Usual Disclaimers apply, but I'm too lazy to put them in! <g>
It was the look that did me in. It was a stone killer, impossible to ignore, deadly to fight. Strange how words and phrases relating to death immediately sprang to mind when I thought of him. Well, maybe not so strange . . . he is the God of War, isn’t he?
Ares, my clandestine lover, the salacious thrill in my otherwise mundane life. How had a relatively sane, normal woman come to be involved with a god whom most would insist did not exist?
One night, under the influence of too much vodka and not enough anything else I went through my attic. My house is old; our family has lived there for centuries. The attic is full of dust and boxes. In my drunken haze, I thought it would be fun to open some of them.
I climbed the creaky stairs feeling much like Nancy Drew about to explore some new mystery. I flipped on the lights and began to open carton after carton. Eventually, I found an old book.
Within the family, there have always been whispers. Secrets about our ancestors that we have never openly discussed. It was rumored there were witches and powerful sorcerers down the line. I never believed any of that because . . . well . . . I am not the sort to indulge in daydreams. I am the least whimsical or capricious woman I know. Flights of fantasy are not in my lexicon.
In any case, the book was quite old and looked to be less than informative, written as it was in a language I didn’t recognize. The cover of the book had an ornate design. A raised pattern of a sword with a beautifully decorated hilt and a few letters which I later learned were Greek.
I traced the letters on the cover and then the sword design. To my surprise, I felt a shiver go through my body and then the book opened as if by magic and a face stared at me.
What a face it was! The drawing was so lifelike that it seemed to jump off the page, so real that I thought it was an animated photo.
What happened next was even freakier and I was sure it was a hallucination. After all, I’d had a LOT to drink. The picture winked at me. I blinked twice with astonishment and then just gaped at the apparition. I suppose I should describe the face. Well, let me start by saying I have never been a romantic woman. The men I knew, the ones I occasionally dated, fell into the realm of average. In those rare moments, when in a burst of sexual lust, I might imagine a man I found sexier, no specific face or body ever, excuse the pun, came to mind.
But this face! It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was almost as if every unspoken, unarticulated, unconscious thought in my mind had created it. The face was strong, masculine; the eyes big, dark, layered by thick star shaped black eyelashes. The cheekbones were chiseled; the mouth was a masterpiece of sensuality. His full lush lips pouted like ripe fruit and were surrounded by a wicked looking goatee. He had shoulder-length dark curly hair and it framed the face perfectly. His nose was largish and somewhat flat at the tip, but this less than perfect feature gave character to what would have otherwise been a lifeless thing of beauty.
It was a face once seen, never forgotten. A face that put me in mind of Helen of Troy and a thousand ships. Little did I know then how apt a simile that was.
The face was so vivid; it spoke volumes about his character. The eyes told of a long life, of knowledge that was wicked and evil. The mouth reeked of lascivious intent and the jaw was formidable. I knew whoever he was; he was a force to be reckoned with.
My fingers reached down to touch the drawing and as I traced the line of his lips, I could swear I felt them kiss me.
By now I was convinced that I had lost my mind and the next thing that happened proved it. A voice, from nowhere, disembodied, yet full, deep and sexy, said, "Do it again."
I obeyed. I’m still not sure why. This time a pink tongue came out and licked my finger.
I suppose I should have screamed yet there was something so absurdly surreal about it that I couldn’t stop. "What’s next?" I asked the air.
"Kiss me."
I looked at the face. Had the mouth actually moved? With a shrug, I decided to do it. I bent my head, licked my lips and pressed them against the ancient paper.
First there was nothing and then I felt an electric jolt run through my body like a vibrant static charge. Suddenly I was rising off the floor and my body was tingling all over. It was erotic and sensual, not scary at all. It had a luscious lingering tang to it like the moment right before the world explodes in orgasm.
Before I could even blink, the book was no longer in my hands; instead, I was touching the hardest, firmest biceps I had ever felt in my life. The balance of those arms were wrapped around me. I wasn’t even surprised. Not really. It was as if a part of me knew this was inevitable. The male body that held me, that was pressed to mine, was hot, the heat rose off him as if he were burning for real. The flame was of desire, of lust, an ardor so strong and potent that it washed everything out of its path. I felt almost reborn in the wave of passion overwhelming me. I closed my eyes riding the wave of lust.
I heard a deep rich chuckle against my ear and then felt a breath like a whisper of spring. A tongue tickled my ear lobe. Finally, soft, soft lips began a journey over my neck, up to my check and I opened my eyes.
I had expected it to be gone, but it was still there. HE was still there. That gloriously beautiful face was gazing at me. His eyes were full of the kind of come hither—I want to ravish you for hours—look that I had only ever seen on a movie screen. Never once, in my entire life, had a man looked at me like that. It was the look that did it. Whatever it was he was, whatever he wanted, he could have it. I was putty in his hands, melted goo for the taking.
"My, but you’re lovely," he whispered seductively.
"Yeah, right," I snorted sarcastically.
He tilted his head as if he didn’t understand my comment. He raised his eyebrows and added, "You are beautiful."
Well, if anything could have broken the potent spell he cast, that was it. "What planet have you been on?" I asked nastily.
Somehow he managed to raise those eyebrows even higher and then he smiled. "You just want me to repeat it."
I shook my head. "Let’s look in the mirror, shall we?" I pulled away from him and yanked him by the hand to an ancient dusty mirror.
I expected to see what I always saw when I looked at myself. An over forty, overweight, washed out blond with faded gray eyes, a large nose and a thin mouth. Instead, the mirror reflected back the me I had always wanted to be. The woman, who stood next to this . . . god, for truly he was complete perfection, was curvaceous and lovely. Her blond hair was a rich hue of gold. Her gray eyes sparkled with mirth, her nose was pert and her mouth was delectable. I had odd clothes on as well. Not the large loose comfortable sweats I had worn to the attic, but instead some kind of white robe, almost Grecian. It clung to my breasts and left my shoulders bare. My legs were golden brown and also bare. They were firm, muscled and the varicose veins were gone. My mouth opened and closed in surprise. What the hell had happened?
"Diana," he murmured, "you look as lovely as you always did."
"Diana?" I echoed uncertainly. "My name is Deb."
"Deb?" he repeated almost experimentally. "I think not." He paused for a moment, studied me carefully and then asked, "What century is this?"
"Century?" I gulped.
He chuckled. It was a honeyed resonant sound that inexplicably reminded me of the gurgle of a bottle of expensive wine. "You’re confused."
"Confused?" I sighed. "More like bewildered and bemused. Who are you anyway?"
"You don’t know?" he asked softly.
I shook my head. "Not a clue."
He laughed again. That chuckle sent an erotic tingle down my spine. "I am Ares, God of War."
My mouth dropped open and I could feel the world start to spin. I knew, with my entire being, that this couldn’t possibly be happening. "Ares?" I repeated. "God of War?"
He smiled. His wicked knowing smile lit a fire inside my groin. "The one and only."
I shook my head, closed my eyes, took a deep breath and tried to will the apparition away. This was way too weird for me. When a long moment later I opened my eyes he was still there. Still staring at me with that come hither look. "You are NOT real," I mumbled.
He laughed. "Oh, but I am. Very real." He took my hand and placed it against his massive chest. "Can’t you feel my heart beat?"
I could feel it. I could also feel soft fuzzy hair, hard firm muscle and fire hot skin. He held my hand and moved it over his chest as his clothes vanished. His chest, once exposed, was amazing. Massive and muscled, beautifully cut like a sculpture. My hand, at his urging, traced his pectorals and nipples, then moved down toward his belly, tracing the arrow of dark hair that disappeared into the low-slung black leather pants he wore. Pants that had a very impressive bulge just where it should. I wondered if he’d make them disappear too. He urged my hand to continue exploring and I followed that lovely tangle of hair over the bulging black leather. He was hot there too and very hard. I traced the shape of him with my fingers. He made a noise somewhere deep in his throat and then muttered, "Real enough for you?"
This time I laughed. Even to my ears, it sounded sexy. "You do seem to be rather . . . substantial."
"Substantial?" he repeated with amusement. "I suppose that’s one way to describe it." Suddenly he seemed to tire of the game. He pulled my hand away and began moving toward me.
I backed away until I found that I had backed into wall. He stood in front of me; his eyes focused on me as if he could lure me into his world somehow. I stared back wondering what would happen next. I had a good idea of what I WANTED to happen.
"Diana, don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time?"
"Why do you keep calling me that? I told you my name is Deb."
He chuckled. "Don’t be obtuse. Perhaps you WERE Deb, but you’ve always been Diana too."
I shook my head obstinately. "You’re insane. Or maybe it’s me. I must be crazy."
"I’m not insane now, although I was once, for a short time. It wasn’t my fault." He paused briefly as if lost in a memory and then added, "It’s called reincarnation. Surely you’ve heard of that?"
"Reincarnation." I said the word as if I’d never heard it before. Theoretically, I knew what it was. I had friends who believed in all that new age psychobabble. Friends, who saw their psychics weekly, read tarot cards, went and had their past life regressed. But me? I didn’t buy into that. I was a borderline blond with a degree in accounting. I lived a bland, dull, boring existence and I liked it that way. "Who was I supposed to have been?" I asked.
"You were/ARE Diana, Roman Goddess of the Hunt. The equivalent of my sister, Artemis."
"I thought the Greek and Roman gods were one and the same, just different names."
"A fallacy," he snorted. "Although for a time, I did manage to be both myself and Mars."
"I see," I mumbled. Though truly, I didn’t see at all. "But if I was a god, goddess, how did I die? And why was I reincarnated?"
He laughed. "It’s a long story. And surely," he continued as he pressed his body against me, "we have better things to do."
I could feel the heat of him, aroused and it felt wonderful. I was quickly turning back into a melting pile of goo. "Such as?" I asked.
He chuckled and his large hands ran over my body. His touch sent a tingle of fire through my blood. I said nothing, just pressed back against the wall. His hands stroked my shoulders, ever so lightly, then moved over the curves of my breasts. A moan escaped as my nipples hardened. Still, I stood unmoving. My inaction seemed to inspire him.
He pressed harder against me, his massive chest pinning me to the wall. His groin pressed into me, like hot molten lava and I could feel his erection throb. I knew then his leather pants were gone. His hands came up, one on either side of my face and then he kissed me. I expected it to be rough and hard, instead his lips were soft and light, tiny little flutters of velvet against my mouth. It was more erotic than I could have guessed and my body arched against him. My hands were trapped between us, but I inched them up to touch his chest. He felt like liquid fire, burning hot, all hard muscle and sinew. It was like touching a statue, except it was warm.
He kept kissing me, teasing my lips with his, the pressure so light, so delicious, that I found myself wanting more. His tongue flicked out and licked my lips and again I moaned.
"Much better," he murmured seductively.
"Hmmm," I murmured back. Experimentally, I reached my hand lower, down that glorious chest, toward his groin. As expected he was naked and when I touched his shaft, it was hard and thick. Substantial indeed. I wrapped my hand around it, well I tried to, but instead he pulled my hand away and placed it around his waist. He waved his hand and I knew that I too was now naked.
I felt his hands on my breasts as his lips moved over my neck. I felt his shaft press against my thigh and I was suddenly overwhelmed with a kind of animal lust I had never felt before.
I worked my other hand free and grabbed at his head. He raised his eyes from my chest and looked at me quizzically. I pulled his face to mine and kissed those soft lips as hard as I could. Our mouths connected so powerfully, I felt as if my teeth were being jarred loose. Still, I didn’t stop; I pressed my body to his, a fire racing through me, lashing out with power.
I tangled my fingers in his hair and kissed that luscious mouth with all of me. He responded with equal measures of lust and enthusiasm. My body was now pressed tightly to his, my nipples hardened, rubbed against his pecs. My sex was damp with arousal; I could feel his shaft pulsing toward it, the head moving to the opening, guided by our mutual need.
My body arched again, my legs opened and then I felt him lift me, shift me and he was inside me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and gasped from the feel of him pushing in and up, filling me impossibly full with his substantial maleness. My arms slid around his neck and my mouth pulled back from his. I needed to moan and breathe.
His eyes were full of a mischievous twinkle and he grinned wickedly. He had, incongruously, dimples! I sucked in my breath as much from the smile as from the feel of him inside me.
"Hang on," he whispered.
I nodded and was trying to think of some smart-ass remark when he bent his head and began to suck one of my nipples. My whole groin tightened and then spasmed as an orgasm rolled over me. He groaned as my inner walls squeezed him tightly.
He backed me up tighter against the wall and I could feel the hard wood on my back. Then he started to stroke me, his hands holding my buttocks in place. He glided in and out slowly, grunting with the exertion of controlling himself. I pushed back against him, wanting more friction.
Suddenly, he griped my buttocks tighter and began pounding me into the wall, grinding himself into me. I could feel his balls swing against me as he pumped me hard. His movements become jerky and fast, I met each thrust, grinding my throbbing clit back at him.
I moved my arms and began to rub his nipples lightly. He pounded into me one last time and with a groan, he came, I could feel his seed spurting inside me. His breathing was ragged, but even before his spasm stopped, his hand worked its way to my clit. He was still throbbing inside me when I felt another orgasm begin. I put my arms back around his neck to keep from falling and he pulled me so tightly against him, I felt as if I’d split in half from the pressure.
It was incredible. I expected him to shrink and pull out immediately, but surprisingly, he wasn’t finished. As I was to learn during that long passionate night, he didn’t get soft, he didn’t get tired and he very much enjoyed pleasuring a woman.
That encounter was just the first in a game I suppose we’ve been playing for centuries. I still don’t really understand it, but . . . Ares is . . . he’s a god. He takes his pleasure where and when and with whomever he wishes. I live for his visits, which come, pun intended, at the most unlikely of times and places. When I see him, I turn into Diana, the rest of the time I’m still Deb. I don’t know if I believe in reincarnation, but . . . does it matter?