Wed to the Wild God (Aspect and Anchor)

I'm falling for him, which might be the stupidest thing ever. This time, it won't be me pulling the plug on the relationship. It'll be the gods themselves, either sending me home or severing the bond between us and sending us on our separate ways. But until then…he's mine.

The thought makes me so desperate that I'm the one that crosses the short distance between us. I kiss him fiercely, holding onto him so tightly that I dig my nails into his skin. I want to leave my mark on him somewhere, somehow, so after I'm gone, he'll be able to remember me. Did all his anchors feel like this, I wonder? Desperate for his love and knowing it'll always be out of reach because of who and what he is?

"Mmm." He runs his hands over me as I kiss him, my mouth frantic on his. "I see you missed me."

"Nah," I lie, and I don't even sound convincing to my own ears. "Maybe I just woke up horny."

Kassam's eyes flare at that, and he grins down at me. "Good, because I want to play for a bit."

Play? I blink at him, surprised. "Okay?"

"I asked for a few things to be brought up to our rooms," Kassam tells me, hiking me into his arms and sliding a hand under my butt. I put my legs around his waist, and he carries me back into the bedroom, toward the bed. "And since we have time before my feast tonight, this seems like the perfect opportunity."

He settles me gently down onto the bed again, then flings off the tiny scrap of loincloth he's been wearing. He's bare to my gaze once more, his cock hard and as breathtaking as ever. I automatically reach for it—and him—only to have Kassam grab my hands in his. He kisses my palms and then grins down at me. "Are you ready?"

"For?"

"For a one-up, as you call it." He leans in and gives my palm a lascivious lick and then moves back into the sitting room.

Oh god. A one-up. He's thought of a suitable payback for me putting a finger in his ass. Hot arousal floods through me, and I clench my thighs together tightly, waiting to see what he went to get. Another type of food to share? More wine? Something sexy to wear?

Kassam re-enters with a lacquered box, about the size of a large jewelry box. More quartz, I wonder? Is that the goal—to cover me in crystals and turn me on without his hedonism? He sets the box down on the table beside the bed and pulls out a long, silk length of fabric. "Give me your hand."

Oh. Bondage. I've never done it before, but I'm game. I hold my wrist out to him obediently. "Do I get a safe word?"

"What is a safe word?"

I watch as he ties my wrist to one post of the bed, then pulls another length of silk out and moves to tie the other to the opposite post. "It's where I have a word that I can say, and if I use it, then you'll stop. It's like if it gets to be too much for me."

The god gives me an arch look. "I will make sure it's not too much for you."

"I still want a safe word. Let's use 'pineapple.'"

He finishes tying my other wrist and then my arms are spread wide, my quivering thighs clenched together. Kassam leans in and kisses me. "Or you could simply ask me to stop."

"Sometimes 'stop' means 'keep going,'" I point out, settling back against the pillows. "Especially if it feels really intense."

"Mmm, this should be intense," he agrees. "Very well. Say your word for me again?"

"Pineapple!"

He grins, inclining his head to indicate he heard me. "And are you comfortable?"

"Comfortable enough?" I give a little wiggle on the bed. "But I'm still wearing my clothes. Or is that part of the plan?"

Kassam shakes his head. "It is not. Your clothes are filthy and should be discarded anyhow." He pulls a knife out of the box and reaches for the front of my t-shirt.

"Don't you dare—" He cuts into my shirt, slicing right up the front. Either the knife is extremely sharp or my shirt is extremely worn, but it falls apart like butter and I make an utterly outraged sound, wrestling against the silken bonds at my wrists. "Kassam! You fucker! I don't have an infinite supply of those!"

"I have new clothes for you," he purrs, undeterred as he slices the remnants of my shirt off.

I scowl at him.

He offers me a wink and then snaps the thin bit of fabric that holds my bra together.

"You suck," I tell him, as he cuts the last bits of my upper clothing off and then the knife travels down my belly, toward my jeans. Oh no. "Wait, wait, pineapple," I tell him. "Don't you dare cut my jeans."