to just go for it.
“Um, so, about the other night,” she began, “did you like what happened?”
“Are you serious?” he scoffed. “Judging by how hard we both came, I think it’s safe to say we had a great time.”
She laughed nervously and was glad she wasn’t facing him because she didn’t think she’d have the nerve to talk about what happened with them. “Okay, fair. But…” She bit her lip, debating if she should continue.
Then, with a shrug, she decided to plunge ahead. “It’s just, you know how love is my thing, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, part of love is intimacy and sex. It’s how people connect, how they bond, and how they…feel better about things. So, if I’m feeling out of sorts, one way we could fix that is by having sex.”
“So now you’re ‘love-splaining’ to me?”
“Damn right,” she shot back without missing a beat. “I’m an expert, and it’s one area I know more about than you. So, I’m going to flex, thank you very much.”
His laughter was warm and genuine, rolling through the room and filling the space between them. Her unease began to melt away, and she felt all warm inside, basking in the sound of his laugh and the easy way they fit together now.
She sighed deeply, drawing his arm around her until he was flush on her back. His solid warmth pressed against her, the soothing cadence of his breath on her spine.
“Aphrodite,” he said with an edge of tension that made her pulse quicken.
“I need this,” she murmured, her fingers tightening around his hand as if she could anchor herself in his presence.
“This isn’t a good idea.”
She tilted her head slightly, a playful smile curving her lips despite the vulnerability she felt. “I’ve never had to work this hard to get a man, you know.”
He didn’t respond immediately, and she thought she’d pushed too far, scared him off. Her chest tightened, regret starting to creep in.
But then, his other hand moved, gently brushing her hair aside. The touch was light, almost hesitant, as if he were testing a boundary neither of them had acknowledged until now. His breath was warm on her neck, sending a shiver down her spine that she couldn’t suppress.
“Careful,” he said softly, low and rough, like gravel smoothed by fire.
She swallowed hard, her teasing facade crumbling under the intensity of his nearness. “Or what?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
He didn’t answer, but the air between them felt charged, as if the unspoken words were too heavy to voice. Instead, he stayed there, his presence overwhelming in a way that left her breathless, her body humming with an anticipation she couldn’t deny.
“Careful?” she repeated, tilting her head at him. “Why should we be careful?”
“Because this…us, whatever we’re doing—it’s not just casual. Not for me.”
She blinked, surprised by his honesty. “It’s not casual for me either,” she admitted, her voice soft. “But we’ve been skirting around each other for millennia, Hephaestus. Why were we even doing that? What were we so afraid of?”
“History, expectations, the fact that we were thrown together by Zeus instead of choosing each other. Take your pick.”
She sighed, her fingers grasping his as she closed the small gap between them. “Okay, fine. That’s all true. But that was then, and this is now. Why can’t we just…enjoy each other? Why can’t we figure out what this is without overthinking it?”
“You’re really good at this whole ‘cutting through the noise’ thing, aren’t you?”
She smirked. “I’m literally the goddess of love, darling. It’s kind of my job.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair point.”
“And besides,” she continued, “I don’t want to waste any more time being afraid of what this could be. If it’s good, and it feels really good, why not let ourselves have it?”
“You make a compelling argument,” he said finally.
“Good,” she said. “Because I don’t plan on backing down.”
“Good,” he murmured, bringing her closer, this time with more certainty, more intention. Whatever this was, they were in it together now.
She felt his fingers run up her arm and peel the thin strap of her nightgown off her shoulder. His lips pressed softly on her shoulder. Then he spread featherlight kisses on her neck to the delicate spot beneath her ear. She exhaled a shaky breath, wanting so much more.
He nibbled on her ear. “You’re sure about this?” His breath sent sparks straight to her core, lighting her up.
“How many times do I have to tell you I want sex?” she managed to huff, though it was a little breathy to really come across as annoyed.
His laugh sent a ripple of goosebumps skimming across her skin. “So impatient.”
But before she could say something, he tugged at her nightgown. The silk pulled at her nipples but not giving her the friction she needed. His hands cupped her breasts, fingers circling over the aching buds before pinching them, causing her to whimper.
“Couldn’t believe I finally got to feel these in my hands. How long they tortured me,” he said into her shoulder.
She looked over at him, and he was staring at her breasts. His fingers were slowly working her, turning her insides to molten lava. “Well, how about you working in the forge shirtless, huh,” she said, squirming and feeling his hardening arousal. “All sweaty and hammering the metal into what you wanted.”
He chuckled. “Ah, that may have been intentional,” he said, kissing her shoulder. “I noticed you would come looking for Eros. Couldn’t help but put on a show.”
“What,” she laughed. “You tease.”
“Good to know it worked.”
“Ha! Yeah, it did,” she said, setting his hand between her legs.
He hissed as soon as his fingers felt the damp silk. He lightly tapped her clit and pressed on her folds until the fabric was slick and her thighs trembling. She sighed when he took his hand away, but then he waved his fingers, and her nightgown and panties slipped down her body. The silk caressed her skin, heightening the sensations already humming through her skin.
His hand was on her stomach, settling her back to his front, the curve of her ass brushing his hard cock, and this time he let out a groan. She smiled, finally getting a reaction from him.
“I think I need a show this time,” he said, gripping her thigh before hitching her leg up and out over his.
“Oh,” she whispered, seeing how completely exposed she was. “Is that what you need?” she said, trailing her fingers down his other arm. “I need you here,” she said, grasping his hand and slowly placing it between her thighs again.
She guided him to make slow circles on her clit while her other hand grasped her breast. Hephaestus’s grip on her thigh tightened, leaving no doubt that he liked what he saw.
“Keep this here,” he murmured before his knuckles grazed her folds. She ground on his hand, her soft moan urging him on.
“I’m glad…” she began but had to bite her lip. He was barely touching her, but it felt so good.
“Hmm?” he said, pressing a knuckle into her and spreading her slickness with deliberate softness.
“I’m glad this isn’t confusing, unlike everything else between us,” she said, looking at him.
He held her gaze and smiled. “This is perfect. We belong here, wrapped up in each other. We are right where we’re meant to be.”
Then he captured her lips, his lips meeting hers with a tenderness that carried both heat and devotion. He moved, and she felt his cock slot against her, each push and pull teasing her even more.
“Hephaestus,” she whined.
“I know.”
She moved, trying to notch him into her, but then he eased into her, and she leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close while slowly moving. She felt every inch of him, and when he hit her inner wall just right, they both moaned.
Aphrodite thought he’d lose control, but he kept on with the slow fucking, each thrust hitting her right there and bringing her closer. She couldn’t quite put it into words, but everything felt undeniably right—the rugged warmth of his scent, the solid strength of his body, how he was filling her up—and she surrendered completely. Her muscles started to shake, her thighs tensed, and when he rolled her clit between his fingers, the pleasure started crashing over her.
Hephaestus’s strokes lost their smooth rhythm, and he jerked her onto him for a last plunge deep inside her. She felt his cock pulse inside her as her orgasm squeezed him. Their moans filled the air around them, and he held her tight to him until the last tremors left their bodies. She lay back, feeling his heartbeat as they tried to catch their breath.
She turned around and kissed him, slow and tender, before resting her head on his chest.
“Feeling better?” he teased.
“Yes, very much so,” she said, sitting up. Her fingers trailed lightly down his chest, tracing some faint scars, and then down to his leg. “When did you make this version of your cybernetic leg?”
“The past year or so,” he replied, watching her closely.
She tilted her head, her fingers gliding over the polished surface. “It still makes the same sound as the one you used back when we were together.”
“Yeah,” he said with a small shrug, “I like the sound. So, I still use a lot of metal, not plastic.”
“I like the sound too,” she admitted, her voice softer now. Her fingers lingered on the mechanism, reverent in their touch. “It’s one of those things that’s just you.”
She shifted, kneeling between his legs as he adjusted himself to sit back on the headboard. She looked at the god before her, wanting to explore him, to learn him, to wallow in him. A wicked smile spread across her lips as her hands traveled up his thighs. “Time to feel good.”
Hephaestus’s eyes gleamed with a hunger that she swore she could feel on her skin before he reached for her, drawing her into a kiss that was searing and demanding.
“I know what you like,” she whispered, her lips lingering above his. “We can do whatever you want.”
He leaned back slightly, his eyes locking with hers. “No.”
“No?” she asked, brow furrowed in confusion.
He shook his head. “No, I don’t want the goddess of love.”
She stilled, her breath catching. “Then what do you want?”
“I want Aphrodite.” He took her hand in his, his thumb tracing slow circles on her palm. “ Se thélo. ”
Her heart gave a strange lurch as he brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. “The woman who is fiercely protective of those she cares for.” He kissed her hand again.
“The woman who fought the Titans.” He leaned in, pressing his lips to her shoulder.
“The woman who drives me absolutely crazy,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, teasing tone.
She laughed, the sound bubbling up before she could stop it.
He smiled, his gaze warm and unflinching. “The woman whose smile and laugh are what I want to see and hear for the rest of time.”
A surge of feeling filled her, and she kissed him before he could say anything more. The kiss was soft yet consuming, a meeting of passion and something deeper, something steady and enduring. Her lips moved with his as her head went fuzzy from the dizzying way he was kissing her. His hand cupped her cheek, his touch grounding her despite the rush of emotion within her.
When they finally parted, Aphrodite’s breath came in shallow gasps, her forehead resting on his. “You have me,” she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of her truth. “ íme dikí sou .”
Hephaestus’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. “Good,” he said, smoothing a strand of hair from her face. “Then we should make the most of it. Can’t risk getting kicked out of this bed just yet.”
She laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. “I like the way you think.”
Before he could respond, she leaned in and kissed him again, this time with a playful urgency that made him chuckle against her lips. His arms wrapped around her, holding her closer as if to say he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.