Poseidon, God of the Sea, has spent millennia alone due to a single terrible act. His consort Amphitrite has sworn never to forgive him, and he’s forced to live with the knowledge that he drove an innocent girl to her doom.
But when one of the Olympic Cove cottages gets an occupant with an all-too-familiar soul, Poseidon discovers that the Fates have given him a second chance. Now he must try to right the wrongs of the past and win back both his beloved consort and the mate he betrayed.
Assuming, of course, that the Mad Nereid Thetis doesn’t interfere…
You’ve been separated from Poseidon for seven thousand years. Do you think it’s possible that the two of you will ever get back together?
Amphitrite: (thoughtful pause) If you had asked me that even a month ago, I would have said no. But with all the things going on at Olympic Cove, I’m starting to suspect that anything can happen.
You’re a licensed psychologist, among other things. Why does a Nereid and goddess have to work for a living?
Amphitrite: I choose to work because it makes me feel like I’m contributing something useful to the world. Plus I enjoy helping people. Lying around doing nothing all day may sound perfectly lovely in a Bruno Mars song, but in reality it’s incredibly dull. I’d rather spend my days working at something I love.
Speaking of work, how are your sisters Ligea, Pasithea, and Iaera doing with their business?
Amphitrite: It’s Divine Events? It’s going great guns as I understand it, especially now that they’re branching out into wedding planning. I’m rather sorry I wasn’t able to join their business, but I have something of a loaded work schedule at the moment.
Feeling like he was in another one of his dreams, Griffin let himself be eased onto the beach blanket. He stretched out, wiggling a bit to get comfortable as Dunn followed him and did the same. Overhead, the Floridian night was heavily spangled with stars.
“This is nice. Should’ve done this the first night I got here.” He glanced at Dunn. The man was a shadowy form stretched out at length, hands clasped placidly on his middle. “Comfortable?”
“Very,” Dunn said, staring up at the stars. “You’re right. This is quite lovely.”
“Yeah.” Griffin swallowed. He had no idea what to do next.
Except to be honest. “Dunn, I need to say something.”
“I hope this doesn’t offend you because I really don’t want to do that, and to be honest I don’t know why I feel this way but…” He swallowed, hearing his throat click. “I really want to kiss you right now. If you don’t want to, it’s fine, I understand, but I thought I’d ask.”
“Ah.” Dunn’s head turned towards him. “Well, then, if we’re being honest, I’d like to kiss you as well.”
Something electric shot through Griffin, swamping the fear. “Oh. I didn’t … I mean, I thought—”
“That I prefer women? I do, as I suspect you do. But I’ve been known to make exceptions.” The other man chuckled softly. “I believe the term is heteroflexible.”
My God, has he done this before? That’s not bad, though. At least one of us knows what he’s doing. “Okay, good. Um…”
“Shall I come over there?”
Griffin rolled onto his side and Dunn mirrored him. A hand came up and cupped his cheek, warm against the soft coolness of the evening breeze.
He closed his eyes as Dunn leaned forward. Lips brushed against his, delicately intent. His lips tingled under the soft pressure, and he could feel the prickle of Dunn’s mustache and beard, something he’d never felt before, at least not during a kiss.
It was weird and slightly scary. It was also fucking terrific. “Do that again,” he whispered when Dunn pulled back.
“Eagerness. I like that in a man.”
They kissed again, and Griffin let his lips open. The tip of Dunn’s tongue traced along them with that same delicacy. The sensation sizzled across his nerve endings, poking his dormant libido right where it counted.
Dunn pulled back a bit. “If you want to stop at any time, say so,” he said, his voice rough.
“Right, got it. Now kiss me again.”
He did, tongue slipping into Griffin’s mouth with deft skill. Griffin gave himself over to it, enjoying the sensation. It was similar to kissing a woman but with a different undertone to it, hungrier somehow. He felt like he didn’t have to hold back, that anything he threw at Dunn the other man could take.
And then Dunn’s tongue licked along the roof of his mouth, sending sparks of desire shooting through him. He couldn’t help moaning in unabashed pleasure.
Dunn took that as a signal to roll closer, fitting himself along Griffin’s body. It was like the kiss, scary and exciting at the same time. Dunn slid an arm around him, a hand coming to rest in the small of his back as his mouth continued to duel sweetly with Griffin’s.
After a bit Griffin felt something poking him in the thigh. It dawned on him what was happening. He broke the kiss with a gasp, sucking in air. “Fuck. You’re hard.”
“Well, yes, that does happen.” Dunn sounded amused. “Does it bother you?”
Griffin gulped. It should, he knew that. And yet all he wanted to do was do a wicked little shimmy against Dunn, make the other man moan for once. “No. It’s fine.”
But Dunn paused, his hand lightening on Griffin’s back. “You’re not aroused.”
He shook his head. “It was the last round of radiation. Haven’t been able to get it up since.”
“Oh.” Dunn’s hand came to rest again, but now it was on his waist. “Am I hurting you? Doing this, I mean?”
“If you’re asking me if you’re giving me blue balls, yeah, a little.” He swallowed again. “If you’re asking me if I want to stop, the answer’s no. Just don’t expect me to be poking you back.”
He wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn he saw Dunn smile. “All right.”
Nicola Cameron is an expatriate Chicagoan who has lived in England, Canada, Holland, and Sweden, and keeps a confusing amalgamation of languages in her head as a result. Currently located in the clavicle of Texas, she has finally mastered the proper use of "y'all," much to her Chicago family's dismay.
Despite a healthy interest in sex since puberty, it wasn't until 2012 that Nicola decided to try writing about it. As it turned out, the skills she picked up during her SF writing career transferred rather nicely to erotic romance. When not writing, she wrangles cats, smooches her husband, makes dolls of dubious and questionable identity, and thanks almighty Cthulhu that she doesn’t have to work for a major telecommunications company any more (because there’s BDSM, and then there’s just plain torture...).
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