Last Courtesan of Olympus by Amanda Meuwissen

Author:Amanda Meuwissen [Meuwissen, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amanda Meuwissen Books
Published: 2023-09-11T16:00:00+00:00

The following chapter contains:

Heat-Play, Cold-Play, Roleplay, Airborne Sex.

Chapter six

The Bereaved

However long I might have slept after my encounters with the other gods, I slept like the dead after Poseidon. I thought it would be strange sleeping underwater. After all, I didn’t rest upon cushions as I was used to but floated in a soothing cocoon of soft fabrics like the chiton he’d made for me. I supposed it was a bit like returning to the womb, safe and secure as if held in the bosom of my goddess.

It was she who’d lauded me to Zeus and prompted him to act to steal me from my ascension. I wasn’t yet sure if I owed her gratitude or curses for this fate, but I did owe her. Five gods down, all of whom I believed would respect my decision regardless of which of them I chose, but could I conquer the rest? Could my luck and skills hold out?

I dreamed of indulgence that ended in terror, myself upon a platformed bed, with each of the gods I’d known and those I had yet to experience pawing at different pieces of me and eventually tearing me apart in different directions. That might still be my fate if I failed even once, and I woke with my fear in my throat choking me like water down my windpipe.

Perhaps because there was no water, not around me anymore or sustaining my breath, and that strange new weightlessness was gone. I was a man of the land again, not of the sea.

Or possibly of the air, because all I could perceive when I opened my eyes was sky.

“I feared you might miss the sunrise.”

I sat up and gripped the edge of the chariot I rode upon in fear that I might tumble out of it and plummet to my death. I was higher in the sky than any mortal had ever been. I could see the curve of the earth and the start of Atlas’s hands around it.

I couldn’t miss the sunrise. I was leading it.

And oh, Apollo driving his chariot across the sky to bring about the dawn was luminous.

Before Eros was born, he’d long been glorified as the most beautiful of the male gods. Everything about Apollo was gold, as he held the reins of his four fiery horses. His golden hair, almost fiery itself and ruddier in color than the soft yellow or dark blond of Eros and Hermes. His sun-kissed skin. His gleaming eyes that glowed like Poseidon’s blue, their own separate little suns. He was clean-shaven like the fairer gods, for surely the rest of him would singe any stubble to its roots.

He was most like Hermes in build, slight, slender, supple, and youthful, but without the erratic energy of the messenger god. After all, a sunrise was a lengthy experience to be relished, taking its time each day or at risk of scorching the earth.

His robes seemed to change like the heavens, mapping the way the sky looked from when the sun first rose, gleaming high, and then dipped to sunset colors.

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