With savage intent, the Demigod reached one hand forward, and grabbing from the roots, he gathered my sapphire hair in his palm and over-arched my head back. His vicious incursion redoubled, the force of our bodies drowning out the playlist floating throughout the small room.

His fingers gathered up my bothersome waves into a firm knot within his hand. This action only encouraged my Inner Goddess as she genuinely began to awaken, her magnificent wings slowly unfurling as we took him deeper, yo-yo-ing up and down even faster.

His eagerness surprised me. I assumed he would be exhausted after a long day of traveling and would want to go straight home. But, instead, the Demigod made it abundantly clear he had ample energy to devour me appropriately. My Inner Goddess shivered at the prospect!

He withdrew, and I felt the sad emptiness consume me. The thought of tasting his nectar cheered my Inner Goddess, and she licked her lips in anticipation. The Demigod knelt between my legs while my hands traced his oak-like thighs and heavy jewels.

I tossed the Skee-Ball up, feeling the heavy wooden weight each time it thudded into my palm. I felt split in two. Coated in war paint, my competitive Celtic ancestors banged their shields in a challenge. This weakling man would not beat me.

He made love to me with the tenderness of a man with a heart of gold. All movements were calculated for pleasure, yet meeting me in a place of brokenness and incredible pain.

My need is so acute I fear I will hurt him. Images of shredding the clothes from his body, leaping into his arms, and wrapping my legs around his hips to impale myself on his glory flash through my mind. I’m trembling.

We fought for control, each seeking to dominate as we matched impact for impact. My Inner Goddess was euphoric at our shared animalistic need. One would almost think he needed me as much as I needed him.

My Inner Goddess is a queen in her element today, and her subject a willing slave to her burning desire. She orders him onto his back and clambers between his legs. She is Bathsheba, the world at her feet.

This Adonis could have any woman he desires, but he lies with me in his arms on an ordinary Monday night.