June 2025

Prelude

Theia: named for the goddess who illuminates the cosmos, her radiant and unyielding strength a steadfast beacon in shadowed realms.

Phanes: a god of hidden mysteries, his wit as sharp and smooth as the bourbon he favors.

Together, they traverse the universe, bound by a devotion as ancient as myth and as real as the stars above.

__________________________

The goddess sat enthroned, stunning and imperial, her long hair cascading like nightfall over bare shoulders and arms. She radiated a hush-born authority, a crepuscular dominance that did not demand, it invited, and I, in its presence, felt small, breathless, and fervently willing. Theia, they would call her. And rightly so, as she sat upon her silver throne awaiting the scene before her to unfold.

Jack lingered at the far corner of the bed, coiled, elemental, a steady presence of warmth and certainty. Phanes lingered at the foot of the bed, his gaze held the weight of a thousand unsaid things…patient, intent, eyes smoldering with curiosity.

And I? I was the fourth star in this strange constellation, chilled in anxiety, mortal, shifting my weight from foot to foot. On my lips, the taste of sharp Scottish amber still clung to my tongue, layered with the arctic cool of mint I had slipped under my tongue in a frantic rush of nerves.

As hostess, I should have taken the lead. After all, the arrangement was no unfamiliar rite. But in the presence of a queen like Theia, combined with not only a new companion but her consort, no less! Sigh, my confidence frayed at the edges. My Inner Goddess shifted her wings at the thought of initiation under three sets of peering eyes. Nevertheless, she preened her feathers.

She wanted to be seen. Besides, the first chill of contact had been broken, I could still feel the ghost of Phanes’s hands, the imprint of his interest, and the crush of his lips on mine. The hush of his words at my ear had trembled with gravity, “I’ll wait for you to lead tonight. Whatever you want.” It was not indulgence, but promise, cloaked in heat-laced deference.

But some vows are heavy with misplaced expectations.

“It’s a terrible plan,” I had muttered, voice tight with truth. “Initiation should never be left to me.”

My history was littered with abandoned first moves, with swallowed longing, the sting of bitter tears, and the cold regret of inaction. Others waltzed effortlessly through the unseen currents of desire that charged the air, fluent in a language I had never mastered. But I…I was clumsy, reading every signal wrong. I lingered at the periphery, pulse fluttering, convinced that my desire was an intrusion, that my presence was somehow excessive or not enough. Among Olympians, I was the butterfly fluttering on the periphery, burning behind my smile, never bold enough to reach out and speak my wanting.

To my shame, and my Inner Goddess’s withering glare, I had long made a practice of waiting. Waiting to be chosen. Waiting to be claimed. Waiting for the moment to be seized… by anyone but me.

Once again, I stood there, offering polite conversation, my voice felt composed, though my knees threatened to buckle. At last, Theia’s head tilted ever so slightly, her lips curving into that maddening crescent. A glint of mischief lit her gaze, and then she cast it: the question, fated, and sharp as any blade of spellwork.

“What are you wearing beneath that garment?”

The room fell still. The gazes of both gods swiveled like owls between Theia and I, back and forth, but their lips remained sealed.

A wicked grin traced the corner of my mouth. The jumpsuit had been chosen with agonizing care, but…beneath it? Gauzy slips and decadent nothings from my overflowing wardrobe had been plucked, examined, and summarily dismissed, each deemed too tame, too pleading, or too painfully uninspired. Even in that moment, my mind rifled through my closet, worried I had possibly overlooked a fluttering offering that would have had the allure I sought for my gathered audience. I sighed, my teeth grazing my lower lip as if trying to stall the moment. But the choice had already been made, irrevocable now, and I hoped that I had chosen well.

I let my thumb hook one slender strap, drawing it down over the curve of my shoulder, baring skin with poised grace. The other followed, sliding over my arm like spilled silk. My belt and jewelry had been dispatched much earlier in the evening, silent omens that I was interested, no matter how sedate my composure. The fragile fabric of my jumpsuit gave way easily, a crimson sigh against my skin, slipping down my frame like wine from a tilted goblet, slow, sinuous, unstoppable, pooling at my feet in a blood-hued sea. 

Beneath it… There was nothing.

Just me.
Bare skin.
And ink.

Swirls of dark artistry traced my skin, curling up one thigh, coiling over the slope of a shoulder. A mandala shimmered at the jut of my hip, another at my breastbone, each intricate circle drawing the eye, seducing the breath. Circles of intricate temptation cradled each breast, alive with a liturgy of beguilement, rising and falling with every breath beneath the pulse of their intense gaze.

But I did not flinch.
Not under Theia’s gaze.
Not with Phanes, a summer storm brewing in his eyes.

Not under Jack’s smoldering anticipation.

To my astonishment, I did not feel vulnerable.
Not ashamed. Not small.
Only… gloriously bare.

And it had nothing to do with the burn of Scottish amber still stinging the contours of my throat. No, this was something deeper, a flickering delight in myself, in my skin, in every curved line and hidden scar, every dark flourish of ink across my body. A genuine, slow-burning pleasure at having unveiled myself, not for a man’s consumption, but at the quiet query of a goddess.

My Inner Goddess shimmered into place, spine tall, wings unfurled, practically glowing with pride. She hungered for command, craved the summons, thrived in the art of dominion.

And yet, as the seconds passed, a hush crept into the room, thick as fog. Time blurred at the edges, sound receding into a lustral roar of white noise in my head. My fingers twitched. My breath stilled. A nervous heat bloomed low in my belly, spreading in invisible vines that tangled and bound my limbs. Should I move? Should I cross the bed, fall into Jack’s arms, and demand the kiss I knew awaited me? Should I curl one hand over my hip and beckon Phanes to me with nothing more than a smoldering glance?

I stood stockstill as if one wrong movement might shatter the transparent spell. Paralysis, lovely and cruel.

But then, he was there.

Phanes rounded the bed in a single, calculated movement, and his hands found my waist, encircling me. Warm. Steady. Reverent. He drew me in, slowly, carefully, and pressed the fullness of his mouth against mine with a kind of aching earnestness that melted the last of my anxiety like wax beneath a flame.

Yes. This. Not only could I do this, I wanted to. I hungered for the possibilities the evening could present.

I surrendered to his lips, the fullness of his tongue, my hands rising of their own volition to slide across the downiness of his grey sweatpants, Gods, the coziness, and even beneath that, the slow swell of him growing against me, rigid with fierce avowal. My Inner Goddess cocked an appreciative brow, murmuring her approval as I deepened the embrace. Then his lips descended, exploring the hidden haven on my neck that wrenched my breath away and left my knees wobbly on the edge of collapse.

His hands settled precisely where my body ached for them, urging me deeper against him. The contact was electric, an incendiary spark setting my Inner Goddess ablaze, eyes tilted unseeing to the heavens. Every kiss he gifted, I answered with a moan, low, helpless, and drenched in need. I found myself caught between the sacred delight of slow discovery and the fevered yearning for those sighs to deepen into moans, and moans to crescendo into cries of rapturous ecstasy.

My Inner Goddess was pacing. Panting. Ferocious.

She wanted more. Not tenderness, not curiosity. She wanted might. She wanted to be conquered, not coddled. She wanted to etch her pleasure across the cosmos once more.

Then, without warning, he lifted me.

Effortless.

I gasped, a breath caught between surprise and joy, then let an unbidden giggle escape as my hands wrapped about his shoulders. How, I wondered, had he divined this tender vulnerability of mine? Perhaps the Fates had whispered their salacious counsel into his ear. On one hand, it was an unnecessary gesture, yet, oh gods, how it set my blood aflame and my Inner Goddess soaring.

I adored being lifted, adored the way it made me feel weightless, girlish, precious. Every cruel word I had ever heard about my body vanished in those moments. Being held by a god, my legs wrapped around their steadfast hips, made me feel as though I were spun from starlight. In their arms, I felt light, not because I was less, but because they were strong enough to hold me without hesitation.

Phanes did not claim me.
He simply held, and in doing so, revealed what I already was:
Exquisite. Desirable. Entirely enough.

Suddenly, we were on the bed.

The shift unfurled between us without a word and as though the very laws of gravity had bent and demurred of their own secret accord, drawing us irrevocably closer. His weight settled upon me, solid, intoxicating, as he pressed me into the mattress. Our bodies stirred then, slow and inevitable, moving with the patient glide of tides pulled by a moon. My breath quickened, a soft pant escaping from deep within, while my wild and aching Inner Goddess throbbed in perfervid anticipation.

I could already feel the incessant pulse of my apex, strident, urgent, beating like a war drum. I coiled around him, pulling his weight onto me. My thighs quivered, breath stuttered shallow and sharp, skin alight with an invisible fire that licked across every inch of me. And then…Phanes moved away.

The absence of him struck chilling, unbidden. My teeth found my lower lip, mourning the loss of his heat, the divine gravity of his weight. But then I met his gaze… and there it was: not mercy, but the lurid threat of what still waited.

Molten.
Predatory.

A god nearly undone by carnal appetite.

Phanes had no interest in tasting. He knelt with the hunger of something ancient, the patience of something ruthless. Phanes meant to take his time, to devour me whole until I forgot my own name beneath the weight of raw breath and bliss.

I tried to compose myself, chiding words of reason to my Inner Goddess, “At least keep your knees together! Don’t seem too eager. For heaven’s sake, don’t pant like a wolfish creature – a queen is witnessing!” But my Inner Goddess laughed manically at me. Brazen and exuberant as wind.

The god was already on his knees, head bowed low as he exhaled blistering breath against bare, tender skin. A supplicant in posture only, for this god came not to worship but to desecrate, to defile with ravishment.

And that, after all, was why we were here.
To please.
To be pleased.

To leave propriety folded at the foot of the bed and meet each other with trembling mouths and unspoken wishes.

When he leaned in, it wasn’t haste, it was something far more dangerous. Ritual. Resolve. A predator’s sufferance.

He parted my thighs with the unhurried precision of a man who knew exactly how he was about to destroy me.

And then…he consumed. Not with savagery.With something worse.

With reverence so relentless it stripped me bare, breath by breath, until I was nothing but pulse and offering.

His clever tongue found me like it had been forged for such moments, each stroke premeditated, devastating. Circling. Curling. Plunging. He moved with maddening precision, drawing me to the knife-edge of oblivion and holding me there like a cruel promise.

My hips lifted from the bed, spine bowed taut, fingers digging savage trenches into the sheets, until the guttural scream tore free, ripped from somewhere beneath reason, beyond language, from the hidden core that only such torment could unravel.

His tongue flicked…then ravaged my forbidden place, hunting with cruel precision. I shook, unmade, undone, while my Inner Goddess howled for more amidst the climactic inferno.

Phanes was unyielding. Ruthless.

A fleeting thought flickered through me, a ghost of a memory, a past apparition who once declared oral worship beneath him, who had recoiled from the act like my body was some shameful, cloying thing. I almost laughed now. How shallow he seemed now beside this god whose mouth was both ravenous beast and tantalizing gossamer.

Perhaps…Phanes performed for his queen.

Perhaps…it was all a tantalizing play for Theia’s watchful eyes, her gaze like a forest fire tracing every curve, every shiver that trembled beneath my skin.

My Inner Goddess growled low, thick with rich delight, drinking in the intoxicating weight of our divine audience, feeling each look slake against my flesh. I was both altar and offering, every choking breath a prayer and every sputter a benediction, wound tight in the cathedral hush of their silence.

And I gave silent thanks to the Fates, yet again, for gods who made me feel revered, never tolerated. For lovers who beheld not imperfection, but poetry etched in skin, each curve a stanza meant to be savored, lingered over in the quiet gaps between starlight and flame, where breath caught and time forgot itself.

When Phanes rose, his mouth glistening with my nectar, a keen triumph ignited in his eyes, a devilish grin looping his lips as he ascended my body. I was drenched in the afterglow, adrift in the sacred ethos of the moment, my breasts pressing eagerly to the salt-and-pepper curls of his chest, every brush of his skin sparking a wildfire deep beneath my own.

Somewhere between audacious kisses, I became aware of a crucial detail. Phanes was no longer clad in his grey sweatpants.

How they came off was a mystery, lost in the haze of our fervent exploration.

And then, without thought, without hesitation, I found myself astride him, the heat of us a whispered confession against the night.

Naked. Radiant. I undulated along the powerful curve of his hips, the full heat of my flesh pressing into his as though to pin the god in place. My arms wandered with deliberate reverence, tracing the carved sinew and sculpted muscle beneath me. My nipples brushed the dark curl of his chest hair, a phantasmal torment that lanced straight to the depths of my core.

My Inner Goddess thrummed with savage delight, a low purr that sang of dominion and desire. Proud and unyielding, she reveled in the heady illusion of command, mastering the moment as his body shifted beneath mine.

And all the while, the eyes of the shadows watched, silent and hungry, drinking in the feast of flesh and fire, bearing witness to a ritual as old as time, as wild as the night itself.

He murmured something, a breathless plea to strip away the last barrier between us. The boxers still encasing his hips.

But I wasn’t ready to surrender that moment. Not yet.

I would savor this. Stretch it like warm honey across my tongue. Let him ache for it.

I would relish every heartbeat of denial.

My nails dragged down the swell of his left bicep, slow and deliberate, just deep enough to awaken the nerves beneath, to make him flinch in pleasure. With my other hand, I traced a lazy path down the firm plane of his breastbone, circling, pressing, teasing with idle cruelty.

I met his gaze, unwavering and unafraid, and let him see the molten promise there, no mercy, only intention.

Then, with maddening slowness, I slipped my fingers beneath the black band of his boxers, feeling the fever of him pulse beneath my palm. I pulled them down inch by aching inch, a striptease in reverse, an unveiling done not in haste, but in reverence. In dominance.

And at last, there he was. Tall. Proud. Baroque.

The enviable glory of a man not simply revealed in flesh, but in desire reflected, offered back like worship.

It was my turn now. And I intended to make him burn.

The moment I descended his body, my lips a phantom over ribs, hips, thighs, I felt it: a shift, electric and breathless, from worship to hunger. My Inner Goddess unfurled with a lecherous, slow smile, eager to taste, to tease, to unknit him with every breath. To consume.

I was ravenous.

And Phanes lay patiently bared before me. His glory stood thick and flushed, pulsing with restrained power, a sword sculpted in flesh.

I wanted it all. Every inch. Every tremble. Every helpless, irreverent sound.

I slid my fingers around his length, not with haste, but with charnel deliberation, as though preparing something sacred for the altar. My lips parted, breath steady, as I leaned in, swirling the waiting crown with just the tip of my moist tongue and then drew the head of him into the warmth of my mouth. 

Not quickly. Not all at once. Inch by inch, I enveloped him, until my lips stretched taut, my jaw ached sweetly, and the musk of him bloomed across my senses like a forbidden wine.

I didn’t devour. I honored. I slid deeper, letting the trichotic heat of his body meet my mouth, letting him feel the unbearable grace of being taken without being claimed. My breath stilled as I struggled to bury him to the hilt, my nose brushing against the cradle of his groin, the scent of him dizzying and primal.

He flared against the cavern of my throat. His thighs tense beneath me, barely restrained. And still, I did not rush, even as his fingers wrapped around my sapphire curls. Because I knew the power in this moment, my mouth an orchid vice, my eyes lifted just enough to watch him unravel under the weight of my lavish application.

I sprawled across the bed in decadent ease, ankles crossed and lifted high, a portrait of indulgence unashamed. My hair spilled over my shoulders in sapphire cascades, catching the candlelight like a spell-crafted waterfall.

There was no hurry. No obligations tethering me to the ordinary. Only the intoxicating freedom of the moment, my Inner Goddess, florid, feminine, insatiable.

There was an unbridled ecstasy in testing the leash of a god’s restraint, in coaxing tremor from titan stillness. And all the while, his queen’s sovereign gaze fanned the slow-blooming madness inside me. Each flicker of her attention throbbed, feeding the ache that gnawed at the edges of senses until my Inner Goddess splintered, starfire scattering across the dark face of the cosmos.

Every flick of my tongue, each breath dragged through parted lips, ceased to be mere instinct…they became spectacle. Not only for him, but for her. For them. For the unseen hush that crowded the corners of the room. I basked in their gaze, every gasp a velvet ribbon curling through the dark. Pleasure poured through me like honeyed wine, and in return, I was adorned in their attention, transformed into a priestess of slow, feral sin.

The way my mouth moved over him, Dionysian and dismantling. The bulge of my cheeks as I drew him deeper, the soft cradle of my hands cupping his royal jewels with reverent care. The line of drool that trailed, glistening and obscene, dripping in threads I didn’t bother to wipe away. Messy. Gagging. Moaning as I intensified my ministrations. I gave myself to it completely unrestrained, a creature made of inquination and concupiscence.

Some primal, aching, ambitious part of me hoped the god on the other side of the bed was watching.

Hoped he burned to replace the god beneath me.
To tear him away.
To seize my jaw, shove his own divinity past my lips, and claim the reverence I gave so freely to another.

But he couldn’t.
Not yet.
So he watched.

And ached.

The cords of control stretched thin, the sinews of his soul struggling with the effort of restraint. His gaze fixed, unblinking, as though willing time itself to relent. My Inner Goddess blinked with feline laziness, fostering the pregnant silence between us with its own temptation until he could endure no more.

To my right, a rustle barely louder than a thought, the notable crackle of motion, like parchment catching flame. The air shifted, electric. The storm had started to move.

Jack’s swirling presence was behind me.

His heat coiled around me like smoke, familiar and forbidden, pressing close without a word. I did not need to turn. I knew him. Knew the huskiness of his breath, the weight of his wanting. Knew those hands, the way his fingers skimmed the curve of my buttocks with aching reverence, the way one palm settled at my hip, claiming, a god no longer willing to wait on the sidelines.

My body answered before thought dared stir. My spine bowed in invitation. My hips tilted, craving and instinctive. A silent ache unfurled in me, deeper than sound. I parted for him, poised and shimmering with eager heat that ran like molten quicksilver beneath my skin.

Cool air traced the fevered planes of my skin, a teasing contrast to the slick ache that pulsed and throbbed beneath, bare and yearning in the hush. I planted my feet firmly on the Berber carpet, lips still claiming the strength of Phanes, savoring the salty taste of him.

And when Jack’s bulbous crown pressed against the unchaste curtains of my sanctuary, barely held back by the fragile thread of self-discipline, I stilled. Not from fear. But from diabolical readiness, balanced on the edge of surrender. Hollowed and craven, taut with need.

He slid in with a slow, blistering ingress, stretching me, splitting me open until my body quivered with shock and surrender. I moaned into Phanes’s thigh, eyes rolling back at the delirious invasion as I was filled, taken, from behind.

I was impaled. Claimed from both ends. And I gloried in it.

Jack’s thrusts crashed into me like a fevered malediction, relentless and exacting, a cadence of desecration that fractured all composure and strung every nerve like a violin at breaking point.

My hands remained dutiful, lips parted in service, coaxing Phanes with what shred of grace I could still summon, but the rest of me was shattering. Jack split me open with every brutal drive, each thrust unraveling the seams of my poise. I was a creature divided: high priestess above the waist, trembling concubine below. My spine arched against him, my mouth struggled to maintain its rhythm, and somewhere in that glorious schism, I lost the last threads of who I had been before this night.

Orgasms ripped through me like lightning cleaving a blackened sky, violent, uncontrollable, fracturing me apart and stitching me back together into something unhinged and new with every muffled scream driven into skin. I no longer knew my name, my shape, my reason. I was flesh and flame, sacred and undone, offered up to the gods who knew how to wield me.

And then, the gods switched.

Phanes pressed behind me now, and the first push into my still-shaken center was a shock, brutal in its beauty. My Inner Goddess clawed upward with a howl as my body yielded, barely. He was thicker than I was accustomed to, and the initial stretch stole every coherent thought from my skull. I twitched, gasped, hips tilting back to meet him with blind instinct. My mouth remained bursting with Jack’s granite, my lips tightening, profane in their grip, as the ache behind me bloomed into something darker.

Phanes plunged with a harrowing deliberation, each inch dragging fire through bruised flesh, demanding I bear the eviscerating torment of every shuddering pulse. My muscles writhed in savage revolt and helpless surrender, caught between agony and rapture. My spine arched like a broken cathedral, trembling under the weight of a question too dark to answer…an abyssal ache that devoured me whole, leaving nothing but raw, ragged need in its wake.

And then, having breached my sanctum and buried himself to the hilt, he began to thrust.

Hard.
Relentless.
Measured, like a blacksmith’s hammer forging ecstasy from flesh.

I was caught between them now, one god at my mouth, one at my hips, my body strung like a fevered instrument between ache and ache, between the slow suffocation of one and the unendurable drama of being filled, wielded, and used by hands that did not own, but brought annihilation.

The sound of our bodies colliding cracked through the hush, sharp, wet, obscene. Each impact landed like a wave breaking bone against stone, relentless and precise. My flesh ached, slick and open, as pleasure carved itself into the architecture of my body. I remained resilient to the brutal meter of the twin gods who wielded their power not for praise, but because it was their nature to destroy.

My Inner Goddess did not purr. She screamed, with a raw, untamed vengeance as her claws raked through the dark, as I hovered on the edge of something feral. I was suspended between them, stretched taut across two celestials, giving and taking in equal measure, choking and gasping, every sound one of broken irrevocable need.

The clock ceased ticking.
Thought dissolved.

I didn’t want it to end.
I didn’t want to come down.
I wanted to live here, exalted, for as long as the gods would allow.

I was caught between them, one filled my mouth, the other my core, and I trembled in their hands, adrift in the dark tide of pleasure. My breath stuttered. My spine arched. My toes curled so tightly I felt the tremor all the way through my ribs, a delicate violence blooming from within. I moaned against skin, wordless and wild, every thrust and pulse leaving me more shattered, more whole. I was a symphony of sighs and gasps, pinned in place by their rhythm, by the relentless crescendo of desire. My body didn’t just yield, it sang, radiant with euphoria, lit from within by the sacred ache of being completely, exquisitely possessed.

Time lost its edge.

It shifted, slowed, not into gentleness, but something more preordained. A sleek, midnight-draped indulgence that carried us from one undulation to the next with the inevitability of a tide turning under moonlight.

Movements blurred, as if conjured by breath itself. Each shift melted into the next, seamless as whispered treason, as secrets traded in the hush between gasps. I found myself supine, draped in abandon, hips lifting in pivotal invitation. My calves grazed the sculpted expanse of a god’s chest as my ankles came to rest high upon his shoulders, an unspoken dare, a delicious surrender caught in the space between inhale and descent.

He looked down at me, his eyes dark, unreadable, glinting with a tension barely contained.

And then…he drove into me.

Not with tenderness, but with a brutal exactitude that felt engineered to unmake. A cry bloomed and strangled in my throat, caught behind clenched teeth and the corset-tight hold of my ribs.

Modesty had long since unraveled, left discarded like garments on the floor. What remained of my mortal shell was pure, punishing sensation, each thrust a thunderclap that scattered thought and licked at the edges of madness.

He did not relent.

Each stroke came heavier, deeper, as if he meant to carve his pulsation into the very infrastructure of my spine. And I…I gave way like a well-worn volume, spine cracked, pages fluttering open to parts no one had dared read aloud.

There was nothing left of me but ache and breath, strung tight in the hush.
And still, I received him.
And felt…everything.

Phanes’ hand slid with maddening leisure from the curve of my calf to the slender arch of my ankle, and then, with no warning, his lips closed around my toes. A gasp burst from me, utter shock freezing me, as pleasure blazed up through every vein. I nearly shattered then and there, by the sheer, unthinkable delight of a secret never spoken aloud. Those saucy seamstresses of my unraveling, the sly Fates had unwittingly divulged not one but three of my most hidden cravings before this god. And I should have been mortified.

But I wasn’t.

I was floating adrift, my mind a scatter of starlight and moans, too enraptured to shield anything from him.

Phanes growled again, with roguish charm as he moved within me, murmuring depraved phrases in the most seditious tone, phrases I wouldn’t dare repeat under the sun. His words slithered into me, honeyed and unholy, coaxing my Inner Goddess into a slow, serpentine sway, her every curve basking in the praise of corruption.

I clung to the sheets as my toes nearly melted away. Only to be born away once more to the glorious ruin of climax after climax, each one dragging me further from earth and deeper into the hedonistic stars.

And then…

The very air convulsed, a subtle susurrus before the tempest’s herald.

A delicate shudder threaded through the chamber, as though the walls themselves held their breath in eager dread.

I turned my head in a languid arc, catching Theia as she rose, an imperious silhouette carved from Caribbean starlight, her movement a majestic decree that silenced the space between heartbeats.

Magic licked at the hem of her skirts, crackling like distant stars. Her gown slid from her shoulders as if summoned to the floor by reverent hands. And there, standing in full splendor, was Theia.

Bare. Radiant. Divine.

Her beauty was an edict, compelling the very air to still, commanding every eye to rise and worship in silent accord. Limbs sculpted like a master’s finest marble, each movement a decadent aria, weaving through space with sumptuous nobility. Her hair, a raven cascade, tumbled down her back, dark smoke summoned by whispered will, curling and folding around her like a living shadow. Her skin drank in the flickering candlelight, gleaming with the burnished glow of aged bronze, both warm and unflinching, utterly composed.

Through half-lidded eyes and the lingering tempest of my own climax, I beheld her approach, not as a mere interloper, but drawn forth by a primordial ache, older than the stars and twice as demanding. Her every step was resolute, cloaked in an undeniable power. What seized my breath, what swelled my heart amid the sweet ache burning through my thighs, was the complete absence of envy in her gaze, no flicker of possessiveness, no shadow of jealousy, only the unshakable certainty of a queen wholly at ease, intrigued and willing to partake in the decadent spectacle unfolding before her.

And then there were four of us. Limbs entwined in a tangled symphony, breath hitching and sighs rising like whispered prayers. Our bodies wove together into a breathtaking lattice of trust and velutinous torment. I watched her and Phanes fall into their sacred rhythm, awestruck by the seamless symmetry of their dance. She was a goddess, yes, yet a creature of seraphic contradiction, her face and form a haunting tapestry: a siren balanced on the razor’s edge where rapture meets surrender, where devotion blooms into delirium.

Jack plunged into me with the kind of patience that undoes a woman molecule by molecule, each stroke dragging against nerve endings gone tender from too much pleasure, too much need. He kept one hand low on my belly, holding me in place, anchoring me. The other gripped my thigh, spread wide to take him deeper, to keep me exactly where he wanted me, open, frissoning, pining.

The sound of our bodies meeting was slick, relentless, a resonance meant to be remembered. And I felt it, him, thick and hard, sliding through flesh so wet, so willing, I was nothing but pulse and scream.

He bent low, breath hot against my ear, and gave an immortal, brutal thrust that drove the moan right out of my lungs. My fingers raked at the sheets. My spine curved like the crescent moon above. And still he did not relent, hunting my surrender like a predator tasting my weakening fight.

And it was true. I was unraveling beneath him, not all at once, but mellifluously, devastatingly, in measured collapse. He stripped me down by increments, with every volatile stroke, every thrust that found the most ruinous angle and stayed there.

And Jack watched it all unfold. Maelstrom eyes locked to mine, jaw taut with restraint, a fine sheen of sweat gleaming like starlight at his brow. He didn’t move with frantic need. He moved like a god who knew, who had studied the terrain of my body with a scholar’s hunger and a sinner’s hands.

What he wielded was no simple lust. It was intimacy sharpened into power.

He knew this skin. My threshold. This ache.

Not merely how to bring me pleasure, but how to dismantle me, piece by dithering piece.

And I let him. Gods, forgive me, I begged for it.

And then, a wicked thought frothed within my Inner Goddess.

Summoning the last embers of my strength, I rose, breath ragged, skin aflame with the lingering pulse of want, and claimed Jack’s mouth with a fierce, unyielding kiss. My fingers traced a languid path down his thigh, wet silk sliding over contracted muscle, each a stroke of possession and accord. A guttural groan escaped him, raw and undone.

“Who holds dominion now?” I murmured against his lips, a sultry challenge curling in my smile.

Without waiting for an answer, I seized his hand, leading him across the chamber like a sovereign guiding her most prized subject, until we reached the Queen’s vacant throne, a silver sentinel gleaming in the flickering candlelight.

He hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty dancing in his eyes, an unspoken question suspended in the charged air. But I pressed my palms with sincere authority against his bare chest, every fiber of me alight with the unfolding design that shimmered beneath my skin.

And then, as if drawn by an irresistible trust, he yielded, sinking into the throne with a slow, judicious surrender. His gaze darkened, thick with smoldering anticipation and the intoxicating weight of relinquished control.

I settled onto his lap with a low, honeysuckle purr rumbling in my throat, guiding him into me with an aching sweetness, each movement reverent and charged, a delicious ritual renewed. Laughter spilled from me, light yet laced with fire, as our bodies rejoined in a dance as old as time, a hymn of pleasure and power coursing through my veins.

From the throne’s commanding height, I cast my gaze over my shoulder and across the chamber, toward Phanes and Theia, their forms entwined like flame and shadow, and felt the electric hum of a hedonistic shrine enfolding us all.

My legs coiled about Jack’s hips, ankles locking like iron clasps behind the curve of his back, as he perched at the edge of the Queen’s throne, ragged breath spilling over my breasts. That closeness, that sacred tether of flesh to flesh, felt like the final apex, the ivy entwined with firm stone, unyielding and infinite.

But then, impossibly, he rose.

Still claimed within me, his arms curled around my spine like living chains, Jack lifted us both, an effortless colossus cradling the fragile flower of my body as though I weighed no more than a feather.

And then he moved…oh, how he moved…lifting me high, cradled like a fragile flame against the raw power of his chest, as if defying gravity itself. Each thrust was an unforgiving surge, driving deep with a force that sent tremors through every nerve ending. My back arched impossibly, suspended between heaven and earth, breath stolen and shattered. My fingers clawed at his shoulders, wide-eyed in astounded awe, caught in the breathtaking torment of being utterly held, both conquered and exalted, in a position that felt both impossible and foregone.

A strangled laugh, raw and breathless, escaped my lips, pleasure and disbelief entwined like lovers in a midnight waltz. Still, I clung to him, dissolving with abandon and orgasmic agony.

I couldn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t stop the wicked bloom of pride spreading through my chest, gods, he was magnificent. Every muscle coiled like a finely wound instrument, every breath drawn against my skin like a binding vow. 

I longed for the Moon Goddess herself to cast her silver gaze upon us, to witness the sacred ardor of being desired, hoisted high, and consumed with such devastating reverence. Let the constellations etch this moment into their ancient scrolls and into their eternal memory.

Behind me, the chamber thrummed with their presence, Phanes and Theia, unforgotten, entwined in the sacred tumult of flesh, the sharp cadence of skin against skin, cries of surrender cleaving the air like thunder. Across the distance, something ancient and wordless passed between us: a communion of knowing, a shared exaltation of sovereign womanhood. Two women, each a queen in her own right, claimed and cherished by men who recognized the fullness of our worth.

Resplendent upon the mattress, thighs splayed and quailing from exertion, I could do little more than gasp as Jack drove into me with a cadence that defied reason, a brutal collision of the masculine and feminine. The impact of us met with a guttural rhythm, slick and arresting, a percussive strike that bloomed across my senses in exquisite disarray.

His pace was unsparing, sculpting rapture from sinew and will. Every plunge reverberated through the lattice of my bones, a bruised kind of sweetness that drew tears to the corners of my eyes. My body, stretched wide and wanting, answered him not with compliance, but challenge, growling, daring him deeper, rougher, more.

I raised my forehead to Jack’s, breath trembling, caught betwixt a sob and a sigh, and thought with fierce clarity:

“This is the ruin I was born to embrace.”

Sand slipped through the throat of time’s glass, indifferent and eternal, but I saw her.

Theia.

From the edge of my vision, I saw her: astride Jack, a vision made flesh, her head thrown back in a near-silent cry that seemed to echo from the rafters. Her hips moved with artistry, her body rolling like smoke against him. The sounds that fell from her lips twined with mine, and together we became a chorus, unashamed and unending.

Time unraveled. Slipped from its bindings. We rotated, shifted, reached for one another with trembling limbs and sweat-slicked mouths, the world falling away until only resonance remained.

Each peak was an eclipse, a star bursting behind my closed eyes. I floated among them, unmoored and aching, torn open at the seams and lit from within. This was not carnal. It was transcendence reimagined in breath and flesh, and I wore it like a second skin.

At last, we paused, breathless and glowing, the air still shimmering with the echoes of climax. Laughter trickled like warm honey between us as a platter of fruit and chocolates was set gently among the folds of rumpled sheets. We picked at the offerings without shame, limbs entangled, wholly bare and beautifully unbothered by it. Fingers brushed naked flesh. Thighs overlapped. The occasional moan escaped as someone stretched too deeply or grazed a sore, well-adored nerve. I lay on my stomach, cheek pressed to the cool bedding, my hips lazily swaying as I fed myself slices of pineapple and let dark chocolate dissolve on my tongue.

Then I heard it, the sharp, tangy tear of foil, and my breath caught. He was behind me again. Phanes. I shifted subtly, shimmying backward to plant my feet wide upon the woven, berber carpet. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I knew what he wanted. I wanted it too.

And then, without ceremony, without hesitation, and hands hooking around my hipbones, he took me.

Thrust deep. Hard. Immediate.

A sound tore from my throat as my forehead buried itself in the mattress, fingers fisting in the damp sheets. My body opened, welcomed, and devoured him. I felt a savage howl rumble from my Inner Goddess that echoed from depths untouched.

“Is that all you’ve got?” I dared him, voice thick with defiance and need.

The raw cadence of his assault was intoxicating, adamantine, tenacious, a wild revelry in the unspooling limits of sensation I could endure. The gods traded places once more, and Jack claimed my unremitting frame.

Somewhere above me, I heard Theia gasp, felt the bed shift with movement. Conversation had slowed to breathy commentary, the edge of hunger still humming through the room. I peeked through lowered lashes. Theia met my eyes with a languid smile, her hair a crown of dark silk across the pillow as her lover worshipped her anew.

I curled beside her in the heavy silence of aftershocks, hesitant and aching with the want to touch, yet restrained, honoring the fragile boundary of her surrender. My gaze traced the sumptuous swell of her breast, lingered on the glistening curve of her thigh, before my fingers sought the small, obsidian wand nestled against the headboard.

It thrummed eagerly beneath my touch, a secret friendship stirring my ache. When I pressed it to my wanton pearl, a low, lambent moan escaped me, melding with the symphony of Theia and Phanes locked in their exotic, relentless duet.

In that moment, the air itself seemed to pulse with the heat of countless desires, a tangled web of need and reverence that bound us all.

I turned, slowly, and there he stood: smirking, delight twinkling in his gaze, his form carved in the flickering interplay of shadow and amber light. Jack was once more risen, a monument of raw victory, his hardness proud and unyielding.

My fingers cupped him tenderly, then abusively, coaxing a guttural groan from the depths of his chest that resonated like dark music in the quiet room. My tongue traced the reactive underside of his envious length, wet, spirited, and audacious, drawing out every twitch, every subtle flinch, every swelling dark pulse beneath my brazen ministrations.

He was a valiant god wrought from flesh and need, and I reveled in the power to make him shiver beneath the spell of my devotion.

The bed shuddered beneath our tangled forms, a worn altar to their storm. Theia and Phanes lost to a frenzy, spiraling beyond composure. Jack’s fingers twisted possessively in my hair, prying my lips free from the granite I had been devouring. My other hand moved at the behest of my Inner Goddess, moving with blinding cruelty, each stroke a measured torment, skirting on madness.

Then, beside me, a low, guttural growl erupted, Phanes withdrawing from his queen with the weight of a tempest’s final fury. His cry tore through the air, raw and dreadsome, a lion’s claim unleashed in feral roar. He spilled himself in scorching ribbons that marked my flesh with all poetry of fire and ice, each drop a burning sigil shimmering across the expanse of my alabaster skin.

I gasped, breath caught in rapture, awed beneath the savage force of his release, even as Jack remained clenched in my hand, a patient beast, coiled with quiet hunger, biding his time with every drawn-out second.

I knew it was no conquest of mine, yet my Inner Goddess pirouetted with riotous glee, intoxicated by the heady scent, the wild, primal jubilation that engulfed us. She was a tempest in rare form, hair tousled like midnight storms, cheeks flushed with fevered light, magnificent wings unfurled for all to behold as she danced upon the very edge of delirium.

We collapsed together, limbs tangled in the hush between breath and belonging, somewhere between conversation and transfixed silence. Fingers wandered in idle devotion, knuckles tracing collarbones, lips brushing damp shoulders, as if language itself had become too crude for an evening such as this. There was no awkwardness, no brittle aftermath, only the twinkling, silver glow of something unspoiled. The serenity of bareness, not just of flesh, but of vulnerability. 

Eventually, we gathered our garments, unhurried, as though reluctant to cloak ourselves once more in the trappings of the ordinary. Fingers lingered on fabric. Glances passed between for one more look. There was laughter, the kind that drips with afterglow and ease, weightless and unbound. And as I slid on my slippers, still flushed, still deliciously slick and aching in all the right, unholy ways, I caught my reflection in the mirror and grinned. Utterly undone. Utterly tickled. A debauched little triumph wrapped in silk and smug satisfaction.

I knew I would awake sore from the delicious brutality of our shared evening, a lingering throb written deep into muscle and marrow. And I welcomed it. The kind of ache one savors, relishing the way it replays itself across the body like candlelight flickering on old glass. I would remember it in flashes: Phanes’ mouth, devouring and divine; Theia’s gasp, sharp and unmasking; Jack’s eyes locked to mine, dark with knowing. The melody we shared, of breath, of flesh, of earnest trust. 

But that was not the end.

With farewells whispered and the door latched behind us, silence settled, brief, deceptive. My Inner Goddess stirred, no longer purring but prowling, her smoldering temper turning with grave heat toward the god still tethered at my side. Unsated. Unforgiving. A tempest cloaked in lace.

Jack’s breath had scarcely settled when I slipped the final lock, and something primal unfurled between us. He caught the shift. He always did. And gods, he was man enough, divine enough, to take what came next.

With a bestial grin, I hurled myself into his arms, burning and soaked in the perfumed remains of the evening’s excess. He caught me without flinching, effortlessly, shadows licking his heels as he strode once more down the hallway with me in his arms, back toward the bed, back into the crucible of fire.

Until next time, XO. Elsie