“I please you, then?” he teased softly. He shifted, sliding from her to lie at her side.
She frowned at him, making him laugh.
He could not tear his eyes from her, but watched as she tilted her face towards him and let her leg slip down, as if exhausted. “You do… I did not know such pleasure existed.”
His hand found hers and he lifted it. He kissed the tip of each of her fine white fingers before pressing another to her palm. “What would my lady wife want of this day?”
She smiled at him. “This. Only this.”
###
Poseidon was pleased.
He had expected nothing less from Phorcys. The Titan was humbled and honored, groveling over Poseidon’s choice. But then he was offering marriage to Medusa, whom Phorcys had described as ‘his lowly mortal daughter’.
“You’ve no need to marry her,” Phorcys had smiled. “Get a son on her. Let her bear you a child if you will. To take her as wife is more generous than I could ever have prayed for.”
Poseidon had laughed. “You would have me sully your daughter, Phorcys?”
Phorcys’ incredulous look had amused the God, but the Titan’s words were wise.
“My wife is a help to me. She is a Titan, strong and fearsome in battle. She bore me strong, immortal children – except Medusa. My daughter is beautiful to be sure, but the wife of the great Poseidon? What does she have to offer the likes of you? She cannot serve as your partner, as my Ceto is to me.”
Poseidon watched his ally. “But she will be my wife. As such I will see that she becomes immortal. And that she gives me many sons. It is a good match, Phorcys, one that suits all.”
Phorcys bowed deeply, “You do my family great honor.”
Poseidon did not argue. He did indeed do Phorcys a great honor. But his marriage had nothing to do with honor or finding a partner. It had nothing to do with Athena or pleasing Olympus.
He wanted Medusa.
His lust robbed him of sleep and wit. His temper was quick for his blood still boiled.
Thoughts of her coming to him, beckoning him to their bed… Images of her silken locks tangled about them haunted him. He could almost taste the sweet softness of her lips, smell the fragrant bloom of her scent, and his body ached with it.
This longing for Medusa, a lowly mortal, had become an affliction for which there was only one cure.
If his brother had not warned him against it, he would have her already. It was not an easy choice, for he rarely heeded Zeus. But he would not jeopardize his prize or have his ownership of the girl forfeit to Athena’s prattling or Zeus’ spite.
Medusa would be his until he tired of her.
Once he left Phorcys, he set out on the waves, riding on their very tips as foam. He moved quickly, skimming along the shores of the sea. Mortals did many things along his shores, from fishing to bathing. He watched them with indulgent interest or played with them at will.
And then he found a more interesting sight.
Poseidon unfurled himself, letting his frothy fingers float and pull him towards the couple on the beach. This was a past-time he enjoyed mightily, for young lovers often found passion on the sand. They would be unknowingly wrapped in his form as he became the waves that coursed over them.
He saw no point in depriving himself this slight pleasure, for the sea was his domain. As he was also the God of Fertility, he would appease both his duties. He would make sure that those who loved here would have evidence of their passion in due course.
Whether or not the resulting babe was sired by him, as sea foam, or the mortal involved depended on the woman. If she was beautiful or passionate, if there was something that drew him to her beyond the need to free his seed, then the babe would be his, of that he was sure.
Poseidon was generous when it came to women. He had many sons.
This couple was so absorbed in one another that he wondered. If he transformed into his human form, would they be aware of his presence?
He would not risk disturbing such a coupling. Their passion was great. Poseidon could see it, feel the current of it in the water about them. This man, whose back rippled and tightened as he knelt over his lover, was a virile sort. Yet he felt such tenderness towards the woman beneath him.
A tenderness Poseidon could not fathom.