Medusa, A Love Story (Loves of Olympus 1)

“But what of your home? Who holds your family’s basileus and protects them in your stead?” Medusa was stunned.

“My father is hearty,” Ariston laughed. “It is likely I will not carry the family mantle until I am old and grey. Which is good, for you will have years to know and love them as I have.”

Medusa smiled, warmed by his words. “Will they mind that you’ve wed?”

Ariston’s hand slipped to her neck, pulling her towards him and pressing his lips to hers. “No. They will rejoice. And they will love you almost as dearly as I do.”

Medusa felt herself soften. Heat, warm and fluid, rushed through her.

Ariston set her away from him, but not before she felt his response. It pleased her to feel him tremble as she did.

His voice was gentle as he said, “Eat, wife. So I will not worry over you.”

Medusa ate the fish in five bites, swallowing it hot. She knew he watched her, heard him laugh as she swallowed the last of it. He handed her the water skin and she drank thirstily. Once he’d finished his breakfast, she stood and held her hand towards him.

“Swim with me?” she asked.

He took her hand, nodding.

They ran from the cabin to the water. Thea cooed to them, cackling briefly before she took flight. Medusa called out, “Good morning, little one. Hunt well.”

Once they reached the surf, Medusa took a deep breath and dove, kicking as she pushed herself under the water.

The water was warm and glorious. In its clear depths, tufts of sea grass swayed in the undulating rhythm of the waves above. She swam down, looking back to see Ariston behind her.

He smiled at her and pointed. Her eyes followed, making out the thin blackish grey snout of a great pipefish. It was but a shadow next to one of the large boulders that protected this small cove. She moved closer to the rock to investigate and brushed the sea grass, upsetting a sea horse from its hiding place. She kicked, aligning herself with the grass to find more of the animals. Their tails were wrapped tightly about the blades of grass, to keep them safely attached to their home in the shallows.

Ariston joined her watching the little creatures. His finger touched the animal’s small head and it recoiled, startling. He smiled.

Medusa could not tear her eyes from her husband. His curls danced in the water, moving as the sea grass. He was unlike any man she’d seen, and he was hers. He was her husband. Her heart full, she reached for him.

His jaw tightened as he regarded her. His arms caught her around the waist as he kicked, jetting them out of the water.

As they broke the surface, Medusa drew in breath and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed him deeply. His lips, open and wet, clung to hers with gratifying urgency. His hands clasped her back, leaving no room between them.

She was mindless of their labored breathing or the waves that washed them back towards the beach. She wrapped herself around him and held tight, her legs encircling his waist and her arms anchored about his neck. She was vaguely aware of the sand beneath her, aware that the waves washed over them, but no longer moved them.

His mouth lifted from her lips and she opened her eyes.

He was staring at her, his curls dripping on her face and neck. His fingers came up to trace her lips. She watched him, mesmerized by his fascination. Her mouth parted beneath his fingers, making his breath catch. She reached for him, tangling her hands in his hair and pulling his head to her.

She shivered as his tongue caressed hers, stroking her and making her weak with need. She wanted more. She wanted all of him.

Her hands slid down the wet expanse of his chest. She smiled against his mouth, reveling in the subtle spasm of his stomach under her touch, the hot burst of his breath on her lips.

A soft moan slipped from her as his mouth moved down her throat, his hands lifting the soaking wrap of her peplos. His fingers traced her collarbone, his lips followed. She closed her eyes, her head falling back, as his hand cupped her breast.

###

Ariston slipped the peplos from her.

Wet as it was, its sheerness served to provoke the fire in his blood. Removing the wrap bared all of her to him, golden in the sunlight. She was a feast for his senses. She was beauty. Her hair floated in the gentle lap of the waves about them, her eyes were closed and her chin tilted. Her face was tight, yearning. For him.

His gaze explored, and his hands followed.

Her skin was velvet, white as the richest cream. The swell of her rounded breast drew his hand, while his lips eagerly captured the puckered pink tip. She quivered under him, moaning softly and inflaming him all the more.

His hands continued, moving to her side, tracing the curve of her waist and the swell of her hip.